The Colorado Avalanche stormed in like an actual avalanche determined to bury us. Tahoe West struggled early with missed passes and intercepted breakaways. The coach’s voice cut through the noise, sharper the worse the score got. I did my bestnot to stare each time he leaned over the boards. His intensity hit me in waves—steady, powerful, impossible to ignore.
He never smiled, but I’d started to read the signals. A tight jaw for frustration, a slow nod for approval, and narrowed eyes for someone about to be benched. Even when he didn’t speak, you could tell where you stood.
Final score: Colorado won.
The guys looked wrecked. Paxton slammed his helmet against the wall, and Porter crushed a water bottle, but none of that gave us the deficit goals.
I blended into the wall, letting them decompress.
Later, curled up with room service and my meticulous notes, I replayed the one thing Coach had said to the team:“We regroup. We refocus. See you tomorrow.”
Flat, professional, exactly what you’d expect from Coach Murphy. But the way he’d looked at me there on the ice felt anything but flat. It struck a perfectly aimed puck at the chest.
That night, I actually slept deeply. Probably the only one on the team who did.
Saturday morning blurred into checklists of updating trackers, wrangling ice for scratches, and syncing with training. By noon my coffee was cold, but my nerves were warmer. That was unusual and proof of how much I already liked this job.
When evening came, I layered up the same way as the day before with trusty tights, a Tahoe West tee, and a jacket. The energy at the rink was tighter than my leggings. A laser focus hummed through the team. No one wanted to go home 1-3.
When the puck dropped, Colton, our golden boy, buried a sharp-angle goal that made the home crowd groan. Sergei, a defenseman, followed with a breakaway, a true ice ballet.
The Avalanche retaliated, of course, but Golden State held the lead heading into the third. Coach Murphy barked less tonightand watched more. That calm in the storm made him appealing—okay, and hotter.
I gripped my DevPad with the desperation of a game’s final minute. When the final horn blasted and the scoreboard didn’t budge, we all roared.
We won!
Logan slapped my shoulder as he passed. “Lucky jacket,” he declared.
I laughed, a full-body, chest-shaking laugh that felt ridiculously good. The burst of heartbeats that came with working in sports had absolutely no comparison to my old life.
Later, on the shuttle to the airport, I leaned my head against the window and felt it in my bones. I couldn’t imagine going back to desk phones, carefully worded emails, and putting out fires no one saw coming. That office only ran because I ran it, but nothing—nothing—ever made my pulse spike like this. Except maybe when the copier paper jammed and tried to catch fire.
In the plane, across the aisle, Coach caught my eye. I smiled before I could think about it.He smiled back, slow and warm, and something loosened in me.His features softened. That squared jaw unclenched, and his shoulders eased back. His brown eyes held mine steady, and I felt it in my chest—that low ache that turns into something soft.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself together until this exchange relaxed me.It didn’t feel dramatic, but a gentle wave from my chest to my gut. If that was what climate change felt like, maybe the planet would be okay after all.
“You’re so smug now,” Sam said, glancing up from her laptop, looking impressed. “You dress like a backup goalie and talk hockey lingo.”
I laughed, adjusting my Tahoe West hoodie. I’d just taken out the trash. “Hey, don’t diss the sports-girl vibe,” I said, gesturing at myself with flair. “Give me ice, stats, a well-fitted jacket, and once I nail the skating, I’m a full-blown hockey girl.”
“Can’t believe it took an entire NHL franchise to crack your spark code,” Sam said, shaking her head.
“Honestly, same. I didn’t realize how dim things had gotten until something finally flickered back on.”
Sam tilted her head. “You’re happy,reallyhappy.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang. It was Mom.
I hit the speaker. “Hey, Mom. You’re on with the full California crew.”
“Hi, girls,” Mom said, cheerful, but her breath caught oddly between syllables, as if she’d just climbed the stairs.
“Hey, hey!” Dad chimed in from the background.
Sam leaned in, brow furrowing slightly. “Is everyone still healthy? We’re rooting for fully functioning organs over here.”
Mom laughed, though it sounded thinner than usual. “We’re good, and we’re so proud of both of you. Mel’s big new job, Sam graduating in a few weeks…” Her voice faltered briefly, before she rushed on. “It’s… a lot of change all at once.”
