I hear some manly claps from the audience.
Then I add, “God.”
“I assure you, this process and your faith are not incompatible. This is a science, which many believers would argue is, in fact, created by God. What will happen next is a temporary activation of one part of the brain and a deactivation of another part.”
Someone hollers, “Don’t shut off the section that’s required for hockey.”
Another adds, “Turn up the volume on it while you’re at it.”
I do my best to ignore how this makes me feel like I’m grasping at sand as it sifts through my fingers. Rather, my focus is on Nina’s eyes. They’re pure sparkle up close, framed by thick lashes that are definitely real. In them is intelligence, kindness, and something that looks like trust despite the fact that we’re practically strangers.
However, if this whole thing is real, it could be that her brain is half asleep.
Lucian continues as if he senses I need reassurance, “During our time together, you remain fully conscious. It’s just that your focus is amplified and shifted elsewhere. It’s that simple. Most people describe it as a feeling of deep relaxation, as if you’ve set aside inhibitions and fears, letting your true desires come to the surface.”
“Got it,” I grumble, wanting to get this over with.
“Very good. I’m going to ask you to trust me. Can you do that?” he asks.
To this, I almost laugh. Trust him? With what? My career is hanging by a thread, my future is uncertain, and I have trust issues that could fill a psychology textbook—have a look at Chen’s notes if you want the nitty gritty.
Lucian says a few more things, directing me to gaze at Nina. Ordinarily, staring at someone like this would make me—both of us—uncomfortable, but she either deserves a staring contest Emmy award or she truly is in such a deep state of relaxation that it doesn’t occur to her to look away.
In fact, as Lucian continues, the content of what he’s saying fades. All I hear is the steady, comforting hum of his calming voice. I find myself taking a deeper breath than I have in a long time.
Then a question cuts into my thoughts. “Lane, please tell me, do you believe in love?”
At least, I think that’s what he says, but the inquiry catchesme off guard, even though he asked Nina the same thing earlier. My automatic response would be to deflect, to make a joke about believing in playoff hockey and sharp skates. However, feeling at ease as I look into Nina’s eyes, something honest slips out instead.
I hear myself say, “I want to. I want to believe it exists.”
“Excellent. Now, I want both of you to go to your happy place. The place where you feel most yourself, most alive.”
Without having to contemplate it, my mind drifts to the ice. Not the pressure-filled arenas of professional hockey, but the outdoor rink behind my childhood home in Utah. The scrape of skates on a fresh surface, the bite of cold air in my lungs, the pure joy of moving fast across something smooth and endless.
“Now, take this lovely young woman with you to that place,” Lucian’s voice seems to come from very far away—from another time, another life when I still felt free. “Show her what makes you happy.”
In my mind’s eye, I’m lacing up my skates, but instead of being alone, Nina is there beside me, laughing as she tries to find her balance on the ice. The crowd in the ballroom chuckles at something—maybe Lucian made a joke about hockey—but their laughter sounds distant and unimportant.
“That’s it,” Lucian murmurs. “Let yourself sink into that feeling. Let the world around you fade away until there’s nothing but this moment, this connection, this possibility.”
Nina’s breathing is shallow, and I can feel my own slowing to match hers. The ballroom, the crowd, and my teammates’ ridiculous stunt all start to blur around the edges like heat shimmering on hot asphalt.
“Three ...” Lucian’s voice is hypnotic, rhythmic. “Two ...”
The world is going soft and golden, like looking through a jar of honey. Nina’s eyes never leave mine, and somewhere inthe back of my mind, I think this might be the most honest I’ve ever been without saying a word.
“One.”
Everything fades except the gray of Nina’s eyes and the surprising steadiness of her hand in mine—when did we start holding hands?—and the strange certainty that something important is happening.
Something that will change everything.
Lucian’s voice drifts through the golden haze, talking about commitment and partnership and choices that bind two hearts together. The words flow over me like warm water, important but not quite registering in any concrete way.
I have a vague sense of movement around us, ritual and ceremony, but it all feels like watching a movie through frosted glass. What’s real is Nina’s trust, the way she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth believing in.
I can only hope that the way I’m looking at her reflects the same.
