“I can’t push right now,” I say.It’s automatic and true.“If I push, she’ll read it as pressure.As manipulation.”I pinch the bridge of my nose.“She needed rules to feel safe enough to say yes at all and I respect that.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, man.”
I stare at the fluorescent light above us until it fuzzes out of focus.“And if she says she can never do more?”
Lucky’s answer is gentler than I expect.“Then you decide if you can keep doing this without breaking yourself.”
I sigh in frustration.“She’s the most complicated person I know.”
He sobers.“Listen.You know your position better than anybody.Defense doesn’t mean standing still.It means active patience.”
We’re going with the hockey analogy, I see.“Don’t chase a hit in the neutral zone and take yourself out of the play.”
“Stay above the puck.Make the high-percentage read.”
I laugh because that doesn’t apply at all.“Hold the middle,” I say, translating it back into real-life scenarios.“Keep the inside position.Stick in the lane.”
“And talk,” he adds, stepping away from the sport we both love beyond measure.“Always talk.Don’t make her guess because trust me, fear fills silence with the worst-case scenario.”
I nod, slow.The plan feels like a system, not a wish.Systems win.
Stoltz reappears and removes the stim pads.I wait as he rubs a wintergreen salve into my hip.“You’re good,” he says, satisfied.“Go stretch.And drink water.”He jerks his chin at Lucky.“You—ice ten more and leave it on, or I’ll staple it.”
“Violence,” Lucky says, delighted.
I slide off the table and feel the joint move smooth and loose.I grab a band and step into a groin stretch, the angle precise.Lucky lobs a half-empty water bottle at my chest without looking.I catch it and drink.
“One last piece of advice?”he offers.
“Yeah?”
He grins, bright and wicked.“Maybe stop telling her she’s blushing every time she blushes.”
I stare at him.“That’s half my fun.”
“Find new fun,” he replies, then breaks into a laugh when I flip him off.
We leave the room together twenty minutes later, taped and iced.Staff roll hampers of practice jerseys toward the equipment room.
My phone buzzes and I don’t mean to check it, but my hand acts before my brain does.
A text from Maddie.The nugget stacked blocks by herself for a minute, then tried to eat one.She is, as you say, an incredible athlete.Nap starting.
A stupid smile climbs my face.I clamp it down and type back.Elite core strength.Tell Captain Cutie I’ll expect a repeat performance when I get home.
The response is quick:She says bring snacks or don’t come back.A second bubble.Kidding.(Not kidding.)
I put the phone in my pocket before I can type anything that will offend Maddie’s boundaries.Lucky watches me with that knowing smirk and wisely says nothing.We peel off—him to the cold tub, me to the showers.
Hot water hammers my shoulders, steam erasing the last grit of the rink.I brace a hand against the tile and let the spray beat the thoughts into line.
I want Maddie.Not just in my bed, not just on an agreed-upon schedule that keeps her heart from feeling too exposed.But I know I can’t bulldoze her walls.
On the other hand, I don’t have to pretend they’re my walls too.
Hold the middle.Communicate.Patience with teeth.
I’ll give her time.But I won’t keep lying to myself that I can sleep in a bed she leaves every night and call that acceptable forever.
