"Thanks," I managed. "For telling me."
Heath stood. "I should let you get back to—whatever this is."
"Taking control of my story," I said. The words sort of tumbled out. "Through the power of crossovers and emotional avoidance."
He laughed softly. "That's very on-brand for you."
"I try."
He disappeared into the darkness. A door opened somewhere and closed.
I was alone again.
I stood at the boards staring at the ice I'd carved up. Heath's words circled in my head.
You kept me from folding.
The network had tried to erase my competence and reduce me to noise and disaster.
Heath knew better. My team knew better. Somewhere underneath the hurt and the anger, I knew better, too.
I pushed off the boards. Skated one more lap—slow this time. Let my body feel every shift of weight and every muscle engaging the way it was supposed to.
Then I headed for the locker room.
I sat on the bench and stared at my phone.
Three missed calls from Jake. Two texts from Evan asking if I was okay. One from Coach that just said:Practice 10am. Don't be late.
Nothing from Adrian.
Good.
I didn't want to hear from him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I hadn't decided.
What I had decided was what happened next.
Not what Adrian wanted.
Not what the network wanted.
What I wanted.
I opened my notes app and started typing.
The list came out messy. They always did. My brain needed to organize something, anything, when everything else felt like chaos.
finish the season - no running
don't explain myself to death
