She moves to adjust the band tension for the next set, and I use the break to grab my water bottle. Outside the windows of the training facility, snow is starting to fall in fat, lazy flakes. We have a game tomorrow night, which means today is all about maintenance and preparation.
“Now let’s do another set,” she says, settling back into position. “Same as before.”
I nod and begin the exercise again, focusing on each controlled movement and the engagement of every muscle group, one at a time. This is what I do, what I’ve always done. Hockey isn’t just about what happens on the ice—it’s about every choice I make off it. Every meal, every workout, every hour of sleep.
Or at least, that’s how it used to be.
Lately, I’ve found my mind wandering to other things. To Heather’s laugh. To the way April’s face lit up when I helped her with her math homework last night. To how right it feels to spend time in the evening with both of them, when we can all talk and laugh and relax in front of the TV without any outside pressure or anyone else’s expectations.
“Interesting,” Melanie murmurs, and I realize I’ve finished the set without her having to prompt me.
“What?”
She tilts her head, studying me with the same analytical expression she uses when assessing an injury. “You’re different today.”
“Different how?”
“Less tense.” She gestures at my shoulders. “You’re usually wound so tight during these sessions that I half expect you to snap. But today? You’re actually relaxed.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I state the obvious. “I’m not slacking. I’m focused.”
“You’re always focused. That’s not what I mean.” She crosses her arms and gives me a knowing look. “I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize when something has changed in a player’s life. Especially when it’s a player like you, who prides himself on never changing.”
I bite back a smile, because I’m pretty damn sure I know exactly what she’s talking about now.
After the fundraiser, something changed between Heather and me. We stopped pretending to hold back. That night, after we got home and put April to bed, Heather slipped into my room. I spent an hour with my face buried between her thighs, making her come so hard she had to bite down on a pillow to keep quiet.
And then she stayed. She fell asleep in my bed with her body curled against mine.
Waking up with her there—her face the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes—was something I hadn’t realized I needed until I had it.
We’ve found more stolen moments since then. Mornings before April wakes up. Late nights after she falls asleep. Each time, I find myself wanting more. Needing more. The desperate edge that used to drive me toward hockey has been redirected toward the woman who has somehow managed to work her way past every defense I’ve spent years building.
“Grant?” Melanie’s voice pulls me back to the present.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“I’d say better than good.” She grabs her clipboard and makes a note. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Your range of motion is excellent today, and your recovery times are improving. You’re loose but still strong. It’s a good balance.”
Again, I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.
“Thanks,” is the best I can do.
I move through the rest of my exercises with the same precision I always do, but Melanie is right—something is different. I’m not obsessing over every minor adjustment or making a mental checklist of every imperfection to address later.
For the first time in years, hockey isn’t the only thing taking up space in my head.
When we wrap up, I grab my gear bag and head for the door.
“See you next week,” Melanie calls after me. “And Grant? Whatever is making you smile like that? Don’t let it go.”
I pause in the doorway and glance back at her. “I don’t intend to.”
The drive home is quick, and the streets are relatively clear even though there’s been light snowfall all morning. I’m trying not to dwell too much on what Melanie said, because I know I’ll spend way too long overthinking if I give myself the opportunity to go there.
Instead, I occupy my brain with more game prep, thinking about what I need to review and how I want to adjust my positioning on certain plays, and that keeps me distracted until I pull into my driveway and notice Heather’s car.
She shouldn’t be home yet. It’s barely past two in the afternoon.
