She swung open her door, fixing me with an incredulous look that quickly softened. “Sit.”
I obeyed, relieved she hadn’t just blown me off. Still unsure why it mattered to me so much.
Holly sat behind her desk, elbows resting lightly, hands steepled in front of her. Her posture was relaxed but commanding. I was beginning to realize that was a default setting for her.
“What did you call her about?” she asked. “Did you invite her to a game?”
I nodded, rubbing my palms on my thighs. “Offered to fly her and my little brother out here. Put them up in a swanky hotel, the works.”
“And she said no,” Holly guessed the end of my story. “Which, inevitably, got you all up in your head, which then ruined your training session, and led to Coach McAvoy flagging you for behavior watch.”
“What?” I sat up straight. I didn’t know that last part. Then again,I’d given the locker room a skip so there was no way to know.
“I get that you’re frustrated and hurt,” she said matter-of-factly, “because you not only care about how you look on the ice, you care how people see you.Thatthey see you. And who’s more important than family, right?”
She paused long enough to lean back in her chair, the cheap leather creaking under the shift in her weight.
“I can’t tell you much about that,” she said with a sigh, “but if there’s anything I do know, it’s control. When we have it, and when we don’t.”
I swallowed as the realization hit. “Like when it comes to how she feels about me or hockey.”
“Yup, you don’t have any control over that. I’m sorry.”
“I have control over myself,” I said then, feeling the boulder ease off my chest just a little.
“Well, on the ice, sure.” Holly smirked, the pink stain on her lips looking particularly lush in the off-brand lighting. “Off the ice, I’m the one calling the shots.”
I laughed, relishing the point when she joined in and the shaky foundation beneath my boots started to right itself. “Touche, PR, touche.”
“Don’t you get in the habit of calling me that,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I have my hands full with your teammates as is.”
My laughter simmered down, and a calm quiet stole over the office. “How do you do it? Keep your cool in everything from childish hockey players to ruthless reporters?”
She shrugged, considering my question for a while, then said, “Some people look at shit going wrong as the world being against them. But my perspective’s a little different.”
“Which is…?”
“Life doesn’t come without pressure and responsibility. It’s a given,and it’s everywhere,” she said. “For example, you have the pressure of your family dynamic, but you also have a responsibility to yourself to not let it define you.”
“You have the pressure of this job, and it’s your responsibility to… make me look good?”
She chuckled softly. “Not quite. My responsibility is to not fuck up while keeping you from fucking up. And to make my boss look good.”
“Ah, good ol’ Bob,” I said, giving him a lazy round of applause in his absence. Which is how everyone liked him best–not around. “You have to admit it sucks sometimes. The pressure, but also having to take responsibility.”
Holly leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “I know what it’s like to feel that.”
“You do?”
“Sometimes you take on more than you should,” she replied. “From bosses, from people watching your every move, even from your own expectations. You learn to carry it, or it carries you. Either way, you have to keep moving.”
“Or get left behind.”
“Precisely.” She reached up and with a flick of her wrist, her hair came tumbling out of the high bun.
I wasn’t ready for it. Caught myself staring. Studying her quiet vulnerability, and understanding it was a side she didn’t show just anyone.
“You’re good at this pep talk thing, by the way,” I said, my voice a little thick.
