I froze, gaze fixed on her for a fraction of a second. The sudden awareness that she was working with Coach as well as keeping tabs on me made a pit form in my stomach.
She began flipping through the notes, quiet and precise. I got up, sliding toward her, unable to keep my curiosity in check.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re working with him too?”
Holly didn’t look up immediately. When she finally did, her expression stayed calm. “I’m not working with him,” she said, eyes steady. “It’s your story. I’m just making sure it’s airtight.”
“Right,” I said, voice tight, realization cutting in. “Because they might ask him about my dad.”
She just nodded, no words. That simple gesture carried more weight than any explanation she could’ve offered. I swallowed hard, caught in a mixture of relief and frustration.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but she was already turning toward the door. “I have work to do,” she said over her shoulder.
I hesitated, then followed her out, still processing the tightrope that had been enforced between us. She wasn’t a friend. I wasn’t anything other than a client. The game waited for no one, not for me, not for her, not for the storm that had just passed in my chest.
We filed onto the ice moments later. The rink lights hit me, and the roar of the home crowd vibrated through the boards, under the skates, into my bones. Holly took her seat, observing, utterly contained. No warmth or understanding. Just business.
The puck dropped. Immediately, Pittsburgh pressed. I was aware of every sound. The slap of sticks, the scrape of skates, the bounce of thepuck on ice. My focus wavered slightly. Our argument replayed in my mind, and it showed. A pass I should’ve anticipated slipped through a split-second too late. Theo skated back, hand raised, a silent reminder: focus.
Mason drove the puck up the ice, drawing defenders, while Grayson angled into position, ready to strike. I forced myself to forget Holly, forget my dad, my frustration. One thing at a time: the puck, the crease, the shot.
Pittsburgh’s right wing broke into the zone, eyes sharp, intent clear. I tracked the angle, read the timing, and stretched. The slapshot ricocheted off my glove, sliding safely behind me. Relief surged, but I didn’t let it linger. Another rush was coming.
Minutes later, a turnover at the blue line almost cost us a goal. I reacted instinctively, sprawling, blocking the puck with a precision no one but me noticed. The bench erupted in relief and shouts. I allowed myself a brief nod at Theo, who grinned back, but my mind immediately reset.
The game was neck-and-neck, intensity ratcheting with every shift. Each time Pittsburgh threatened, I anticipated, adjusted, blocked. I felt my muscles remembering their movements automatically, but my thoughts kept drifting to Holly. How calm she was, how professional, how utterly apart from the storm I carried inside.
Late in the third, Grayson picked up the puck in the neutral zone, Mason trailing him. Their synergy was electric. I watched them from across the ice, silently urging them on. Grayson feinted, slipped past a defender, fired a wrist shot from the circle. My counterpart on the other team dove, glove outstretched, capturing the puck as it bounced dangerously near the net.
“Damnit,” I muttered.
A rapid counterattack broke out immediately. Pittsburgh three-on-one, racing in my direction. My vision locked on the final attacker, miles from the crease in my mind’s eye. I predicted the shot’s trajectory, extended my leg, blocked the puck just as it left his stick. Silence. The crowd didn’t see the brilliance, but I did.
The buzzer sounded. Victory. The team celebrated around me. Mason slapped my shoulder, Theo shouted, Grayson gave a backhanded fist bump. But I barely noticed. One thing mattered—I had been steady. I had controlled the moment when everything else in the world, including my argument with Holly, threatened to derail me.
I skated off the ice slowly, letting adrenaline ebb. Holly’s presence flashed in my mind, fleeting but perfectly there. Professional, calculated, distant. Yet her competence reminded me there was a constant amidst the chaos. Even if walls were back up, even if warmth was gone, she had my story, and I had her efficiency.
I guess I just needed to trust that.
*
“Please, just let me take my car,” I said, holding up a hand as we spilled into the parking lot.
The guys laughed immediately. Tucker snorted, “What’s the big deal? We’re all going to my place.”
Mason shook his head. “I’m with Callahan. The last time we all piled into Tucker’s truck, I had to sit on Shawn’s lap.”
Shawn threw up his hands. “Don’t give me that look. You liked it.”
Mason went pale. “I didnot! I swear I did not.”
I tried not to laugh. “Shawn’s lap aside, I don’t want to stay too late. Makes sense to have my own car.”
Grayson groaned and waved them all along. “Quit being babies and get in the truck already.”
Tucker grinned. “You’re one to talk. All mouthy ‘cause you’ve got a night off from your ball and chain. Should I call Josie and ask how big a baby you really are?”
Shawn laughed, elbowing Mason. “No wonder you’re all excited to be sitting in my lap. Josie and Cass are having a girls’ night.”
