"I will. Thanks, Steve."
Jake hung up and sat in the empty rink, holding his phone, feeling like he'd just jumped off a cliff and discovered he could fly.
His phone buzzed immediately. Derek, his agent.
Derek:Steve just called me. You actually did it.
Jake:Yeah.
Derek:I think you're crazy. But I also think you know what you're doing. Good luck, Morrison.
Jake:Thanks. For everything.
Derek:Call me if you need anything. And hey—send me an invite to the wedding.
Jake:What wedding?
Derek:The one you're going to have with that baker. Marcus talks about you two like it's a Hallmark movie.
Jake smiled despite himself. Then he texted Marcus.
Jake:I did it. Turned down Nashville.
Marcus:How does it feel?
Jake:Terrifying. Also right.
Marcus:That's usually how the right choices feel. Now go plan that date tonight and stop overthinking.
Jake:I don't overthink.
Marcus:You absolutely overthink. It's your signature move. Just... be yourself. Lucy already likes you. You don't have to be perfect.
Jake pocketed his phone and skated a few more laps, letting Marcus's words sink in.You don't have to be perfect.
When had perfect become his default setting? When had being good enough stopped being good enough?
By 8:30, the team started trickling in for practice. Owen bounced onto the ice like usual, followed by Dmitri's steady presence and Ryan's philosophical musings. Marcus appeared last, giving Jake a subtle thumbs up from the crease.
Tommy blew his whistle. "Gather up!"
The team circled around their coach. Tommy looked at Jake, something knowing in his expression.
"Before we start," Tommy said, "I want to make an announcement. Morrison's going to be joining the coaching staff next season as assistant coach. He'll start transitioning this season—learning the ropes, helping with strategy, working with you yahoos on skills development."
The team erupted. Owen looked like Christmas had come early. Marcus was grinning like a maniac. Even Dmitri cracked a smile.
"But Coach," Owen said, "you're still playing this season, right?"
"I'm finishing out the season," Jake confirmed. "But I'll be doing double duty—playing and learning to coach. Fair warning: I'm going to be even more insufferable about proper technique."
"Impossible," Ryan said. "You're already maximally insufferable."
The team laughed, and Jake felt something warm spread through his chest. This was his team. His future. His choice.
Practice was good—hard but good. Tommy put Jake through his paces, having him run drills while explaining the coaching rationale behind each one. It was like seeing hockey through a new lens, understanding not just what to do but why and how to teach it.
By 10 AM, Jake was exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure.
