She was just getting off the team bus back at the Valkyries arena when Mara's voice cut through the team chatter.
"Calder. Laurent-Dubois. My office. Now."
Lou's blood turned to ice.
She exchanged a glance with Camille—saw the flash of panic in those blue eyes before Camille's media training kicked in, smoothing her expression into careful neutrality. They followed Mara in silence, their teammates' curious gazes burning into their backs as they split off from the group.
Mara's office was in the arena's administrative wing, a sparse room dominated by whiteboards covered in play diagrams and a desk stacked with scouting reports. She closed the door behind them with a decisive click, then turned to face them with her arms crossed.
"Sit."
They sat. The chairs were uncomfortable—hard plastic, built for function rather than comfort. Lou's knee bounced restlessly beneath the desk, a nervous habit she'd never been able to break.
Mara studied them for a long moment, her expressionunreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but firm.
"I'm going to say this once, and then we're never going to discuss it again unless circumstances force the issue. Understood?"
Lou nodded. Beside her, Camille did the same.
"I don't care who you sleep with. I don't care who you date or love or spend your evenings with. Your personal lives are your own business, and I have neither the right nor the desire to police them." Mara's gaze sharpened. "But your professional lives are my business. And right now, your professional lives are devoted to one goal: getting this team into the PWHL."
"Coach—" Camille started.
"I'm not finished." Mara held up a hand. "You're both talented players. Some of the best I've ever coached. But talent alone doesn't win championships. Focus does. Discipline does. The ability to set aside personal complications and give everything you have to the game—that's what separates winners from also-rans."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "What I saw on that plane tells me you're getting distracted. And distraction, at this point in the season, could cost us everything."
Lou's stomach churned. She'd been so careful. They'd both been so careful. And still, Mara had seen through it in a single glance.
"We're not distracted," Lou said, her voice coming out rougher than intended. "Our play has been?—"
"Your play has been exceptional," Mara agreed. "Your chemistry on ice is undeniable. But we have five games left, three of them against teams that would love nothing more than to knock us out of contention. One bad game, onemoment of distraction, and it's over. All the work we've done this season—gone."
Camille's hand found Lou's under the desk. Squeezed once, then released.
"What do you want us to do?" Camille asked quietly.
"I want you to be smart." Mara's eyes moved between them. "I want you to keep whatever this is private and contained. No public displays, no suspicious behavior, nothing that could spark rumors or gossip that would become a distraction for the rest of the team. Can you do that?"
"Yes," they said in unison.
"Good." Mara stood, signaling the end of the conversation. "Then we're done here. Go home. Get some rest. Practice tomorrow at seven sharp."
Lou rose on unsteady legs, Camille beside her. They made it to the door before Mara's voice stopped them.
"One more thing."
Lou turned. Mara's expression had softened slightly—not quite warmth, but something closer to understanding than Lou had expected.
"For what it's worth," Mara said quietly, "I hope it works out. You both deserve to be happy. Just... not at the expense of everything you've worked for. Timing matters."
The words should have been comforting. Instead, they landed in Lou's chest like stones.
They walked to the parking lot in silence, the sun beating down on their shoulders. Camille's car was parked near Lou's, both of them in the team section of the lot. The distance between the vehicles felt like a metaphor Lou didn't want to examine.
"She's right, you know." Lou stopped beside her truck, keys in hand. "About timing. About distractions."
Camille's brow furrowed. "Lou?—"
