“Again. Faster.”
They ran it five more times. Each attempt was cleaner than the last. Hartley's timing improved, his positioning tightened. By the fifth rep, he'd put one past the goalie—top shelf, exactly where it needed to be.
The team erupted. Callahan was banging his stick against the ice. Mace was yelling something about “Hart's back, baby!” Even Rook, who rarely showed emotion during practice, was grinning.
Hartley looked at me, and I saw the question in his eyes.Did you see that? Did I do okay?
I gave him a short nod.
His smile could have powered the entire rink.
Tess skated over to me. “That's it. He's done for today.”
“Five more minutes?—”
“No. He's compensating with his right side, and his left leg is starting to shake. If he pushes more, he'll set himself back.” Her voice was firm. “Pull him now, or I will.”
I knew she was right. Hated it, but knew it.
“Hartley,” I called. “You're done. Good work today. Hit the showers.”
He looked like I'd just told him Christmas was cancelled. “Coach, I can?—”
“You're done,” I repeated. “Tess's call. Don't argue with me.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded and skated off the ice. Slower this time, the exhaustion finally showing. When he reached the bench, I saw him grimace as he stepped off onto the rubber mats.
The rest of practice continued for another thirty minutes. Power play variations. Penalty kill scenarios. Conditioning work that had guys gasping for air by the end.
When I finally blew the final whistle, the team was spent. Sweaty, tired, but buzzing with energy. Having Hartley back, even for limited time, had changed something. The mood was lighter. The chirping was louder.
“Good work today,” I said, keeping my closing remarks short. “We're tightening up. Keep it up. Same time tomorrow.”
They filed off toward the locker room, voices rising as the tension broke. Rook caught my eye as he passed and gave me a small nod.
I didn't acknowledge it. Just started gathering pucks, going through the mechanical post-practice routine.
Hartley was back. Not fully, not yet, but back. And seeing him out there, skating with the team, looking like himself again?—
It had felt right. Had felt like a piece of the puzzle sliding back into place.
And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
I wasin my office reviewing practice footage when the knock came. Quiet. Hesitant.
“Come in.”
Hartley stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He'd showered and changed into sweats and a team hoodie, hair still damp. He looked exhausted but satisfied.
“You did well today,” I said before he could speak.
“Thanks.” He sat down in the chair across from my desk, movements careful. “Shoulder's sore. Leg's pissed at me. But I feel better than I have in weeks.”
“Good.” I leaned back in my chair, studying him. “Tess says you can do this routine for the rest of the week. Build up gradually.”
“And then?”
“And then we see where you are. If you're ready for contact drills. For full-speed work.” I paused.
