Helen listened. When Mara finished: "You said you lost control. What did that feel like?"
"Like every argument we have is foreplay with an audience," Mara said, and the words came out before she could catch them. "And I'm terrified that the next time we're alone, I won't stop at words."
Helen was quiet for a beat. "That's a lot of honesty for one session."
"I'm exhausted. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I'm back in that corridor with her leaning in and Astoria's voice is the only reason I didn't kiss her back." She pressed her forehead against her free hand. "Helen, you know what happened with Sara."
A pause. Helen's expression shifted. They'd spent years on Sara. The assistant coach in Cleveland, twelve years ago. The affair that blew up Mara's first head coaching job, cost them both their marriages, and nearly ended both their careers. The investigation. The whisper network. The three years Mara spent rebuilding in junior leagues before anyone in professional hockey would touch her again.
"I know," Helen said carefully.
"This feels like that. Not the same situation, but the same loss of control. The same inability to keep my hands on the wheel. And I swore after Sara that I would never put myself in that position again. I have kept that promise for twelve years."
"You have. And I want you to notice something. With Sara, you didn't recognize what was happening until it had already happened. You're recognizing it this time before anything has occurred. That's not the same pattern. That's growth."
"It doesn't feel like growth. It feels like standing on a cliff and knowing exactly how far down it goes."
"Then I want to suggest something counterintuitive," Helen said. "Instead of avoiding Lex, meet her. Not in a coaching session. Have a real conversation where you acknowledge the friction. Set a professional boundary you've both agreed to instead of one you're white-knuckling alone."
"And if it turns into something I can't control?"
"Then we'll deal with that. But the explosions are getting worse. You need a plan for the next interaction, not another crisis to survive."
Mara pressed her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose. "Yes. I can do that."
"Good. Get some sleep. We'll talk again soon."
The screen went dark. Mara sat in the quiet hotel room with the parking lot lights filtering through the blinds. Her hands were trembling. Her chest was tight.
She brushed her teeth. Changed into a worn t-shirt and sleep shorts. Climbed into the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling.
Every argument we have is foreplay with an audience.
She closed her eyes. She did not sleep for a long time.
10
The text came at seven in the morning, while Lex was standing in the kitchen in boxers and an old Boston training shirt, eating peanut butter off a spoon.
Would you be free to walk Goldie with me this afternoon? I'd like to talk. Just hockey. — Mara
Lex stared at the screen. In the weeks she'd known Mara Ellison, she'd been yelled at, benched, lectured, critiqued, and very nearly kissed against a corridor wall. She had never been invited for a dog walk.
She typed back:Sure. What time?
The response was immediate.2pm. Meet me at the waterfront path by the marina. Goldie needs a long walk.
Elise was at the kitchen counter pouring coffee, her dark hair tied in its usual neat knot. She glanced at Lex's phone and raised an eyebrow.
"Mara wants to go for a walk," Lex said.
"A walk." Elise's eyebrow climbed higher.
"With the dog."
"How romantic."
"It's not romantic. She said 'just hockey.' She underlined it." Lex shoved the last bite of toast into her mouth, talking around it.
