“A second chance.” Christin’s lip trembles slightly.
Maya points at the camera. “Text us if your heart starts sprinting faster than your brain.”
Christin adds, “And Amy?”
“Yeah?”
Her eyes soften. “Whilethisrelationship is new, your feelings are not. Have faith in both.”
I nod in agreement.
Maybe our love was meant to grow back stronger—this time with both of us choosing this. Especially since we're both fully aware of what it costs when we lose it.
35
GAP CONTROL: A DEFENDER MAINTAINS PROPER DISTANCE FROM THE PUCK CARRIER
Every night, Brennan and I are together now. Whether it’s quiet dates, snuggling under blankets on his back deck, or making love. Despite the introduction of intimacy to our relationship, we’re taking our time to rebuild the threads of trust that were once shattered.
So, when I know Brennan is scheduled to speak to all of the student athletes as a part of the initiative he’s trying to get off the ground with Coach Collins, I head in that direction.
I want to support him the way he’s been supporting everyone else.
Unfortunately, I’m late. I was stopped by another teacher to talk about a student. By the time I reach the athletic wing, I hear his voice carry down the corridor—steady, unpolished, real. I lean on the wall outside the gym to listen to Brennan influence the kids that surround me every day. He’s explaining what it costs to heal, what it means to listen to your body, to your conscience, to the people you love.
I hear his voice clearly. “I know you don’t want to hear this part.”
I cock my head to the side, listening to the cadence of Brennan’s voice. It’s emotional but steady. “I didn’t want to hear it either.”
There’s a murmur from inside the gym. Teenagers shifting, whispering, probably rolling their eyes. I picture them sitting on the bleachers, hoodies pulled tight, phones tucked just out of sight.
I inch closer to the door without meaning to.
“When I was your age,” Brennan continues, “I thought athletics were currency. You’re untouchable and you have to keep the flow coming in so you can cash it in later.”
My fist raises to my mouth when I realize he’s not just talking about athletics.
He’s talking about us and what he lost.
“I thought if I just pushed harder, ignored more, stayed quiet when something didn’t feel right, it would all work out. That someone would tap me on the shoulder one day and say, ‘Congrats. You did it.’”
There’s a pause. Not awkward. Intentional.
“No one tells you that sometimes life happens and the cost is paid sooner than you expect. It comes in the form of losing people in your life—good people. It can come in the form of losing trust in your team. Or it can be as simple as an injury.”
The gym is silent now with something heavy. Reality.
“I’m not here to scare you,” he says. “I’m here to tell you that being a good athlete doesn’t mean being reckless with any part of your body—especially your heart and mind. It means being smart enough to protect them but still embrace the honor you’ve been taught through sports.”
“If something feels wrong, say something. If you’re hurt, sit out. If you need help, ask for it.” He exhales. “You don’t get extra points for suffering in silence.”
A boy laughs nervously. Brennan lets it pass and goes on. “You all have futures. Some of you will continue with sports professionally; most of you won’t. Maybe you’ll play for fun; maybe you won’t. But every single one of you deserves to walk into the next phase of your lives knowing there can be severe consequences if you don’t keep as much of who you are today intact. Be a friend, a teammate. Form a team of friends even if you never play another sport.”
Another pause. “I wish I’d listened to the people who tried to teach me that.”
The words hit low and deep, like they’re meant to. There’s a beat. Then the scrape of sneakers, the sound of a few tentative claps that grow louder. Brennan clears his throat. “All right. Go get ready for your practices before your coaches yell at me for keeping you too long.”
Laughter breaks out, the tension snapping like a rubber band. I stay where I am, heart lodged somewhere between my throat and my ribs. The doors swing open and a group of boys spill into the hallway, loud and buzzing, adrenaline hummingunder their voices. I keep my eyes on the floor, giving them space.
