Not the loud, aggressive kind of tough. The quieter kind. The kind that grows when you learn early that the world will judge you no matter what you do, so you might as well control the narrative first.
If she got dragged into my world, I don’t know if I could stand watching that happen to her.
“Zane,” Blake says, nudging my knee. “Talk.”
I exhale slowly.
“It’s not a good idea,” I say.
Blake’s gaze sharpens. “Why?”
I don’t answer immediately.
Around us, the room is still loud. Someone’s telling a story about missing a flight. Someone else is arguing about playlists. Our goalie is eating something that smells like it came straight out of a protein lab.
Normal.
I latch onto normal.
“Because she’s not…” I stop again, the words catching in my throat.
Because the truth is, she is my type. Whatever type I thought I had, Gwen cuts straight through it. I haven’t had the chance to really know her yet, but I know enough.
I think about how gorgeous she is. The stories she might tell. The thoughts she probably keeps to herself.
Blake watches me, patient for once.
I settle on the part I can actually say. “Because she’s not built for this.”
Blake’s mouth tightens. “You mean your fame. Everything that comes with being on the team.”
I flinch.
“Yeah,” I admit. “My… everything.”
Blake leans back, eyes on the ceiling. “You don’t get to decide what people can handle,” he says, echoing a principle we’ve drilled into rookies a thousand times. Don’t baby them. Don’t limit them.
I swallow. “I’m not deciding. I’m just…”
“Scared,” Blake finishes, too gently.
My jaw tightens. I yank off my other skate and set it down harder than necessary.
“I’m tired,” I correct.
Blake doesn’t push. He nods like he understands that tired is sometimes code for I can’t talk about this without cracking open.
He stands, slaps my shoulder once. “I’m going to shower,” he says. “Try not to brood so hard you sprain something.”
I flip him off, not bothering to hide the affection.
When he walks away, I sit there for a second, skates off, thoughts loud, then stand and head for the showers.
Hot water hits, blasting away sweat and tension. The steam fogs my brain enough to quiet everything.
But the second I’m dressed again in sweats, hoodie, cap low, the thoughts come back.
Gwen.
