“I know.”
Our eyes meet and there’s a moment where the carefully maintained distance between us gets less certain.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Simpler this time. “For what I said. Talking about your career was a cheap shot and I knew it the second it came out.”
She looks at me for a long moment.
“Thank you.”
She opens her notebook again. “Calloway tells me you’re staying behind this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She glances up once more. “Trust me, it will be worth it. If you’re willing to try.”
She pushes off before I can respond, already calling the team into position. I stand at the boards for a second longer than I need to before I push off after her.
Behind me I hear Barrett mutter to Mercer in a low voice and then the unmistakable sound of Chen telling him to leave it, which Barrett does, because even Barrett knows when Chen means it.
I find my position.
The session starts.
I’m aware that in approximately ninety minutes it’ll be the two of us on this ice, and I have no idea what that looks like.
ELIDA
The group session ends, the team files out and the rink goes quiet. It’s just us.
I’ve done one-on-one sessions before. Hundreds of them, thousands even, if you count every hour of private coaching I’ve given and received over the years. There’s a different energy to it - no group to hide in, nowhere for either person to deflect.
I set my notebook on the boards and don’t open it.
“No stick.”
He sets his stick down without comment, which is already different from the first session. It’s a small compliance, but it speaks volumes.
“We’re going back to basics. Not because you’re bad - you know you’re not bad. But because the habits are deep and the only way to address deep habits is slowly. One thing at a time. That means this will feel frustratingly simple. I need you to trust that simple is the point.”
He nods. No sarcastic comments. The apology is still in the air between us.
I push off. “Follow me. Same pace, same line. Watch what I do with my weight on the turns.”
We skate.
It’s slower than any session I’ve run with him, slower than anything I’ve seen him do voluntarily, and I can feel the effort it costs him to dial it back - this is not a person who does anything at half speed, and restraint doesn’t come naturally to him the way force does. But he does it. He matches my pace and he watches and when I talk through what I’m doing with my edges he listens differently than how he did before. Actual listening, not waiting to push back.
“Again,” I say. “This time I want you to feel the outside edge on the crossover. Don’t force it. Notice where the weight is.”
We go again.
“There,” I say, pulling up beside him at the blue line. “You felt that?”
“Yeah,” he sounds surprised. “Yeah, I did.”
“That’s what efficient feels like. It’s less, not more. You’ve been adding force where you need to be adding precision.”
He looks at the ice, processing it, and I move around to his left side.
