“It’s not just me being strategic. Or getting stuck in details.” I glance down at the table, then back up at her. “I used to think that’s what it was. That everything just felt louder. That people were loud. Or I was off somehow.”
Her brows pull together, concern edging in now.
“I didn’t really have a better explanation,” I add. “So I just…worked around it.”
“Ty,” she says quietly, her hand reaching over to cover mine as if it's on auto-pilot. “What are you talking about?”
I hold her gaze, then take a gulp of air.
“I’m leaving early on Saturday because I have a therapy appointment.”
She nods almost immediately. “I have a therapist. I think everyone probably should at some point.”
A small breath leaves me. “Yeah.” I nod. “It’s just…mine’s been about something specific.”
It’s literally now or never.
“I found out recently I’m autistic.” I say it steady, even if it doesn’t feel that way underneath. “Level 1, apparently. I’ve spent most of my life compensating, and I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.”
The words feel charged as they fall off my lips, but when I look up her expression doesn’t shut down. Doesn’t pull away. She stays open, listening, and waiting.
“Playing in the NHL,” I add, a little quieter now, “kind of pushed everything to the surface.” I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. “So.” A small exhale. “There you go.”
For a second, she doesn’t say anything. Then her head tilts slightly, eyes moving over my face like she’s lining something up.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Okay.”
I nod once, waiting for the shift. The distance. The polite version of this conversation. It doesn’t come.
Instead, her mouth curves, something almost amused slipping in.
“So that’s why you’re magic.”
I fight the urge to shake my head from side to side with great dramatic effect. “I’m magic?”
She laughs, the sound warm and easy, like I didn’t just drop something heavy between us. “Yeah. You kind of are.”
I stare at her for a second, trying to figure out if she’s joking. But one quick look at her tells me that she’s not.
“I mean it,” she adds, setting her cup down. “You notice things most people miss. Like with the girls—you don’t just run drills, you pick up on who needs space, who needs a push, who’s about to check who just to see if they’ll react. I saw you when you called Hannah out before she even knew she was about to do something.”
I huff quietly. “She was winding up for it.”
“Exactly.” She points at me like that proves something. “You see things through a different lens than the rest of us. Usually before the rest of us even realize anything’s happening.”
I don’t say anything, so she keeps going. “And you don’t overwhelm them. You don’t talk just to fill space. When you say something, they hear it.”
Her gaze flicks to the table, then back up to me.
“You give things room. Most people wouldn’t do that, Ty,” she says gently. “That’s not something to fix.”
I let my eyes drop briefly to the table before looking back at her. “Magic,” I repeat, quieter now.
Her smile softens. “Yeah.”
I let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh. “Feels like a stretch.”
Her brows pull together just slightly. “Why?”
