“Thank you.”
“You’re playing the best hockey I’ve seen from you in years.” Jim’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Whatever clicked for you, keep doing it.”
Behind him, through the glass, I could see the press box where Haley would be during games.
Seeing me.
“I will,” I said.
Jim moved on to talk to Crim, and I grabbed a bottle of water, and took a drink.
Brashe signaled for a break and once the new goalie took over his position, he skated over and stepped inside the bench, sitting beside me and grabbing water. We drank, watching the next line take the ice.
“You’re playing well,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Really well. Like something shifted.”
I didn’t respond.
He took another drink, his attention still on the ice. “Jim’s going to notice. He sees everything when it comes to his players.”
The warning in his voice was subtle but clear.
“I know.”
“Do you?” Brashe finally looked at me. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re about to walk into something that’s going to require a conversation you’re not ready to have.”
“I’m having it today.”
That got his full attention. “With her or with him?”
“Her first.”
Brashe studied me for a long moment. “You care about her.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
“Enough to risk what you’ve built here?”
“Yes.”
Brashe nodded. “Then you’d better have a plan for how you’re going to tell him. Because he’s going to find out, and when he does, you want it to be on your terms.”
“We’re working on that.”
“Work faster.”
Coach called for a new line, and Brashe stood.
“The team’s already watching,” he said. “People are noticing things.”
He climbed over the board and skated across the ice before I could respond.
I watched them scrimmage, tracking movements I should be analyzing for defensive patterns. Instead, I kept thinking about Haley standing outside my door at one-thirty in the morning, close enough to knock but not crossing that final distance.
Whatever had stopped her then couldn’t stop us anymore.
