The afternoon dragged like mornings never did. Lunch with specific macros. Film review of our last game. A workout in the weight room that was more about clearing my head than building strength.
At three thirty, I showered and changed into street clothes.
At three forty-five, I stood outside her office door.
The building had gone quiet, most of the staff and players either gone for the day or gathered in other parts of the facility. The corridor was empty except for the fluorescent lights overhead and the faint sound of a vacuum running somewhere on a different floor.
Her door was closed. She’d be inside, preparing the footage she thought we were going to review.
I knocked twice.
“Come in.”
I entered, shutting the door behind me.
She sat at her desk, her laptop in its dock, three monitors displaying different angles of footage. Me on the ice, frozen mid-stride in a defensive positioning sequence.
She’d been watching tape of me.
“I pulled some sequences from last night’s game,” she said, her attention fixed on the center monitor. “Your gap control in the neutral zone was exceptional. I thought we could review?—”
Rounding her desk, I closed her laptop, the click echoing in the small space.
She finally looked at me. The shadows under her eyes were more pronounced up close. Her hands shook where they rested on the desk.
“We’re not watching tape today,” I said.
“We’re supposed to?—”
“Haley.”
I got close enough to see the exact shade of exhaustion in her eyes. She had to tilt her head back to meet my gaze.
“You came to my door last night,” I said.
She pulled in a breath. “How did you?—”
“Beau heard you.” I kept my voice level. “I opened the door, and you were gone.”
“I couldn’t knock,” she said quietly. Stating this cost her something. I watched it move across her face.
“Why?”
“If I’d knocked, you would’ve opened the door. And if you’d opened the door, I would’ve stepped inside. And if I’d stepped inside—” She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t be the person who did that at one thirty in the morning while holding cookies like some kind of?—”
“Like someone who wanted to see me.”
The words hung between us.
She looked away, her attention dropping to her hands. “We can’t keep stealing moments in hallways and stairwells. Pretending we’re just colleagues when we’re—” She stopped again.
“When we’re what?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out broken. “I don’t know what this is, and that scares me more than anything else.”
“I know what this is,” I said, setting one hand on the back of her chair, the other flat on her desk. “I’m falling in love with you.”
She stared at me like I’d spoken a language she was still learning to understand.
