I pulled it on, and stared at my reflection while running through scripts I’d been rehearsing since three in the morning when I’d given up on sleep.
“Dad, I’m seeing someone on the team.”
That sounded too clinical. I wasn’t reporting stats but confessing something that would gut him.
“Dad, I’m in love with Tolrek.”
Too blunt. He’d shut down before I could explain.
“Dad, I need you to trust me on this.”
That sounded defensive before he’d even spoken, as if I expected him to be against me. Although…I kind of did.
Nothing sounded right in my head.
My hands should be shaking, but they weren’t. I buttoned the cream blouse while my brain ran through catastrophic scenarios on loop. It was the same detachment I felt reviewing footage of a player’s career-ending injury, a clinical assessment layered over bone-deep dread.
The waiting was almost over. That’s what the calm was. It wasn’t peace. Just the knowledge that by tomorrow, everything would be different, and I wouldn’t have to keep holding my breath every time someone looked at us too long.
Tolrek’s sweatshirt lay over the back of a chair, the Purple Punishers logo standing out bright in the room. He’d tucked it between my head and the bus window during the ride back from the first exhibition game when I’d fallen asleep. I’d kept it instead of giving it back, and he hadn’t asked for it since. I suspected he liked knowing I would wear something of his.
What we had was real and worth fighting for. Even if telling the world could mess everything up.
My phone sat on the nightstand. Picking it up, I opened a text to Tolrek and typedI love you.
I set the phone back down and finished getting dressed.
Later, I sat in the analyst room. I’d been pulling footage for the next opponent breakdown since seven thirty, tagging sequences and building the package my father would use in tomorrow’s team meeting.
Focusing on work kept my hands busy and my brain from spinning through worst-case scenarios.
The door opened.
“Morning,” I said without looking in that direction, assuming it was one of the assistant coaches coming to ask for a specific clip.
“Morning.”
I turned at Mark’s voice, finding him standing in the doorway, a coffee mug in hand. Something in his posture felt off.
“Good game last night,” he said, moving into the room. “That defensive breakdown you flagged was perfect. You must’ve seen that Crim used it in the third period to shut down their power play.”
“I did, and thanks.”
He took a sip of coffee and set the cup down on the table, tugging out a chair and sitting. “Can I say something?”
The pause that followed felt loaded.
“Off the record?” he added.
“Sure.”
Mark leaned back in his chair and studied my face before he sighed. “I’m going to say this once, and then we’re never talking about it again. Whatever’s happening with you and Nosh, and don’t insult my intelligence by pretending there’s nothing, you need to get ahead of it. Because people are noticing, and when Jim finds out…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
My pulse pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. Playing dumb felt like the only option. “I don’t know what you mean. We work together. I’ve done tape sessions with him like I do with everyone?—”
“Haley, I’ve worked in this building for years. I know what it looks like when two people are trying not to look at each other in the hallways.”
Silence dropped between us.
