“This isn’t how you help someone,” I say, low enough that only she can hear.
“You’re right.” Gisele nods, completely unbothered. “This is how you help someone who’s spent years refusing to be helped. You don’t give them an out. You don’t let them control the narrative. You show up whether they want you to or not, and you make it impossible for them to hide.”
My hand finds its way to the scar above my eyebrow. I yank it back down.
“I’m not your project, Gisele.”
“No.” She steps closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “You’re my friend. You’ve been my friend since we were kids. And I’m done watching you destroy yourself from the inside out because you’re too proud to admit you’re struggling.”
The word friend lands wrong. Has always landed wrong, when it comes to her.
“So what happens now?”
She smiles—not the sharp one from before. Softer. More dangerous.
“Now? You go home. You get some sleep. And tomorrow, you show up at my salon at nine sharp.”
“Why?”
“Because Operation Soft Boy has officially begun, captain.” She pats my chest once, right over my heart. “And you’re going to learn to feel things whether you like it or not.”
She turns and walks toward the exit, leaving me standing alone on the ice with my stick in my hands and my entire worldview crumbling around my ears.
The door closes behind her.
The silence is deafening.
I have the sudden, terrible feeling that Gisele LaRue is about to become a complication I can’t coach my way out of.
And the worst part?
Some traitorous part of me is looking forward to it.
I’m completely screwed, and I know it.
Called To The Office
Gisele
I’ve seen a lot of people get called into that office upstairs. Some walk in confident. Some walk in defensive. Most walk in pretending they’re not about to have their lives rearranged. The thing about power isn’t who holds it. It’s who’swilling to challenge it. And today? That’s not the man in the captain’s chair.
Playlist: “Control” by Halsey
The rink door swings shut behind me, and I make it exactly three steps before my hands start shaking. Adrenaline got me through the confrontation with Bennett. Now it’s abandoned me in the parking lot like a bad date.
My phone buzzes.
Lynsie:Did you seriously just crash Slammers practice and let Bennett Foster have it in front of his whole team???
Small towns. Zero secrets.
Me:Shep live-tweeted it. I’m going to kill him.
I pocket the phone and keep walking. I need structure for this “Operation Soft Boy” plan. Rules. Exercises. Something Bennett can’t outrun.
I’m halfway across the mezzanine when I hear the click of heels on concrete behind me.
“Gisele!” The voice is warm, efficient, and completely familiar.
