I wasn’t. She wanted to know my plans. What I wanted after college. How she could help. My favorite part was that she had no idea my dad coached the hockey team. She saw me for me.
Since then, I’ve taken every class of hers which counts toward graduation. She’s also pulled me into research, made me a go-to for women in STEM opportunities.
“How’s the project coming?” she asks, hands rubbing together like she’s been waiting for this. It’s the question I’ve been dodging.
“Well…” I hesitate, buying myself a second I don’t have. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
She sits a little straighter, tilting her head just enough to pin me in place. “How much work have you done?”
I pull in a breath, hold it, then let it out slowly. The anxiety settles in my stomach, heavy and sharp, like it might fold me in half. “I haven’t made any progress.” The words land hard, like they’re carving something open. “It’s just the research objectives. Some of the math.”
Her eyes flick down to her notes. “That’s what we talked about before summer,” she frets. “At the end of spring.”
The silence between us is heavier than I’m used to. I can’t stand letting someone down. Or not doing what I was supposed to do.
“Do you still want to complete a research project this year? It’s not required, but it’d be a good leg up if we could get it accepted by a conference or two. Would help with your resume,” Professor McCullough asks the question. One she already knows the answer to.
I nod, digging my fingernails into my forearm hidden below the desk and resting across my belly. “I do. But I might need to pivot.”
The professor's eyes go wide, her pen pausing mid-tap against the desk. “Pivot? That’s a big word. What’s changed?”
My pulse jumps. This is the moment I’ve been dreading, the one where she realizes I’m not as capable or committed as she’s believed. My throat is tight, but I force myself to answer.
“I—” My voice cracks, so I clear it, speaking softer this time. “I don’t think I can work with the basketball team’s data. Not this year.”
The words hang heavily in the air. My chest burns with the admission, but at the same time, there’s a flicker of relief. Finally, the truth is out.
Professor McCullough leans back, considering me carefully. “May I ask why?”
Because my ex is on that team. Because I can’t sit in the library for hours running regressions on rebounds, pretending I don’t still feel the sting of what he did and said. Because I’m tired of pretending that pushing myself into painful places is the same thing as being strong.
I twist my fingers together in my lap. “Had a fall out with my connection on the team.” That’s the nicest way that I can saymy jackass boyfriend pretended he wanted to marry me and I thought we had a future together, but then he just kind of got sick of me.I know she reads further into my words when her posture softens.
“I thought I could push through, but I can’t. I don’t want to sound difficult or like I’m letting you down…” My voice trails off.
Professor McCullough studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods slowly. “You know, saying no or not right now is one of the hardest things for my students. Especially the ones who pride themselves on always doing the ‘right’ thing. The ones who are always doing more than anyone else.”
Heat creeps up my neck. She sees right through me.
She sets her pen down and leans forward. “Pivoting isn’t failure. It’s wisdom. If that dataset isn’t workable for you, we’ll find another. What matters is that you keep moving forward.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, as if I’ve been holding it for months. “Really?”
“Really.” A smile tugs at her lips. “Now tell me—if you weren’t worried about disappointing anyone, what kind of project would you choose?”
I blink at her, caught by surprise. The question feels like both a lifeline and a challenge. For once, I let myself imagine what I want—not what’s easiest for others.
“That’s the question you need to answer. If you pivot, make sure it’s to something you’ll be excited to finish. Otherwise, what’s the point?”She doesn’t say it like she’s annoyed with me or even disappointed. Pride drips from her voice, but even then, it’s hard to feel like I deserve it.
Chapter 13
LANE
Theairintherink is sharp, cold enough to bite, and it feels like home. The scrape of blades across fresh ice, the echo of pucks hammering off the boards, the thud of bodies hitting the boards—it’s the one place I don’t think, I just do. Out here, everything else burns away.
“Let’s go!” Troy’s voice booms across the ice as we cycle through a breakout drill. He’s got the lungs of a drill sergeant but he's more bark than bite. He has an easy way of leading the team, and I don’t mind him being my captain at all.
I drive hard, cutting wide to the left and taking the feed clean on my tape. One quick pivot and I burn past a defenseman who’s half a second too slow. Stick down, shoulders low, eyes on the goalie. Wrist shot, top corner, and the net ripples
