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I shift in my seat. “I second-guess reads when the pressure’s on. Especially since the trade. Still feels like I’ve got something to prove.”

Nina meets my eye and gives a small nod. “Awareness is the first step. The next is showing up, anyway.”

She straightens and clicks her marker. “So let’s lay it out. How can we adjust?”

Connor leans forward. “Maybe we rotate the second D-man up quicker on the pinch. Last game we hesitated and lost the zone.”

Ethan nods. “Yeah, or stagger the forecheck and give more room for read-and-react on the second wave.”

James, ever the jokester, actually sounds serious for once. “We also need to call switches earlier. That’s on me last game when Dillon and I both went puck-side.”

Nina gestures toward the whiteboard. “Let’s sketch it out.”

For the next few minutes, the room fills with markers squeaking and guys tossing out adjustments. Mikey diagrams a new look on the breakout. Parker suggests a tighter gap for closing space on the rush.

Coach Stephens remarks, “I like what I’m seeing here, men. Very impressive.”

I add my own thought. “If we tweak the weak side communication with just one word cues, it could tighten our recovery lanes.”

Nina beams. “Exactly. Commitment isn’t static. You adapt. You speak up. You trust.”

And somehow, those words stay with me even as the session ends and we all file out."

She looks right at me as she says it. Or maybe I imagine that part.

Either way, it lands.

***

Back at my place, I drop onto the couch with a groan. My shoulder’s screaming, so I grab an ice pack and slap it on.

The group chat lights up.

Connor: Engagement party at my place. Saturday. 7pm. RSVP or be shunned. Singles, bring dates.

Parker: Can I wear my tux t-shirt again?

Haley: Only if I get to pick the bowtie.

Connor: Nate, bring a plus-one. Or James is assigning you one.

James: I have a spreadsheet of candidates.

Me: Hard pass.

James: Too late. The algorithm has spoken.

I set the phone down and close my eyes for a second.

A plus-one.

Nina’s words are still echoing in my head. So is Mandy’s laugh. Her voice. The way she always shows up for herself, no matter what kind of day she’s had.

I know who my plus-one is, and it sure as hell won’t be some puck bunny from James’s roster.

I toss the ice pack into the sink, grab a snack and walk out of my place, heart hammering for no good reason.

I walk down the hall and knock.