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That silence says more than anything.

I force out a breath. "Okay. I hear you. I won’t push."

"Thank you," she says, but it doesn’t sound like gratitude. It sounds like finality.

We hang up.

I stand there in the hallway, phone still in my hand, heart still in my throat.

The call felt cold. And Mandy never felt cold.

I mutter, "Unreal," and turn to leave, and then remember I left my damn watch in my locker.

Of course I did.

Because apparently today wants to keep kicking me in the teeth.

Coach Stephens is standing just outside the locker room when I round the corner. He looks up and narrows his eyes.

“You look like someone just traded your heart to the minors.”

I snort, trying to keep walking.

But he blocks my path with a raised brow.

“Something you want to say, Jones? Because what affects you and your performance, affects the team. And you were off today at practice. Anything I can do to help?”

I hesitate, then mutter, “She’s pulling away. And I don’t know how to stop it.”

Coach folds his arms and leans against the wall. "Care to elaborate?

I nod slowly. "It’s not just one thing. It’s everything, little moments stacked on top of each other. She’s second-guessing us. Well, me, really, with my hockey player reputation and reading into publicity pics. And I’m trying to prove her wrong without even knowing what she needs, to feel right."

“When Lizzie pulled back, I thought giving her space was noble,” he says. “Turns out what she needed was presence. Not pressure. Not silence. Just… me showing up for her in the waysheneeded.”

I shift on my feet, his words hitting harder than I expect.

"How the fuck am I supposed to figure that out?"

"Figure it out, or lose her. Those are the stakes."

I nod slowly, taking that in.

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll handle it. But don’t wait too long. Silence doesn’t break on its own. Someone has to do it.”

"Thanks, Coach."

"No problem, Jones."

After grabbing my watch from my locker, I pause in the hallway and mutter to myself, "Maybe Nina’s around. Could use a female perspective, and she’s sharp as a tack."

Nina’s office door is open. She’s typing away on her laptop, earbuds in.

I knock gently.

She looks up and pulls out one earbud. "Hey, Nate. You alright? Can I help you with something?"

I give her a half-smile. “Got a minute?”