Chapter fourteen

Alex

“Y ou’re late,” Nina says the second I step through her office door.

I close it behind me with deliberate slowness. "Traffic."

She doesn’t look up from her notes. No smirk. No spark. Just clipped professionalism, like she’s braced for a storm.

Fine. If this is how she wants to play it.

I slide into the chair across from her, stretch my legs out and brace myself. She finally lifts her gaze, and even though her expression is calm, her eyes give her away. They're guarded. Not cold, not indifferent. Guarded.

“We need to reset,” she says, pen still in hand, like it’s a weapon.

I nod slowly. “Sure. Reset away.”

Her jaw tightens. “Alex.”

“Nina.”

She takes a breath, sets the pen down, and leans forward slightly. “I need to say something, and I need you to actually hear it.”

I straighten just a little. She’s not hiding behind clinical phrasing or psychological metaphors. This is raw. Real.

“I can’t do my job if I’m... emotionally compromised. And right now?” She swallows hard. “I am. That night at the hotel... it crossed a line.”

I run my tongue across my teeth, keep my expression neutral. “Okay.”

She blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah. I get it. Professionalism. Boundaries. Ethics.” I glance around. “Very clinical of you.”

She flinches, just barely. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this harder by pretending like it didn’t mean something.”

“Oh, it meant something,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “That’s the problem.”

There’s a long pause. I can practically hear her thoughts sprinting behind those green eyes.

“So what are we now?” I ask, voice low.

She leans back, crossing her arms like she needs a physical barrier between us. “We’re teammates in the mental game. Nothing more.”

“Sure,” I say again, flat. “Whatever you say.”

Silence falls like a wall between us. I think she wants me to argue, to fight it. But I won’t. Not now. Because this game she’s playing? Drawing lines in the sand like we didn’t already cross them? It won’t last.

She picks up her pen again, but the grip is tight, tense. "We should talk about the last game," she says, voice measured. "I know we lost, but tell me what stood out to you."

I shift in my chair, jaw tightening slightly. "It was off. All of it. We weren’t connected. I was half a beat behind every damn shot. The whole team was sluggish. I didn’t feel sharp, and I knew it from the first puck drop."

She nods, scribbling something down. "Where do you think that’s coming from?"

I almost laugh. "Is this a trick question? You think maybe it’s because the psychologist is actively avoiding eye contact with half the team, especially me?"

Her mouth flattens. "I'm not avoiding anyone. And you can't blame me for losing a game. I will, though, take responsibility for avoiding some eye contact."

"Sure," I mutter. "Felt like it. Felt like something was missing. The vibe. The momentum."

She sighs and sets the pen down. "All the more reason why we need to keep our distance. What do you want to focus on in today’s session?"

"Mental reset. I need to clear the noise. The pressure’s building and I can feel it stacking. We’ve had a couple wins, yeah, but that last game? It’s proof I’m not bulletproof."

Nina’s eyes soften just slightly. "Nobody expects you to be bulletproof, Alex. But I get it. Let’s work through it."

I nod slowly. "Good. Because I need to find my edge again. And I need it soon."

Nina studies me for a beat, then slides her notes aside. "Okay. Let’s isolate it. You said you felt off during the last game. Start there."

"My timing was trash. Reaction time was a breath late, especially in the third. I saw the play forming but couldn’t execute. Like my head was underwater."

"So what are you usually tapping into, when you're sharp?"

"Instinct," I say without hesitation. "That split-second read, the quiet in the chaos."

She nods. "Let’s rebuild that. Not with breathing. Not with drills. But with memory. Walk me through your cleanest game this season, start to finish. Visuals, emotion, mindset."

It catches me off guard. No Zen crap. Just a rewind.

I close my eyes for a second. "It was against Boston. I felt like I could see the ice three seconds ahead of everyone. My body moved before my brain. It was all rhythm. Clean. Tight. My defense trusted me, and I trusted them."

"That’s it," she says. "That’s what we lock into. Not the mechanics. The trust. The rhythm. That's your edge. You already have the mechanics in your muscle memory."

And I feel it. That shift. Like something just snapped back into place. I nod, more to myself than to her. "Thanks," I say, voice quiet but firm. "That helped. I needed it."

“You're quite welcome. Now, we have the Life Spark Kids event tonight,” she says. “Public appearances. There will be media, sponsors, families. We need to be on the same page. And Karen from HR will be there. She's watching me, Alex.”

I arch a brow. “Karen from HR’s got more power than the league commissioner and a personality that can fit on my pinky nail. She once reported me for using sarcasm too aggressively.”

Nina groans. “Of course she did.”

“Try to behave, Chadwick.”

I open the door and glance back at her. “No promises.”

Her pen pauses mid-note.

I let the door close behind me.

***

The Life Spark facility is buzzing. It’s not just a charity event; it feels like a damn gala had a baby with a sports bar and raised it in a community center. Banners hang overhead, kids in Acers jerseys run around with plastic hockey sticks, and every single reporter in Detroit apparently got the memo.

I spot Coach Stephens near the front, wearing a suit that somehow makes him look even more intimidating. His arm is around Lizzie, who’s dressed in a sleek navy dress that screams corporate elegance and gives off the vibe of someone who absolutely handles business.

Connor is with Haley in the corner talking to a crowd of teen boys like he’s hosting a masterclass in cool. James is already taking selfies with a group of kids and flexing like a cartoon character.

Then I see her.

Nina.

Hair pinned up with a few pieces falling around her face, she is wearing a black dress that hugs her waist just right, and heels that should be illegal in a building full of kids running around like caffeinated squirrels.

She’s talking to one of the sponsors, looking confident and sexy as hell.

I can’t look away.

She catches me watching and holds my gaze for a second too long before turning back to the conversation. I let out a breath and grab a bottle of water off the drink table.

Ethan shows up beside me. "Dude," he says, grinning, "you’re not even blinking. Should I throw water on you or let you combust in silence?"

I glance at him. "Mind your business."

"You’ve got that ‘Nina’s talking and I’m spiraling’ face."

"I don’t have a face."

"You have a face, man. And it’s all, ‘Hot Doc just reinvented oxygen.’"

I snort. "Fuck off, you wouldn’t know a real look if it checked you into the boards and bought you dinner after."

Ethan laughs, hands up. "Alright, alright. Just saying, if looks could undress, we’d all be breaking HR protocol."

Lizzie taps the mic at the front of the room and smiles. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d please make your way to your seats, dinner is about to be served."

While dinner is being served, the mayor steps up to the microphone and delivers a short speech about community support, the future of Detroit’s youth, and the importance of collaboration between private and public organizations. After a round of applause, he turns toward Coach and Lizzie.

“Now, I’d like to invite Coach Derek Stephens and Lizzie Barnes to say a few words.”

Coach steps up to the podium with Lizzie beside him. The room hushes. Derek clears his throat, gives one of those speeches that sounds like it wasn’t written down but somehow hits every beat. He talks about how Life Spark Kids isn’t just a facility, but a lifeline, about giving kids the support and opportunity they deserve.

Lizzie follows with a few words that are sharp and sincere. You can tell this project matters to her...to both of them.

Connor steps up next and talks about mentorship, how he wishes he had a place like this growing up—somewhere safe to be a kid, to dream, to play without fear. He gets a little choked up, but pushes through, earning a wave of applause. "This place," he says, "is the kind of start that changes everything."

Then James slides in, grinning like a man with no plan. "Alright, confession time," he says, grabbing the mic. "Parker over there once tried to get out of a team Halloween party because he was 'allergic to latex'...and by latex, he meant balloons. True story."

Parker covers his face in mock embarrassment while the kids snort with laughter.

"Anyway," James continues, turning slightly serious, "places like this matter. You don’t always get to choose the hand you’re dealt, but places like this? They help you learn how to play it like a pro."

The kids cheer. The adults do too. And for just a moment, everyone feels like they’re on the same team.

Derek returns to the microphone, his tone warm but commanding. "And now, I’d like to introduce someone who’s become a major asset to our team. She’s the person who makes sure our guys are mentally tougher than they look and emotionally sharper than their slap shots. Please welcome, Dr. Nina Erwin."

Then it’s Nina’s turn.

She walks up to the mic, and the room quiets. Her voice is steady, calm, and commanding without being loud.

“Mindset is everything,” she starts. “It’s not about being the fastest or the strongest. It’s about being the most focused. The most adaptable. The most determined.”

She glances at the Acers players in the front. Her eyes skim over me, just for a second.

“I’ve worked with a lot of athletes. Champions. But do you know what sets them apart? It’s not talent. It’s belief. Belief that they can rise after every fall. That they can outwork doubt, outlast pressure, and still show up with heart.”

A few parents nod. One kid claps. She smiles.

“You don’t have to be a professional athlete to think like one. You just have to decide that nothing is going to break you.”

She steps back from the mic. Thunderous applause.

I don’t clap right away. Because I’m too damn busy staring.

That woman is not just the team therapist.

That’s someone I want in my corner...and in my bed.

Nina steps down and the kids swarm her. She laughs, crouching to take a photo with two of them. She’s glowing, but it’s not the dress or the lighting.

It’s her.

I walk over, grab a drink off the table, and hand it to her when she finally breaks away from the crowd.

“You crushed that,” I say.

“Thanks.” She pushes her hair off her shoulders. “It was either that or black out and let James take over.”

“Would’ve been chaos. Probably a TikTok trend by now.”

She smiles. “I’m glad it wasn’t.”

As we approach our table, James nudges Ethan. “She’s good. Still wouldn’t want to do yoga with her. Feels like she’d make you cry with one stretch.”

Ethan snorts. “Only stretch he’s cried from was slipping in the locker room that one time.”

Nina smirks. “Sounds like you boys need tougher cores.”

James groans. “Great. Now I’ve got core trauma.”

I interject. "Who knew you could make mindfulness sound like a war speech?”

She raises a brow. “Maybe you should try listening next time you’re melting down in the crease.”

Flirty banter fires across the space like a puck. Our chemistry is not just back, it’s glowing hot beneath the surface.

Parker grins and offers Nina a high-five. “That was badass, Doc.”

James mock-bows. “Queen of Mind Games. All hail.”

I just keep looking at her like she’s the only thing in the room worth watching.

Because she is.

***

It was a great night all around. Derek handed out free game tickets to a huge Acers fan and his family, grinning as the kid shouted loud enough to echo through the rafters. A few local teachers received community awards, and Parker, unsurprisingly, was honored for logging the most volunteer hours with the Life Spark program last year.

"I’m taking that title next year," I said, bumping Parker’s shoulder as he tried to downplay the applause.

"You’re on, Chadwick," he smirked. "Better start logging hours now."

I grinned. Game on.

I’m sitting in my truck, parked in the dark outside my house, engine off but keys still in the ignition. Streetlight filters through the windshield in long beams, and I haven’t moved in ten minutes. I should get out. I should go inside. But I can’t.

Because I’m still seeing her.

Nina. Standing at the mic, composed as hell in front of a crowd full of people, laying down truth like it was gospel. Calm. Fierce. Focused. God, she owned the damn room. Not just with her words, but with the way she carried herself—shoulders back, chin lifted, like she knew exactly who she was.

And maybe that’s the part I can’t shake.

It’s not just attraction anymore. It’s not just the kiss. It’s the fact that she’s… more. She’s the voice in my head when I need clarity. The anchor when I’m spiraling. The reason I’m even thinking clearly enough to have a shot at getting my edge back.

And she doesn’t even realize it.

I rub a hand across my jaw and let my head fall back against the headrest. I’m in deep, way deeper than I meant to be.

She told me we had to reset. Be teammates in the mental game. Nothing more. And I agreed.

Out loud.

But in my chest? In the space where all the noise quiets down and the truth lives?

There’s no reset.

There’s just her.

And this gnawing feeling that if this is what staying away looks like…

I’m not sure I’m strong enough to keep doing it.