Page 15

Chapter fifteen

Nina

C oach Derek Stephens is already pacing when I step into his office. The blinds are half-drawn, and a shaft of morning sun is cutting across the room like a spotlight. He’s got his hands folded behind his back, lips pressed into a line, expression serious.

"Morning," I say, careful to keep my voice light.

He stops pacing, nods, gestures to the chair across from his desk. "Thanks for coming in early."

I sit. "You sounded serious. Everything alright?"

"Not bad. Not good. Just... in between."

He plants himself in the chair behind his desk and leans forward, elbows resting on the worn wood. "Let’s talk about the team."

I nod, pulling my notepad from my bag. "Sure. Where do you want to start?"

"Let’s start with the obvious. Last few games… three wins, one loss. Energy’s decent. Locker room’s a little quiet, but not toxic. And yet... something feels off."

He’s watching me, and not just as a coach assessing his team psychologist. He’s looking for something beneath the surface. I keep my posture steady.

"Agreed," I say. "The win in Buffalo was solid. They moved like a unit. But the loss at home... I don’t think it was about strategy."

He squints slightly, cocking his head. "What do you think went wrong out there? What felt off to you?"

"It felt emotional. Reaction times were slow. Frustration showed faster. Players weren’t syncing. There’s a gap in trust, not wide, but enough to trip up momentum."

He nods slowly. "Any idea where it’s coming from?"

"Part of it is pressure. They’re talking playoffs, even if no one’s saying it outright. And pressure hits different depending on the player."

He rubs his chin. "Who’s struggling the most?"

I hesitate. Then I say, "Alex."

His eyes narrow slightly, not in judgment, just focus. "He’s quieter."

"Yes."

"He’s also been better. Sharper the three games before the last one, especially the one in Boston. That game was his cleanest this season. But he’s carrying something."

I exhale. "He’s internalizing more than he lets on."

Coach leans back, studying me. "I know that look. You’re protecting him."

"I’m observing," I say carefully.

He doesn’t call me out, doesn’t press. Instead, he moves on. "Let’s talk about the rest. James?"

"Vocal as ever, but using humor to deflect more. I’m trying to dig under it."

"Ethan?"

"Stable. Focused. Low maintenance, surprisingly."

"Parker?"

"Carrying more than he says. But he’s a pillar for the younger guys. That makes a difference."

Coach nods slowly, tapping his fingers on the desk. "You’ve done good work, Nina. I see it."

The compliment catches me off guard. "Thank you. That means a lot," I say.

"So what do you have in mind to get these guys to the playoffs in the right frame of mind? I have a plan with the trainers for their physical readiness. Do you have a plan?"

"Actually, I do," I say, flipping to a fresh page in my notebook. "I’d like to propose something unconventional but potentially powerful. During our upcoming bye week, I’d like to organize a short team retreat. One to two days max. There’s an inn about thirty minutes outside Detroit. Private, quiet, rustic but still comfortable."

Derek lifts his chin, listening.

"It’s close enough not to disrupt logistics, but far enough to give the guys a break from the facility, the routine, the noise. The inn has open space for movement-based drills, breakout rooms for small group discussions, and a few outdoor elements like a fire pit, nature trails, etc."

He crosses his arms, interested. "What kind of activities are we talking?"

"Mindset-centered," I say. "Reflection exercises, controlled conflict resolution games, team trust-building work. I’d also like to include competitive off-ice games, fun stuff that still taps into group dynamics. There’s a lot to be said for what men share over that kind of stuff.”

He snorts. "You trying to get them to cry in the woods like summer camp?"

"Not cry. Connect. Remember what it feels like to rely on each other for something outside the rink. And more importantly, what it feels like to win as a unit, no matter the arena."

He nods slowly. "Logistics might be a nightmare, but... damn, I like it. Submit the proposal officially and loop in ops. If we can make it work, we do it."

I grin. "I’ll get started right away."

"Great. And Nina, be careful," he says, voice softer now. "Not because you’re doing something wrong. Because sometimes... proximity gets messy."

My spine stiffens, but I keep my face neutral. "Are we still talking about the team?"

"We’re talking about you. And Alex."

I don’t answer right away.

He sighs. "I’ve been doing this a long time, Nina. I see things. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’ve watched that guy play a hundred games like he was chasing ghosts. Then after a few sessions with you? He calms. He clears."

I look down at my notebook. "That’s the job."

"And I believe you’re doing it well. But I also know that look in your eyes, and his. I had it once too, with Lizzie."

I glance up. "Really?"

He nods, slow and reflective. "Ten years ago, we were fire and oil. She was driven, brilliant, and a little scary. I loved her anyway. But I chose hockey first."

I sit quietly, sensing more is coming.

"When she came to Detroit and I saw her again, I knew. I’d made the wrong call. Took me years, but we figured it out."

His voice is steady, but the weight behind it hits me. I don’t ask for details. He doesn’t offer them. We sit in the quiet for a beat.

I swallow hard. "There is something there," I say, the words tasting like a confession. "Between me and Alex. I'm trying to keep it at bay for the sake of the team, my job, everything. And because Karen from HR has made it clear she's watching me like a hawk."

Coach doesn’t flinch. He just listens.

"I’ve set boundaries," I add, more defensively than I mean to. "I’ve been clear with him. Professional only. No lines crossed. Not again."

He nods, still quiet. But his silence feels like understanding, not judgment.

"I’m not judging you," he says. "I just want you to be smart. Because if this thing with Alex... if it’s real? You owe it to yourself to figure it out the right way."

I nod, throat tight. "Like I said, I’ve set boundaries."

"Good. Keep them. But don’t lie to yourself. That’ll mess you up worse than any scandal."

A silence stretches between us again, comfortable this time.

"He respects you," Coach adds. "More than you probably realize."

That settles something in me, even as it stirs something else.

"Thank you. In my profession, that's so important."

Coach gives a small smile. "Just make sure you don’t lose a good thing—whatever it turns out to be—because you were too scared to admit it existed."

My chest tightens. "Noted."

He glances at his watch. "Meeting in ten with the analytics team. You good?"

"Yeah," I say, standing. "Thanks, Coach."

"Nina?"

I pause at the door.

"You’ve got one hell of a poker face," he says. "But you’re not fooling me."

I manage a smile. "Damn. I was hoping to be the next Vegas champ."

He chuckles. "Get out of here."

As I leave his office, my mind races with everything we didn’t say out loud. I’ve spent years helping athletes find clarity.

Now it’s my turn to figure out where I stand, and whether the boundaries I drew are protecting me, or keeping me from something real.

Whatever happens next... it’s time to own it.