Page 16

Chapter sixteen

Alex

"M ove your feet, Henderson! This isn't a Sunday skate!" Coach Stephens barks from center ice, his whistle slicing through the rink like a sniper shot.

James huffs past me, gliding into a transition drill that looks more like a drunken figure-eight than a power turn. "This is cruel and unusual punishment! Where’s the Players’ Union when you need ‘em?"

"Try moving your feet faster , and maybe you won’t need a union rep," I call back, smirking.

I feel good this morning. Not just physically, though my legs are fresh and my glove hand’s sharp…but mentally. Clear. Locked in. Nina’s reset from yesterday worked. Whatever flipped back on, I’ve got my edge again.

Coach blows the whistle twice and waves us in. We circle around him, sweat steaming off our gear in clouds.

"Good start. Now we crank it. Odd-man rushes. Two-on-ones. And we’re doing it full-speed. No coasting, no guessing. Read. React. Execute. Got it?"

A rumble of affirmatives echoes around the ice.

Then he turns toward the bench. "Doc, you’re up."

Heads swivel.

Nina steps onto the ice like she’s been doing it her whole life, clipboard tucked under one arm, laces neatly tied. No helmet—just confidence. The kind that wraps around you without needing to raise its voice.

"We’re layering in mental triggers," she says, her voice steady but loud enough to carry. "You’ll run the drills as Coach outlined. But I’m calling out single words during each rep. Your job is to link that word to your movement. No overthinking. Just feel it."

James raises a glove. "Is this some Jedi mind trick?"

"If it works, I’ll expect a lightsaber by Monday," she deadpans.

A few guys laugh. Even Coach cracks a grin. But as soon as the next whistle blows, it’s all business.

The drill starts.

"Reset!" Nina calls.

I shift instantly. My brain snaps to attention, syncing with the rhythm of my blades against the ice. Reset. Let go of the last play. Eyes forward.

Ethan barrels down the boards, but I track him clean. No hesitation.

"Trust!" she shouts.

I drop into position, trusting my defenseman to cut off the angle. The puck ricochets into my pads. Easy clear.

"Breathe!"

This time it’s James streaking in, looking cocky. I time my movement with a steady inhale, read his hips, and see the fake coming.

Kick save.

Drill after drill, the words keep coming.

"Anchor. Vision. Control. React."

And somehow, I’m not thinking. I’m doing.

The words become part of the flow. Nina’s voice is a steady, grounding rhythm. A metronome in the chaos.

Around me, the guys start buying in. Connor nails a breakaway. Parker cuts sharper, faster. Even Dillon looks like he’s stopped thinking and is just playing.

"Okay, I’m slightly terrified but mostly impressed," James mutters as we line up for another rep.

"That’s called growth," Ethan says, clapping him on the back.

Practice wraps with a full-speed scrimmage. Lines crisp. Transitions tight. Energy up. Coach’s whistle finally sounds three sharp blasts.

"Hell of a skate," he says, nodding to all of us. Then he turns to Nina. "And nice work, Doc. That was a solid contribution."

She smiles, just slightly. "Glad it helped."

Hell, it changed the whole pace.

As we skate off, I slow near the bench, letting my glove tap the boards once. Her eyes glance to me for half a second. And yeah, I catch the chemistry. I know she feels it too.

I don’t say a word.

Not yet.

But I’m coming for that wall she keeps trying to build. And she knows it.

She’s kneeling beside the boards after practice, picking up her clipboard and markers when I corner her.

"Hey," I say, voice low, deliberate.

She looks up, startled. "Alex."

"Nice work out there today," I say, nodding toward the now-empty ice. "Didn’t know you had those kinds of moves on skates. Color me impressed."

She smirks, steady on her skates. "Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

"Almost? C’mon, give a guy some credit. I don’t hand those out often. Especially not to someone who nearly made James believe in Jedi mind tricks."

"That was his word, not mine. Though I won’t lie, watching him actually focus for once felt like a win."

"You ever use that drill on anyone besides hockey players? Military guys? Navy SEALs? Or do we just get the deluxe psychological takedown package?"

She snorts. "You guys are definitely not Navy SEAL material. Too mouthy."

"Mouthy’s underrated. Keeps things interesting."

"Too much talking and not enough listening gets you benched."

"You thinking of benching me, Doc?" I ask, voice dropping half an octave.

"I think you need to cool it."

"I think you need to admit I’m your favorite case study."

"You’re definitely the most distracting."

"And the most charming."

"That’s debatable."

"Not for long. I grow on people."

She shakes her head with a soft laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You’re exhausting."

"Yet here you are. Still talking to me."

"I’m trying to do my job."

"So am I."

"Your job is to stop pucks. Not flirt with your sports psychologist."

"You’re not just my sports psychologist."

She freezes for half a second.

"You’re part of the team," I continue, smooth. "Which means you’re stuck with me."

She presses her lips together like she wants to argue. But doesn’t.

I let the silence settle before hitting her with a real question. "What do you do when none of it works? When the words, the prep, the game plan all fall apart?"

She straightens, eyes searching mine. "Then you trust the process. You trust that what you’ve built will hold long enough to find your way back. Kind of like muscle memory."

I let that hang in the air for a second, then smirk. "You ever think maybe you need to trust the process too?"

She stiffens. "What do you mean?"

I step closer, just enough for the space to hum between us. "All those rules you keep quoting… boundaries and lines? They’re not gonna hold."

Her jaw tightens. "Alex..."

"You want me, Doc," I say, voice low and rough. "You just don’t want to want me. But it’s already happening."

She crosses her arms, the clipboard now clutched like a shield. "This can’t happen."

"Doesn’t mean it’s not going to."

"It’s not professional."

"Neither is kissing me in an elevator. But that happened too."

Her eyes flash. "We agreed to move on."

"No," I say, voice like steel. "You decided that. I just didn’t fight you on it...yet."

She exhales slowly, trying to keep her composure. "Alex, we can’t."

I lean in, close enough to smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. "Can’t and won’t are two different games. And I’m really good at winning. Because can't means there's still room for maybe, and won't just means I haven't convinced you yet."

"You're impossible."

She swallows hard. Then, without another word, she walks away awkwardly on her skates and doesn't look back.

I don’t stop her. Not this time.

But I watch her go, every step a confirmation that I’m right.

She’s now building walls.

And I’m just the guy who knows how to get around them.