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Chapter twenty-three

Nina

I open the email for the third time, as if the words will have changed since I last read them.

Subject: Official Offer – Senior Mental Performance Consultant, NHL League Office

It’s everything I’ve ever worked for and the kind of position that makes careers. National oversight, a staff of my own, league-wide influence. Honestly, there’s even a relocation package and a feature spot in The Athletic’s off-season mental health roundtable.

But all I can think about is how my hands feel heavier than the words on the screen.

I should be celebrating. I should be dancing in my kitchen, popping a bottle of something cold and overpriced, calling my parents to say, Look, I made it.

Instead, I stare at my phone. No messages. No new texts. No Alex.

Except… he’s in my head anyway. His voice, low and ragged. "I’m not letting you go. Not again."

I close the laptop. Push it aside. Then grab my phone and hit Patty’s name before I can talk myself out of it.

She picks up on the second ring. "If this isn’t brunch plans, it better involve scandal or shopping."

"What if it’s both?"

"Now you have my attention. Spill."

I exhale, already regretting this. "Okay, but you have to swear you won’t say anything to anyone."

"Cross my heart."

"The NHL offered me a job. Big job. League-wide consultant. New York based. Top-tier position."

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a high-pitched squeal. "WHAT? Nina! That’s incredible! That’s, like… elite. Legendary. And very bougie."

"I know."

"So why do you sound like you just got sentenced to jury duty?"

I fall back on the couch, covering my face with one hand. "Because I haven’t told Alex. And also... we slept together at the retreat."

Another long pause.

"Wait— what? "

"It just… happened. And it wasn’t just sex. It was—"

"Real." Patty finished my sentence.

"Yeah. Real. And now I feel like the world’s dumbest mental health professional because I broke every boundary I set for myself and I can’t stop thinking about him."

Patty lets out a slow, knowing breath. "Well, shit."

"Yup."

"Okay, but wait—back up. When you say 'slept together,' are we talking steamy cabin hookup or full-on romantic movie montage vibes?"

I groan. "It was... steamy. And intense. And soft. And then he told me he wasn’t letting me go and now I want to either cry or jump him again, and instead I’m sitting here hiding a job offer from him like a total coward."

"Damn. That’s serious."

"I haven’t told anyone. Not even my parents."

"Why not? They’d be proud of you, wouldn’t they?"

"Maybe for the job. Definitely not for Alex. They wouldn’t approve of me getting involved with a player. My dad has this thing he always says, ‘Don’t shit where you eat.’"

"Charming."

"Yeah. And every time I think about telling them, I hear that voice in my head like I’ve already disappointed them."

"Nina," she says, softer now. "You’re allowed to want something for yourself. You don’t need permission to follow your heart. Or your career. But you do need to stop carrying it all alone."

"What if I tell Alex and he thinks I’m just bailing?"

"You’re not. You’re weighing the future. That’s called being a grown-up."

"Feels more like self-inflicted emotional surgery."

"Then you need stitches, not silence."

"There’s more," I admit. "I’m getting honored next week at the American Sports Psychological Association dinner for my work with the team and the military. All of it."

"Nina! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s amazing. That’s huge."

"Because I didn’t want it to feel like bragging."

"It’s not bragging if you earned it. You’ve worked your ass off. You deserve to be seen."

"Maybe. I want you to come as my guest."

"No maybe. You are doing something meaningful. And I think it’s time you let your parents see that, too. Invite them. Invite Coach Derek. I’ll be there. I’ll even wear sequins if it helps the celebration."

"You in sequins is a threat and a promise."

"Damn right."

We both laugh and it feels good.

"Seriously," she says. "Let people celebrate you. Stop hiding. And maybe stop waiting for everything to be perfect before you let anyone in."

My smile fades just a little. Because she’s right. And because I don’t know how to fix this.

"I wish I could talk to Alex without everything feeling like a choice. Him or the job. The team or my future. I just want to be honest without feeling like it’s going to blow up everything."

"You can. It just might hurt. But if it’s real—if it’s worth it—he’ll want to find a way."

I nod, even though she can’t see me. "I don’t want to leave. But this offer... it’s not going to come again."

"Then maybe the question isn’t about staying or leaving," she says. "It’s about what version of your life you want to fight for. The safe one, or the real one."

After we hang up, I sit for a while. Just me, the laptop, and the unsent reply that might change everything.

I decide I’ll speak to Coach Stephens when I get into the office. Not about Alex. Not yet. But about the dinner. The honor. The one thing I’m actually proud to share.

He and Lizzie have been supportive, steady presences from day one. And if there’s anyone who deserves a front row seat to the reason I’m being recognized, it’s them.

Coach might not know every detail of what I’ve done behind the scenes, but he’s trusted me to do it. That matters.

It’s one small step forward toward being seen. Toward not hiding.

***

When I get to the office, Coach is already there, scribbling something on the whiteboard in the conference room. He’s in game-prep mode—focused, clipped, sharp.

I linger in the doorway for a second. He glances over, expression softening just a bit when he sees me.

“Nina,” he says. “You need something?”

“Can I steal you for a minute?”

He caps the marker and waves me in.

I close the door behind me. “This isn’t a crisis. Just… something I wanted to share.”

His brows lift. “That’s either a good setup or a terrible one.”

I laugh. “Good, I hope. I’m being honored at the American Sports Psychological Association dinner next week for the work I’ve done with the team, and the military before that.”

His eyes widen. “That’s incredible, Nina. Well deserved.”

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly nervous. “And I’d really like you and Lizzie to come as my guests. Luckily, it's not a game night.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then he nods. “We’d be honored. Lizzie especially—she thinks the world of you. We both do.”

That brings a genuine smile to my face. “Thank you. It would mean a lot to have you both there.”

He studies me for a second. “You okay? You don’t look as happy as you should, given that kind of news.”

I falter. “Honestly? I don’t know. There’s a lot happening. Good things. Complicated things.”

He nods like he understands more than he’s saying. “You’ve been good for this team, Nina. They trust you. And, I trust you. This award is something to really celebrate! Whatever’s coming, you’ll navigate it. If you need help with anything, I'm here.”

His words sit heavy and kind in my chest.

“Thanks, Coach,” I say softly. “Really.”

I step out of the conference room, still thinking about his warm heartfelt comments. Back at my desk, I sit down slowly, staring at the screen without seeing it. There’s a weight in my chest that hasn't eased, even with the encouragement. I glance at my planner, the invitation email, and the open tabs I haven’t closed since last night. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I don’t type. Not yet. Not until I know what I want to say, or who I’m saying it to.

My phone buzzes.

Alex.

Missed seeing you today at practice. Thinking about you.

I stare at it. My fingers hover. But I don’t respond.

Instead, I open the email again and reread the offer.

Base salary. Signing bonus. Start date: June 1.

If I accept, I’ll be gone before the playoffs end.

Gone before I know if this thing with Alex could actually work.

Gone before I figure out if I’m brave enough to want both love and ambition.

I close the laptop.

Then I glance back at my phone. The message from Alex is still glowing softly on the screen.

I chew the inside of my cheek for a moment, then tap out a reply.

Same. Sorry I went dark. Swamped with a few things.

The reply bubbles pop up immediately.

Should I be worried? Or just assume you’re secretly plotting to hypnotize me with another vision board?

I smile despite myself.

You’d be lucky to make it onto my vision board, Chadwick.

Lucky? Please. I’m center square. Right between your dream kitchen and your private meditation garden.

You assume I don’t already have both.

Correction: I’m the dream kitchen.

I laugh, thumbs moving before I can stop myself.

Full of heat and occasionally smoking hot? Sounds about right.

You forgot well-used and fully loaded.

I pause, heartbeat tapping faster. Then I write:

Thanks for the message. It helped. Really.

He replies:

Always here. Just say when.

I set the phone down, stare at it.

God, why does this feel like choosing between two halves of myself?

And why does it feel like no matter what I pick, I’ll lose something I can’t replace?

I’m standing at the edge of everything I’ve ever wanted. And I’ve never felt more alone.