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Chapter twenty-nine

Nina

I ’ve been pacing since five-thirty. Back and forth. Living room to kitchen. Kitchen to hallway. Every creaky board in this apartment knows my morning circuit. My coffee’s cold, my brain’s louder than the blender my neighbor uses at 6 a.m., and my stomach hasn’t decided if it wants toast or just to stay in knots forever.

I stare at the job offer email still sitting unopened at the top of my inbox.

The doorbell buzzes and I jump, sloshing my coffee a little as I pad barefoot across the floor to answer it.

Lizzie stands there in sweats and a faded college sweatshirt, holding an oversized latte like it’s her emotional support beverage.

"You’ve been up since dawn, haven’t you?" she says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

I lift my coffee. “Define ‘up.’”

She lifts her latte and takes a long sip, eyeing me over the rim. “We women only pace like that when we’re spiraling. Who pissed you off, the team or Tinder?”

I laugh despite myself. “Neither. Not exactly.”

She flops on the couch with a grunt, crossing her legs under her. “Spill it. No vague therapist metaphors. Just words.”

I sit across from her, coffee in hand like a shield. “The league offered me THE job. Officially. National role. Full department. Real title. And I don’t know what to do. After hearing your story with Derek at the retreat, I was hoping you could help me.”

Lizzie’s eyes widen. “Holy hell, Nina! That’s huge!”

“I know.”

She studies me. “So… why do you look like someone just offered you a lifetime supply of expired yogurt?”

I exhale. “Because I don’t know if I want it.”

Lizzie cocks her head. “Didn’t you tell me when we first met that this kind of job was the goal? The big seat at the big table?”

“I know,” I whisper.

“And you’re not thrilled because…?”

I pause, struggling for the words. “Because things changed. I changed. Detroit changed me. The Acers changed me.”

Her voice softens. “And there’s someone else, isn’t there?”

I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Alex.”

She blinks. “Chadwick? As in your star goalie Chadwick?”

“Exactly that Chadwick,” I say, watching her reaction.

Lizzie leans back. “Damn. You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

I huff out a breath. “It wasn’t planned. It just… happened. And now I’m trying to figure out how much of this offer is about career and how much is about leaving him.”

She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “So what’s really stopping you? Saying yes? Or saying no?”

I stare into my mug like it might offer answers. “It’s not just him. I mean—it is, but it’s not only him. It’s everything. This team, this city… I feel like I’ve built something. Something real. And if I leave now, I don’t know if it’s ambition or fear or just… running from the hard part.”

Lizzie is quiet for a beat. “Okay. Real talk?”

I nod.

She points at me. “You are one of the smartest, gutsiest women I know. You are also a world-class overthinker who sometimes confuses clarity with comfort. But I’ve watched you throw yourself into this job with your whole damn heart. You made those guys believe in something bigger than hockey. Girl, you made me believe in team culture.”

That makes me laugh.

She goes on, “So yeah, maybe this new opportunity was the goal. But goals change. And following your gut doesn’t mean selling out. It means trusting you’ll land somewhere better, even if it’s not the skyline you thought you’d be looking at.”

I nod slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “It feels like whatever I choose, something important gets left behind.”

Lizzie’s eyes go soft. “That’s adulthood, babe. Trade-offs and knowing there’s no perfect option. But here’s the good part: no matter what you pick, you’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”

I reach across the couch and squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Liz.”

She squeezes back. “Always. Now go shower. You look like anxiety personified.”

***

By the time I get to the team offices, my hair is brushed, my outfit is sharp, but my heart is still a mess.

Derek is reviewing game film on his screen when I knock on the open door.

He glances up. “Morning, Doc. That look says I should offer coffee.”

I smile weakly and hand over my folder of updated prep notes. “No caffeine can fix what I’ve got this morning.”

He nods toward the chair across from his desk. “Then sit and tell me what’s weighing on you.”

I hesitate, then drop into the seat. “I got a job offer. From the league office.”

His brow lifts, but his expression stays even. “The real deal?”

“Senior Director. National reach. Full team under me. All the bells and whistles.”

Derek leans back in his chair, tapping a pen against his knee. “Impressive.”

“But?” he adds, because of course he sees it.

“But I don’t know if I want it anymore.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

I take a deep breath. “Because I finally feel like I belong somewhere. Like I’m making a difference that matters. Not just consulting from a distance, but building something with real people, day by day.”

He watches me for a moment, then says quietly, “You know… I wasn’t sure you’d last.”

I blink. “Wow. Thanks.”

He chuckles. “I mean that in the least insulting way. I’ve worked with a lot of league psychs. Some are great. Most are polished. Diplomatic. Strategic. You walked in here with no filter, a mountain of notecards, and told my team they were mentally lazy.”

I grin. “I did do that.”

“And it worked. You didn’t try to be something you’re not. You didn’t hover in the shadows and email out your notes. You got in the grit with us. And now my guys talk about visualization like it’s gospel.”

Something tight in my chest loosens.

“You’re not a league puppet,” he adds. “You never were.”

I blink hard, swallowing emotion. “Thanks, Coach.”

He shrugs. “I’m not saying don’t take the job. It’s a damn good one. But sometimes the ladder you’re climbing doesn’t go where you think it does. Sometimes it just leads you away from where you were meant to be.”

I nod slowly. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

He stands, grabbing the folder. “Whatever you decide, you’ve earned my respect. And this team’s. That’s not going anywhere.”

I stand too, grateful beyond words.

As I turn to leave, he adds, “And Nina?”

I glance back.

“If you choose to stay, don’t do it just for the team. Or the guy. Do it for you.”

I pause at the door, turning back slightly. "You know about that?"

Derek gives a half-smile, not surprised. "You’ve both been subtle, but not that subtle. I know my players, and I know when one of them starts showing up early to mindset sessions and sticking around a little too long afterward."

My cheeks burn, but he holds my gaze, steady and kind.

"I haven’t told anyone official," I say quietly. "It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. And now it’s… complicated."

"That’s how the real stuff always starts," he says. "Messy. Unexpected. Worth it."

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head as I walk toward the door. "And here I thought we were being discreet. Busted by the coach."

Derek just smirks, already turning back to his screen. “Welcome to hockey. Nothing stays secret for long.”

The laugh that escapes me is small but real. And somehow, I feel better.

Still, as I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, the smile fades. Because clarity doesn’t mean the decision gets easier. It just means I know exactly what’s at stake.

***

The team facility pulses with quiet anticipation. Late afternoon sun pours through the high windows as I finish taping a few final visualization prompts to the whiteboard.

“Alright, gentlemen,” I call out, clapping my hands. “Two-minute reset drill. Phones away. Sit tall.”

The guys gather in their usual half-circle, some sitting on benches, some cross-legged on the floor. James yawns dramatically. Ethan mock-meditates with exaggerated humming.

“Lovelace,” I warn. “You hum like that during game prep and I’ll make you repeat this session in interpretive dance form.”

He mimes horror. “Not the dance!”

They settle. I scan the room.

Alex is there sitting against the wall, arms resting on his knees. Calm. Composed. A masterclass in control. But he doesn’t look at me.

Not once.

I launch into the drill. “Today’s focus is breathing into challenge. Visualize the moment when the pressure is highest—tie game, final minutes, no one in the stands is breathing. That’s your cue to slow everything down.”

They close their eyes. Some nod along. I lead them through breath work, mental rehearsals, emotional grounding. They’ve come a long way. I should feel proud.

But I can feel Alex’s distance like it’s a wall between us.

He’s here. Present. But not with me.

Again, is he guarding himself? Or giving me space?

The session ends. I stay back to tidy up the materials while the guys filter out toward the ice. I catch snatches of conversation…Ethan joking about pregame burritos, James trying to convince someone to let him DJ in the locker room.

Alex brushes past with a short nod.

That’s it.

No smile. No word. No hint of what we were just days ago.

I feel like I’m in a room full of people and somehow still alone.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the tasks in front of me—prep notes, hydration logs, the mental rotation board. But I move like I’m on autopilot because my thoughts are a million miles away.

When everything’s done, I slip out the side door.

My car is quiet. I sit in the driver’s seat, hands wrapped around my steering wheel, watching the last bit of daylight stretch out across the asphalt.

The silence is comforting and suffocating all at once.

My phone buzzes beside me.

LEAGUE OFFICE – FOLLOW-UP: Pending Decision.

I don’t open it.

Instead, I rest my head against the seat.

Everything in my chest feels tight again.

What do I want?

I want to lead. I want to help. I want my work to matter. And I want Alex.

And I’m terrified that wanting one thing means losing another.

He hasn’t pressured me. Not once. Not after the kiss. Not after the day at his place. Not even now.

He’s given me nothing but space.

Maybe he’s waiting for me to choose him.

But what if I already waited too long?

I close my eyes, my breath fogging up the window.

I used to think clarity came in silence, but right now it doesn’t.