Page 9

Chapter nine

Nina

I ’m not watching the game replay for the score. I’m watching for the moments in between—the body language, the bench energy, the subtle shift in team dynamics.

I pause the video on a slow-motion shot of the guys celebrating Connor’s third-period goal. There’s grins, helmet taps, arms tossed over shoulders. Even Alex, who’s usually composed to the point of being unreadable, cracks half a smile and glove-taps James.

They needed that win. More than that, they needed each other.

But one game doesn’t fix everything. I jot quick notes on a yellow pad:

Parker supporting Ethan mid-shift

James high-fiving like he’s throwing a party

Alex: more focused, less reactive

That quiet nod after visualization—brief, almost imperceptible. But real.

I let out a breath, tighten my ponytail, and grab my materials—fresh index cards, new markers, a whiteboard under my arm. I’ve got a plan for today, and it’s designed to dig just a little deeper.

Time to get to work.

They’re already there when I walk in, chairs in a loose semi-circle, water bottles at their feet. I can feel the nervous energy that comes whenever I pull them off the ice and into their heads.

James squints at the whiteboard I’m carrying. “Let me guess, today we’re drawing each other’s auras?”

Ethan wings a protein bar at him. “Yours would be pure chaos and hair gel.”

I chuckle. “Gentlemen.”

Parker offers a polite nod. “Hey, Doc.”

Alex slips in last, silent as always. He claims a seat in the far corner and his eyes...they’re on me.

“I know you’re all still riding high off that win,” I begin, pacing slowly across the room, “and you should be. You earned it. But great teams don’t just celebrate. They learn. So today, we’re debriefing.”

I write in bold across the whiteboard:

Mind Over Game: Debrief & Dig In

Then I clap once. Sharp, focused. “Let’s talk about that game. Mentally, what worked? What didn’t?”

James raises his hand like we’re in homeroom. “Visualization. I pictured Connor scoring, and boom, he delivered. I should start picturing myself with a girlfriend who's hot and totally into me.”

Ethan doesn’t miss a beat. “Try visualizing yourself not quoting your own stats on the date.”

Parker laughs. “I actually used the breathing stuff. Didn’t even notice until the second period.”

Connor adds, “We didn’t spiral after they scored. That’s new.”

I nod. “Exactly. We build on that.”

I hand out index cards and markers. “Today’s exercise: write down the biggest mental block you’ve faced this season. Something that’s gotten in your head. Your name stays on it because ownership matters. You can read it yourself or have me read it. Your call.”

James groans dramatically. “We win one game and suddenly we’re a book club.”

But they’re writing. One by one. Even Alex.

And that’s a win too.

When I collect the cards, James is the first to speak.

“My card says: ‘Fear of becoming irrelevant if I’m not the funny one.’”

He flashes a grin. “Yeah. Deep. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

Ethan mock-sniffs. “We’ll get you a plaque.”

But there’s a beat of real silence after. James shifts in his seat and adds, "Okay, real talk? I joke a lot because if I stop for too long, I start thinking too much, and that screws with my game more than any defender ever could."

Ethan goes next. “I wrote: ‘That I’ll screw up and let everyone down.’”

No punchline. No sarcasm. Just the truth. Parker gives his knee a quick pat. Respect.

Parker reads his next. “Trying to be strong for everyone, even when I’m not.”

James blurts, “Dude, you’re always strong.”

Parker shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

Connor clears his throat and holds up his card. “I get in my head about timing. Like, if I don’t make the perfect pass at the perfect second, it all goes to hell.”

James snorts. “Sounds like your love life.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “At least I have one.”

I nod. “Connor, that’s a weight no one can sustain alone.”

Dillon speaks up next. “Scared to speak up in meetings. Like I haven’t earned it yet.”

James: “Bro, you literally blocked two shots with your face last week. You’ve earned it.”

"Thanks, man." Dillon smiles and exhales loudly.

Mikey, quieter than most, lifts his card with two fingers. “Wrote that I don’t belong. Like maybe the call-up was a mistake.”

A small wave of heads shake.

James mutters, “Call-up my ass. You got grit.”

Connor adds with a smirk, “Yeah, and you hustle harder than half the guys who’ve been here for years. Except James. He just hustles women on Instagram.”

"Good one, Jessup," Parker smirks.

Finally, all eyes shift to Alex.

He doesn’t hand me the card. He just says it aloud. Voice even. No frills.

“Losing the edge. Not knowing if it’s a slump… or something else.”

There’s a stretch of quiet.

Connor leans forward, glancing toward Alex. "It's not your slump, dude, it's the team's slump. You’ve still got it, man. We all see it."

Parker nods. "Every damn practice, every game you perform. Doesn’t go unnoticed."

James shrugs, then softens. "If you ever actually lose the edge, we’ll be the first to drag your ass back. No way we’re letting you off that easy."

James places a dramatic hand over his chest. "Hey Dr. Nina, is this the time where we all hold hands and sing Kumbaya?"

Ethan snorts. "Only if James gets to be the soprano."

Dillon chimes in. "Can we skip the song and just roast James instead? That always lifts morale."

James grins. "Jealousy is an ugly look, boys. Not everyone can juggle inner peace and top-shelf sarcasm like me." The room cracks up, and even Alex lets out a subtle exhale that might almost pass as a laugh.

"At least when I lose my edge, I don’t trip over the blue line and faceplant during a pre-game skate like James did... in front of the entire youth clinic," he says, deadpan. The room explodes. James hurls a protein bar at him with a muttered, "Those kids needed a lesson in humility!"

“And speaking of needing a lesson in humility, I’m thinking of getting your ego fitted for a helmet. Full face shield. It’s a safety issue at this point,” Alex says, deadpan, with a grin that says checkmate.

“Low blow, but fair,” James replies, grinning.

The room laughs, the tension diffused but the sentiment lingering.

I smile and bring the conversation back. “That’s the point. These aren’t weaknesses. They’re signals. Places to strengthen. Things to notice in yourselves, and in each other.”

James raises a hand again. “Follow-up question: are we gonna be graded? Because I feel like I crushed that one.”

Ethan elbows him. “She said own it, not audition for Oprah .”

James throws his hands up. “I’m just trying to get extra credit, man.”

As the room unwinds with banter, I scan the cards again.

All of these confessions. Each one a thread.

I catch Alex watching me, not suspiciously. Just… watching. Listening. Still behind walls, but no longer behind closed doors.

“Alright,” I say, stepping forward with a smile. “You’ve survived round one. Let’s move on to something a little more… chaotic.”

I pull out the next set of supplies, noise-canceling headphones. Their collective groans fill the air.

They all turn curious and skeptical as I explain the drill.

“Break out into twos. One of you will wear these,” I hold up the headphones, “while your partner has to describe a basic play using only hand gestures. You’ll guess the play.”

Chaos ensues almost instantly.

James and Parker pair up. James puts on the headphones and immediately starts dancing in his chair.

Parker throws up jazz hands. “Are you... summoning spirits?” James yells.

“No! I’m calling a line change!” Parker gestures more wildly.

“I swear you’re doing the Macarena!” James shouts.

Ethan and Mikey are equally disastrous.

Ethan mimes what looks like swimming.

Mikey shouts, “Penalty kill?”

“Faceoff!” Ethan yells.

“It looks like interpretive dance,” James calls from across the room.

“Mine’s performance art,” Ethan says proudly.

Eventually, even Alex joins in—he and Connor work surprisingly well together. It’s subtle, efficient, minimal confusion. Connor guesses it right in under ten seconds.

“You’re both freaks,” James mutters. “That’s not normal.”

I let the laughter continue a minute longer before calling them back together.

“That,” I say, “was ridiculous and also exactly the point.”

They quiet a bit, still grinning.

“Think about how many breakdowns happen, not because of lack of skill, but because we think we know what someone else is saying… and we don’t.”

Nods all around.

I gesture to the whiteboard one last time. “Let’s wrap with one thing you learned about a teammate today or just in general, something you learned.”

James: “I learned Parker has trust issues—and killer miming skills.”

Ethan: “I learned James might actually have a soul.”

Parker: “I learned I don’t always have to be the rock.”

Alex’s voice comes, quiet but clear. “This was less dumb than I expected.”

The room laughs.

I make eye contact with him. He doesn’t look away.

Progress.

As the players begin to file out, Alex lingers just half a second longer than necessary.

No words. Just that pause, like he’s thinking about saying something. But doesn’t. And then he hits me with a look—flirty, smirking, and hot enough to make me forget my own name for a second. It’s the kind of look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And, I’m trying like hell not to show that my stomach just did a full gymnastics routine and my brain forgot how blinking works.

***

Back in my office, I settle behind my desk and flip open my notebook. I jot quick notes, each player’s name followed by one word—an emotional snapshot of today’s breakthrough.

James: vulnerable. Ethan: grounded. Parker: open.

Alex: silent, but engaged. Pushing back less. Still guarded, but aware.

The guys are starting to buy in.

Most are starting to talk through the jokes and everyone’s listening. That’s step one.

I stare at Alex’s name a moment longer.

If the team’s beginning to trust me… will he let himself?