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Chapter 1

AMBER

The first day at a new job is always stressful, but today I’m nervous for all the wrong reasons.

I walk into the Jefferson Blades facility with my supervisor, Dr. Marcus Stone, by my side ready to begin our assignment as mental performance coaches for the minor league hockey team, The Blades. I try to keep my shoulders back, looking as authoritative as possible. It’s always hard to get male players to take me seriously, and I want to present a professional front.

“Dr. Morrison? Dr. Stone?” A friendly-looking man with broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair walks up to us and extends his hand. “I’m Coach Green. Welcome to the Blades!”

“Thank you.” I shake his hand firmly. “We’re happy to be here.”

“I heard the Blades had a disappointing last season,” Dr. Stone begins. He starts asking Coach Green about the team while I size them up. But I barely get the chance to start analyzing their body language before number 17 skates by and my heart trips in my chest.

Colt . That’s what the back of his jersey says. The same name as my high school boyfriend, the hockey star who broke my heart ten years ago. I remind myself that the roster said this guy’s first name was Zack, not Harrison, and try to pay attention to Dr. Stone and Coach Green’s conversation.

“The team’s been struggling with their mental game.” Coach Green rubs his chin thoughtfully. “They’re having confidence issues after losses, leading to penalties from hotheads when they overcompensate. We really need your expertise.”

Dr. Stone nods. “Sounds like we’ve got a challenge before us here. Let’s meet the team.”

“Guys! Over here!” Coach Green calls the players over to where we stand behind the boards. “Meet the new members of our coaching team. Dr. Stone and Dr. Morrison are psychologists, and they’re going to help us improve our team’s mental fortitude.”

A few of the guys take off their helmets to get a better look at us, including number 17. My fingers dig into the edges of my tablet, desperate for something solid to cling to when I see his face.

He’s older now, with a faint scruff covering his square jaw. And harder, somehow. His narrowed eyes and the set of his shoulders makes me think that he’s extremely closed-off. But I’d recognize him anywhere. Harrison Colt. Who apparently goes by Zack now.

Zack’s eyes lock onto mine, and for a split second, I swear I see a flicker of surprise. Then his jaw tightens, and I have to pretend my heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of my chest.

Suddenly I’m seventeen again, getting nervous around the boy I like. Except this time, I’m not nervous because I like him. I’m nervous because I almost ruined his life when he broke up with me. Maybe he’s forgiven me…

From the way he’s glaring at me, I don’t think our complicated history will be that easy to ignore.

“This is a waste of time,” Number 29 complains. I drop my gaze and skim the roster I have pulled up on my tablet – Blake Thompson. “We need more time on the ice, not some shrink getting in our heads.”

I glance back up and catch Zack’s knowing smirk. Anger bubbles up within me. "That smirk. The same one he used to flash when he teased me in the hallways. The same one I once loved—and then hated. I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s already under my skin.

I knew I was going to have a hard time getting them to take me seriously, but it seems I’ve really got my work cut out for me. I squeeze my lips together tightly, trying to keep any and all emotions off my face.

Coach Green holds up his hands, doing his best to keep the players from getting too rowdy.

“Guys, guys. I’m gonna be real with you – our last season was rough.” Some of the players scuff their skates on the ground, looking ashamed, while others stand up straighter and glare at him.

I make a mental note of who seems the most confident versus who seems more open to the idea of help. Zack just stands there, his grip on his stick shifts just slightly. And just like that, the smirk returns—the same cocky expression that used to make my heart race for all the right reasons. Now, it just makes me want to scream.

The coach continues. “Clearly the way we’ve been doing things isn’t working. That’s why we brought in some experts in the field of sports mental performance to consult with us.” He gestures to Dr. Stone who gives them a friendly wave. The best I can manage is a stiff nod. “Their time with us is limited, so don’t worry too much about them taking up your valuable time.”

“Just eight weeks of it,” Dr. Stone jokes. Coach Green is the only one who laughs.

“I promise you all, this mental performance coaching will not be a waste of time. So let’s promise not to waste their time either, okay? While they’re here, you treat them like any other member of the coaching staff. You respect their authority, and you keep an open mind. Got it?”

A few of the guys grunt in agreement. The rest recognize the conversation is over and skate away, their blades hissing over the ice.

“I think that went well,” Dr. Stone says, cheerful as ever.

“About as well as it could have.” Coach Green sighs, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “I know I’m glad the franchise sent you out here, but, unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the boys. It might take more time than you’ve got to get through to some of them.”

“I can already tell some of them will be resistant,” I add, my gaze skimming over the ice to Blake Thompson.

Even though I’m trying to avoid it, I can’t help but seek out Zack, too. He’s bigger now, broader. Stronger. He moves with complete control, effortless on the ice, like he was born to own it. Stunning.

He was always good, but now? He’s next level. The kind of player coaches dream about. The kind of player who probably never spares a thought for the girl he left behind.

Stop! What am I thinking?

Dr. Stone reaches into his bag, pulling out the folder where he keeps all the information we have on the players. He flips through some of the pages in the portfolio, scanning them with a practiced eye.

“I think we should start with individual evaluations, really get to know everyone, so we can tailor the coaching to each individual. Hopefully that will help ease them into the process, and we can gain their trust. When can we get started?”

“I can start pulling them one by one as soon as you’re settled into your office. I can show you the way there if you’re ready,” Coach Green offers.

“Yes, please.” Dr. Stone hikes his bag up higher on his shoulder. “Amber? Are you good to go?”

“I think I’d like to stay here a little longer. I want to observe the team dynamics and see how everyone works together.” The excuse tumbles out of me before I have the chance to think about it too much.

I’m not willing to admit the real reason I’m not ready to leave the rink just yet. Not to myself, and certainly not to Dr. Stone.

Dr. Stone nods. “Sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll get things set up, and you can join me when you’re ready. You can even choose who you want to have the first assessment, I’m sure they can show you the way to the office.”

“Perfect.” I already have my eye on number 3, a shy defenseman who had hung out at the back of the pack when Coach Green called the players over. I know from the few cases I have worked before that the quiet ones are more likely to open up in individual sessions, and I think he could be a good candidate to help us get to know the rest of the team as well. If I can get through to him, maybe the rest of the team will be easier to crack. Start with the quiet ones, and the louder ones will follow. At least, that’s the theory. Now, I just have to prove it works.

Dr. Stone and Coach Green start off for the office, exiting the rink. I find a seat in the stands where I can see most of the ice and settle in. I’m trying, really trying to keep my mind focused on my job and not on Zack, but memories of our past keep intruding.

A part of me is here with the Jefferson Blades, simply observing their practice, and a part of me is back in high school, wearing Zack’s jersey in the halls on game day and later screaming my lungs out with the crowd.

I’m paying attention to all of the players, looking at them with a critical eye, but I’m also remembering what it felt like to have eyes only for Zack, waiting for him outside the locker room after a game. The clatter of the sticks on the ice, the faint smell of sweat in the air, even the way the cold settles into me, it all takes me back to when I was sixteen and in love with Zack Colt.

I’m convinced that if I stay here long enough, staring at that 17 on his jersey, I’ll be able to get him out of my system. It’s exposure therapy; the more I look at him, the easier it will be to accept that he’s here and get back to business.

So what if I’m feeling overwhelmed…and surprised, taken aback, and maybe even a little intimidated. I’m an adult. I can handle this.

I set up my tablet on its stand and take notes on everything I notice. They’re taking practice shots at the goalie, and the differing reactions I see are very telling.

Number 3 – Donatello Rossi, I see on my roster – immediately slumps when his shot goes wide. This is in stark contrast to Blake, number 29, who slams his stick down on the ground in anger when the goalie manages to block him. Zack’s shot slips right between the goalie’s legs, scoring him a point, but he doesn’t celebrate, just skates around to the back of the line again.

Interesting . The psychologist part of my brain is whirring, already trying to put the puzzle pieces together to figure out what it might mean, so I decide it’s time to head back to join Dr. Stone.

I’ve been sitting here long enough that my fingers are too frozen to write any more, and I think I’ve just about come to terms with the fact that I’m going to be seeing my high school ex every day for the next two months. Two months. That’s all. I’ve worked with difficult athletes before, and Zack Colt is no different. I just have to stay professional, keep my distance, and not let him get under my skin.

I hope Zack is on the same page, or else things are going to get really complicated, really quickly.