Page 9

Chapter 9

ZACK

Something’s shifted. And I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

I walk into Amber’s office for my performance coaching session, and for the first time, it’s just the two of us. No Dr. Stone to act as a buffer. Just me, Amber, and my secrets.

It’s awkward at first. I keep trying to dodge her questions, and she finally sighs and says, “Look, Zack. I know this is a little weird. But I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got to work with me here.”

“I know.” I sigh too. “But it’s hard. The last time I opened up to you, I ended up gutted.”

Amber winces. “I thought that might be part of the problem. I think we should talk about it.”

I roll my eyes. “What is there to say? I broke up with you and you tried to ruin my life. It was ten years ago. I’m over it.” It’s easier for me to be honest with her when it’s just the two of us. I wouldn’t have been able to say any of that in front of Dr. Stone.

“First of all, you don’t seem very over it.” Amber’s face is starting to flush, the way it does when she gets angry. “Second, I didn’t try to ruin your life. You hurt me, and I wanted to show everyone the real you. It’s not my fault that some people didn’t like what that looked like.”

Now I’m starting to get mad, too. “You think that telling people the real me was a selfish, shallow, jerk was a good idea? That article nearly torpedoed my shot at college. Did you even know that?”

I look away, the hurt punching me in the gut. “I’m sorry I never went to the stupid Homecoming dance with you, but I had to worry about my career. My entire future hinged on going to that tournament that weekend.”

“What do you mean?” Amber’s face drops. “Torpedoed you shot at college — I had no idea one little article…”

“Yeah. Well turns out college hockey scouts and coaches like nice, well-rounded players, not selfish jerks. Evidently, even character attacks in high school papers can get around.” I fold my arms. “The only thing that saved me was that you didn’t mention me by name, and coach defending my integrity.”

She folds her arms around her waist as if in pain. I feel a hint of satisfaction at seeing Amber’s immediate regret, though I also feel a little bit guilty.

“Zack…” Amber’s brow furrows, and she bites her lip. That does something to me, but I don’t have time to reflect on it before she continues. “I’m so, so sorry. If I had known… God, I was so selfish back then.”

“We both were.” I lean forward and meet her eyes. “Seriously, it doesn’t matter now. I’m on the Blades. I’m living the dream.”

“That’s good to hear.” Amber’s voice is a little wobbly, but she hoists her psychologist persona back into place. I watch her take a deep breath… and she continues. “So let’s talk a little bit about the Blades. How do you feel you fit in with the rest of the team?”

I find myself opening up to her more easily after airing my grievances. There’s something about the way she guides me through difficult questions and brings emotions out of me I didn’t know I had anymore.

It makes me wonder if everyone falls for their psychologist, or if there’s an exception when said psychologist is your ex-girlfriend. Maybe “falling for her” is too strong. Or maybe it’s not strong enough.

All I know is, I keep looking for reasons to be near her. And working through our issues together has made it easier for me to encourage my teammates to take her seriously. They can tell I’m lightening up a little, and it makes them more willing to give the whole performance coaching thing an honest try.

After lunch, we all gather again in the team room for a Group Session with Amber. This is her first time leading without Dr. Stone.

I can tell that she is nervous…she’s biting the side of her lip and playing with the ring on her finger just like before a big test back in high school.

But as she approaches the front of the room, I see her take a deep breath and survey the room. Yep, looking for “cougars and bears”. Not finding any, she immediately appears calm and in control.

And just like that, she has the guys.

“We’re going to talk about a simple tool today that can be helpful both on and off the ice,” she says, “but it’s one that’s grounded in brain science. It’s taught to elite athletes, like yourselves—as well as to second graders. So expect it to be easy to grasp.”

A few of the guys chuckle. Brody mutters something about nap time through Psych class.

Amber doesn’t miss a beat. “I know I’m in a room full of highly intelligent, highly skilled men. And you’re playing one of the most mentally demanding sports in the world. And sometimes? The simplest tools stick.”

She holds out her hand, palm up. “Follow me. Place your hand palm-up. Now fold your thumb across the center of your palm. Good. Now fold your fingers over it to make a loose fist.”

I do it, half out of curiosity, half because I’m honestly kind of mesmerized watching her graceful hands moving through the steps. “This,” she says, holding up her fisted hand, “is your brain.”

Jason leans over to Donnie holding up his fist and stage-whispers, “I knew mine was this size.”

Laughter rolls through the room, but Amber just smiles, raising an eyebrow, unbothered.

Donnie chimes in,, “If you’re about to have me talk to my hand like it’s a hand puppet, I’m outta here.”

“No puppets today, I promise,” she deadpans. “But watch this.”

She slowly lifts her fingers. “Your thumb? That’s your amygdala, right in the center of your brain. It reacts to stress — anger, fear, excitement, surprise. Surrounding it, your palm, is the right brain , your emotional processor, and reactor to stress.”

“The fingers?” She curls them back down over her thumb. “Those are your left brain, especially your frontal cortex — your center of logic, judgment, motor coordination, impulse control. Things you kind of want onboard during a hockey game, right?”

Blake surprisingly mutters, “Or during post-game interviews,” and a few heads nod in agreement. How is she making brain science easy to understand?

Amber nods too, curling her fingers over her thumb again. “Exactly. Here’s the kicker — when the amygdala gets hot, amped up, it takes full control, and interacts, mainly, with its best friend, the right brain, the emotional, reactive brain. Then left brain disengages.”

Her voice raises, “You ‘flip your lid.’”

She lifts her fingers straight up again. “and just like that…you’re in fight, flight, or freeze mode.”

“That punch you threw landing you in the box? That cutting chirp you couldn’t keep to yourself? That line change you missed? Chances are, you were flipped at those times.”

I glance around the room. Everyone’s quiet now. Focused. Listening.

She has them in the palm of her hand. Heck, she doesn’t even realize it. But it’s kind of amazing to watch — this group of cocky, hyper-competitive guys, giving her their full attention.

I knew she was good. But this? This is next-level.

And maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about her hand right now—curled into a soft fist, thumb tucked, nails neatly trimmed — but all I can think about is the urge to lace my fingers with hers, flipped or not. To pull her close and tell her what I should’ve said a long time ago.

I am not sure which of my brains is "in charge" right now…but it needs to stand down!

Amber goes on.

“Some athletes use this as a personal cue, an indicator, to help them know when they are escalating. When they feel the flip happening, they actually look down at their hand, or glove — yes, even in game time — and mentally picture their fingers unfolding as they're flipping.”

She slowly raises her fingers. “It’s a way of catching the dysregulation escalation before it turns into a bad decision. Kind of like a ‘check engine’ light for your brain.”

”If you train yourself to use this hand movement when you feel stressed during practices and in every day life, you can even get to the point where you actually feel your fingers lift even before you know you're dysregulating.”

Several guys snap their heads up.

She turns a little more serious. “And sometimes, players can use this as a silent cue to each other. If one of you is on the verge of flipping, maybe your teammate notices you looking at your glove, or can tell you are amping up. He skates a circle near you, or bumps your shoulder — just something subtle to ground you. That’s what team support looks like in real time.”

She finishes strong, her chin lifted. “The better you get at noticing your flip, the better you get at pulling yourself back. And the more your teammates know how to help, the more likely you are to make decisions that win games.”

There’s a beat of silence before Coach Green clears his throat. “Well said, Dr. Morrison.”

She gives a modest nod and starts to step back — but I can’t stop watching her. The guys are clapping. Some are even flexing their fists in front of their faces, trying to test it out.

And I’m just sitting here, wondering how I got lucky enough to fall for someone like Amber… all over again.