Page 25

Elena

T he morning light filters through the pine trees surrounding Reese's family cabin, painting dappled shadows across the wooden porch.

I cradle a steaming mug of coffee between my palms, breathing in the crisp autumn air.

It's so different from Chicago—quieter, simpler, without the constant hum of expectation and fear that's been my life these past weeks.

I've forgotten what it feels like to breathe without that tight band of anxiety around my chest.

"You're up early," Reese says, sliding open the screen door. Her wild curls are piled into a messy bun on top of her head, and she's wearing an oversized Northwestern sweatshirt that reaches to mid-thigh. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I have in a while," I admit, making room for her on the porch swing. "Thanks for dragging me out here."

"Anytime, girl." She bumps my shoulder with hers. "Want to go for a hike this morning? It’s gorgeous out here today."

Twenty minutes later, we're crunching through fallen leaves, following a narrow path that winds between tall trees sporting fiery oranges and deep reds. The lake sparkles through the branches, catching the morning sunlight. I inhale deeply, feeling some of the tension release.

"So," Reese says. "Are we going to talk about it, or are we pretending everything's fine?"

I glance at her. "Can't we do both? Pretend everything's fine while also talking about it?"

"Classic Elena Martinez deflection." She grins. "Come on. You've been wound so tight lately. Talk to me."

I kick at a pinecone, sending it skittering down the path. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start with how you're feeling. Right now."

"Lost," I say after a moment. "Like I've been walking a straight path my whole life, and suddenly I've veered off into the wilderness without a map."

"Because of Nate?"

"Because of everything." I stop to look out at the lake, its surface rippling with the light breeze. "I feel like I've compromised everything I've worked for. My ethics. My credibility. All for... what? A few hot nights with a hockey player?"

"Is that all it was?" Reese asks quietly.

The question hangs between us, demanding honesty I've been avoiding even with myself.

"No," I whisper. "That's what makes it worse. If it was just sex, maybe I could shake it off. But Nate..." I struggle to find the words. "He showed me parts of himself nobody else sees. He trusted me with things he's never told anyone. And I did the same with him."

We start walking again, the path sloping gently upward.

"I keep thinking maybe I made a mistake coming back to Chicago," I confess. "Taking the job with the Blades. Working for my dad. Maybe I should have stayed in San Francisco."

"But then you wouldn't have met Nate," Reese points out.

"I know. That's the twisted part." I laugh. "I'm simultaneously regretting taking this job and grateful for it because it brought him into my life. How messed up is that?"

"Not messed up. Just human." Reese navigates around a fallen branch. "So what do you want now? Really want?"

"I want to keep my job. And I want Nate in my life." I bite my lip. "I want things that can't coexist."

"Have you considered that maybe they can?"

I shoot her a skeptical look. "How? He's a client—well, was a client. But even if he works with another psychologist, he's still a player on the team. Still off-limits."

"People date coworkers all the time."

"It's different and you know it." I kick another pinecone. "Plus, have you forgotten who he is? Nate Barnes. The guy who's been traded multiple times because he can't control his temper. The player who's linked to a new woman every week. The human headline generator."

"He sounds dreamy," Reese deadpans.

"Shut up." I can't help smiling though. "The point is, even if we could find a way around the work issues, I'd be signing up for a life of tabloid photos and constant scrutiny. And a guy who might cut and run when things get hard."

We reach a small clearing with a fallen log. Reese sits, patting the space next to her. I join her, suddenly tired.

"I’ve got to tell you something," she says, her voice softer.

I look at her, surprised. "What’s up?"

"I have a massive crush on Miles."

"Your boss? The principal? Mr. Perfect Hair, Perfect Teeth?"

"The very same." She sighs dramatically. "He's divorced, no kids, super hot in that definitely-works-out way. And absolutely off-limits."

“You’ve been holding back on me" I say, genuinely shocked. Reese is usually so open about her love life.

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to ignore it." She plucks a leaf from a nearby branch, twirling it between her fingers. "I keep telling myself it'll pass. That I'll meet some nice, uncomplicated guy who doesn't sign my paychecks."

"How’s that going for you?"

"Not well." She drops the leaf.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. Probably." She shrugs. "Or maybe something stupid one day when I've had too much wine at the holiday teachers’ party. Who knows?"

We sit in silence for a moment, the confession creating a new layer of understanding between us.

"We want what we want," Reese says finally. "Sometimes it's inconvenient as hell."

She stands, brushing off her leggings. "But for what it's worth, I think you're being too hard on yourself. One ethical slip-up doesn't negate all the time you’ve put into your career. And if you really care about each other..."

"What? We ride off into the sunset together?" I stand too, shaking my head.

"No, but maybe it's not as impossible as you think either." She starts walking again, and I fall into step beside her. "Just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Don't make any major decisions while you're in this emotional hurricane. Not about Nate, not about your job. Give yourself time to get clear."

I consider this as we round a bend in the trail. "I can try," I say.

"That's my girl." Reese links her arm through mine. "Now, how about we finish this hike, then open that bottle of ridiculously tasty Cabernet I brought? I think we've earned it."

"At ten in the morning?"

"It's five o'clock somewhere," she quips. "Besides, we're processing complicated emotions. That calls for wine at any hour."

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. The problems waiting for me back in Chicago haven't disappeared, but sharing them has made them feel a fraction less overwhelming. For now, that will have to be enough.

Later that day, Reese and I are sprawled on opposite ends of the weathered leather couch, legs tangled in the middle, each drinking a glass of wine. We waited until 4 pm to open the bottle of wine because we knew if we opened it in the morning we’d both be asleep at this point.

My muscles ache pleasantly from our hike, and the wine has mellowed the sharp edges of my anxiety. I'm almost relaxed when my phone vibrates against the coffee table. The name on the screen makes me sit up straight: Dr. Shanta, my graduate school advisor and mentor. We haven't spoken in months.

"I should take this," I tell Reese, grabbing my phone.

She waves her wine glass in acknowledgment, reaching for the remote to turn down the music.

"Dr. Shanta," I answer, trying to sound like I haven’t been drinking. "This is a surprise."

"Elena, my dear." Her voice is exactly as I remember—crisp, with the most amazing British accent. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"Not at all." I move to the kitchen for a bit of privacy, leaning against the counter. "It's good to hear from you."

"Likewise. I’ll get right to the point. The Chicago Steel are looking for a new sports psychologist. Their current one is about to have a baby and has decided not to come back after maternity leave, and they need someone immediately.”

She continues. “Now I know you just started with the Blades, but I also know you were hesitant when you accepted the position. I just wanted to make sure you know about this opportunity with the Steel in case you think it's a better fit for you.”

I grip the counter edge. The Chicago Steel—a major league baseball team with a storied history and rabid fan base.

"I... I don't know what to say," I stammer. "How did this come about?"

“William Grant—you remember him from that sports psychology conference in Denver? He's their current consulting psychiatrist. He mentioned they were struggling to find someone qualified on short notice, so I thought of you right away.”

"I mentioned your name and told him you might be looking for a change."

"Thank you," I manage. "That means a lot."

"So, are you interested? They'll need an answer rather quickly."

"When would they want me to start?"

"Two weeks. They're in a bit of a bind with off-season assessments beginning."

Two weeks. So soon. I'd be walking away from the Blades, from my father, from the job I just started only months ago.

I’d also lose all contact with Nate.

"Can I have a day to think about it?" I ask.

"Of course, dear. Call me soon, though, and let me know what you decide.”

We say our goodbyes, and I stand motionless in the kitchen, phone clutched in my hand, mind reeling with possibilities.

Reese appears in the doorway, wineglass still in hand. "What was that about?"

"I may have just gotten offered a job with the Chicago Steel." The words sound crazy coming out of my mouth.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious?"

I nod, moving back to the living room and sinking onto the couch. "Dr. Shanta recommended me. They need someone to start in two weeks."

"Holy shit." Reese sits beside me. "That's... interesting timing."

"It’s like the universe is offering me an escape hatch."

"Are you going to take it?"

I stare out the window, considering. "I don't know. It would solve the Nate Barnes problem I currently have."

"But?"

"But I'd be leaving my dad in the lurch. He brought me in to help build this mental health program for the Blades. Leaving after just a few months..." I trail off, the guilt rising in my chest.

"He'd understand," Reese says gently. "Especially given the circumstances."