I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. The door finally opens.
"Nate." Elena stands in the doorway, notebook clutched to her chest like armor. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, not a strand out of place. "You can come in."
I follow her into the office, catching a hint of her perfume—that clean, subtle scent that reminds me of the times I’ve been so close to her.
"So," I flash her my most charming smile, complete with dimple, as I drop into the chair across from her. "How's your week been, Doc?"
Her face remains neutral, though I catch a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth. "I'd rather discuss your week, Nate. How are you feeling after Saturday's game?"
Of course she'd go straight to business. No small talk. No acknowledgment of what happened between us last week. Nothing about me waiting outside her hotel room like some lovesick teenager.
"Oh, you know, just your typical night." I lean back, working to keep my tone light. "Score a goal, defend a teammate, get ejected. All in a day's work for me apparently."
Elena makes a note on her pad and then her eyes flick back up to meet mine. "Do you feel your response to Anderson going after Tucker was appropriate?"
"Do you?" I counter.
"This isn't about what I think."
"Isn't it, though?" I sit forward, elbows on my knees. "Come on, Elena. I’m guessing you saw the footage of what Anderson was doing to the kid. Or were you there to see it in person?"
"I wasn’t at the game. But I did watch the video. I'm asking what you think about your response."
Her professional wall is up today, sky high and solid.
I can't quite keep the edge from my voice. "Was it the most constructive response? Probably not. But it got the job done. It got Anderson off of Tucker’s back."
"At the cost of a penalty and a loss."
"The team lost because our defense fell apart in the third." I shift in my chair, uncomfortable with the truth in her words. "But point taken."
She nods, writing something else. I wish I could see what she's putting down. Is it about me as a player, or about my shortcomings as a human being?
"Let's try a different angle," she says. "How did it feel, being benched for the remainder of the game?"
"Like shit." The words come out before I can filter them. "Watching from the tunnel where I can’t do a damn thing, knowing I could have helped if I'd just..." I trail off.
"Just what?"
"Found a different way to handle it." I say, chewing on the inside of my mouth and looking up at the ceiling. "Look, I don’t think I was wrong to defend Tucker. That kid's barely out of high school, and Anderson's got at least fifty pounds on him. Someone had to step in."
"I agree."
I blink, surprised. "You do?"
"Of course. Protecting your teammates is admirable." The smallest hint of warmth enters her voice. "It's your method that needs adjustment."
"Yeah, well, I'm working on that. Self-control hasn't exactly been my strong suit. As my history demonstrates."
She almost smiles at that. Almost. "Are you concerned about potential disciplinary action from the league?"
"A bit. But it was a first offense this season, and Anderson threw punches, too. So I’ll probably just end up with a fine."
Elena makes another note, and when she’s done, I catch her glancing at my hands. At the scabbed-over knuckles from the fight.
"Do they hurt?" she asks, her voice softening just slightly.
"Nah," I lie. They actually throb like a motherfucker every time I flex them.
