Saying it out loud makes it feel like a plan.
And a plan feels safer than hope.
***
Coop walked into the players lounge. Standing, tossing a puck from hand to hand as if this was just another night—not the one where I might blow up my life again.
I didn’t sit. Didn’t talk. Just stared at the floor.
"So," Coop finally said, flipping the puck once more before catching it flat. "You gonna tell me why you texted me to meet here just to stand there like an idiot?"
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, exhaling slowly. "Thinking."
"That’s terrifying." He smirked, but his voice was quieter now. Waiting.
I walked over, dropped onto the couch, leaned forward, forearms braced on my knees.
"I’m thinking about asking for a trade."
The puck hit his palm and stilled.
"Why?"
I shrugged. I shifted my weight, pressing my thumb against the seam of my glove—the same habit, the same spot.
"Clean break. Start over. Give the team one less thing to babysit."
Coop just turned the puck over in his hand.
"You think that’s what this is?" he asked after a beat. A babysitting job?"
I huffed out a short breath. The vending machine hummed.
"Isn’t it?" I looked over at him. "Ryan dumped me on his sister. The coach barely tolerates me. Vanessa’s still sniffing around. I’m a distraction."
"You were a distraction," he corrected. "Now? Guys are starting to follow your lead."
I let out a sharp laugh. "What lead?"
"Mason’s killing it in practice. You’ve been running drills with him for two weeks and now the kid’s flying. Finn started mentoring the new goalie. You know why? Because he saw you doing it first."
My head jerked slightly. Eyes flicked toward the muted TV.
"Didn’t realize they noticed."
"They noticed."
Coop sat on the couch across from me, leaned back, kicked his feet up onto the table. "You’re not just doing donuts out there anymore. Guys see it. You’ve stopped coasting."
It felt good to hear. Which only made it worse.
"Doesn’t change what I did before," I muttered. "Maybe this is just damage control."
"Maybe," Coop said, standing, grabbing his jacket. "But even if it is—you’re still here. Still putting in the work."
I pressed my thumb deeper into the seam of my glove. A loose thread curled at the edge.
"I don’t want to mess this up," I admitted.
