"Scott! Where the hell is your head today?" Coach Brody's voice echoes across the rink, sharp enough to make me wince. "That's the third time you've missed an easy pass!"
"Sorry, Coach!" I call back, skating harder to catch up with Blake, who's shaking his head at me with amusement.
"You look like shit, rookie," he says as we line up for the next drill. "When's the last time you slept?"
"I sleep."
"Bullshit." Connor glides up beside us, effortlessly graceful even while talking. "You've got bags under your eyes that could hold groceries. This about those damn puppies?"
I grunt, not wanting to admit that yes, it's about the puppies.
And Mia. Always Mia.
I've been stopping by the shelter every night after practice, helping however I can. Mostly that means cleaning kennels, restocking supplies, and holding puppies while Mia handles the technical stuff.
But those late nights are catching up with me, and apparently it shows.
Through the arena glass, I catch sight of Logan sitting in Emma's new café space, Chapter & Grind's second location that opened last month in the arena concourse. He's got his feet up, a steaming mug in his hands, watching us practice with this early retirement grin that says he's exactly where he wants to be. Warm, caffeinated, and entertained by our suffering.
Blake notices too and flips him off through the glass. Logan just raises his mug in a toast.
"Lucky bastard," Connor mutters, following our gaze. "Emma's got him wrapped around her finger and he doesn't even care."
"At least someone's got their shit figured out," I mutter, then immediately regret it when both guys turn to stare at me.
"Alright, time for an intervention," Blake announces. "You clearly need more advice, and we're giving it to you whether you want it or not."
Twenty minutes later, we're in the players' lounge, still dripping with sweat but finally able to talk without Coach breathing down our necks. I'm sprawled in one of the leather chairs, a protein shake in my hand and the weight of three sleepless nights pressing down on my shoulders.
"So," Blake says, settling across from me. "Talk. What's the plan with Mia?"
"There is no plan," I admit. "I'm just... trying to be there for her. Help with whatever she needs."
Connor snorts. "We already told you… that's not a plan. You're gonna burn yourself out playing the supportive friend angle."
I stare into my protein shake, seeing Mia's face in the snow instead.
Her cheeks flushed pink, snowflakes caught in her hair the other night. We were so close. I could feel her breath on my lips, see that look in her eyes. The one that was giving me permission to do what I've wanted to do ever since I came home.
Fuck, if only her phone hadn't rung.
"What else am I supposed to do? She's drowning, and I'm the asshole who broke her heart eight years ago. I can't exactly sweep in with grand gestures and expect her to fall into my arms. She's a busy woman."
"Actually," Blake says slowly, "that's exactly what you should do."
"Are you insane?"
"Think about it. You've been doing the slow, careful approach for weeks. Volunteering, helping out, proving you're reliable. That's good—it shows you've changed. But it's not moving the needle."
Connor leans forward, warming to the topic. "Blake's right. You need to do something that shows her you're serious. Something that proves this isn't just guilt or nostalgia."
"Like what? Show up with flowers and a boom box?"
"No. Please don't do that," Blake says seriously. "Sometimes life requires big moves. What does she care about most?"
"The shelter. The animals. She's been killing herself trying to keep that place running. I've seen the stack of bills on the desk. She's barely keeping it afloat."
"So help her. Really help her. Not just scooping dog shit and bringing coffee. Do something that makes a real difference."
