She doesn’t tell me to leave. Just waits, guarded.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think lately. Sitting on my ass with this knee, watching everyone else skate, it’s...” I rub the back of my neck. “Anyway. I’ve been going over stuff in my head, and I realized I never actually asked you why you don’t like me.”
“Rodriguez—”
“I’m not saying you have to like me. That’s fine. But I want to be friends with you, and I’m getting the vibe that you really don’t want that, and I don’t know why.” I set the peppermint mocha on the bench between us. “So. Here’s a coffee. You can keep it or throw it away. I won’t be offended either way.”
She’s looking at the cup like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
“And look—I know you think I’m just some annoying hockey player who doesn’t know when to quit. Maybe that’s true.” I stand up, brushing off my joggers. “But I’m also a really good listener. If you ever need someone to talk to. No strings, no agenda. Just... someone who’s there.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Anyway. That’s it. I’ll leave you alone now.”
I walk away and it takes everything I have not to look back.
Zach’s waiting by the locker room doors. “How’d it go?”
“I don’t know.” I glance toward the rink one more time. She’s still sitting there. “I guess we’ll see.”
3
JULIETTE
Mid-January
The Puckaneers’practice and medical facility is way nicer than the training rink downtown.
That’s usually my first thought every morning as I badge through security and walk across the giant team logo etched into the polished concrete floor and stand face-to-face with the glass wall that opens into a massive stadium arena with padded seats rising up on either side. It’s one of three rinks in this facility and it’s usually full of spectators on the occasional days that the team allows the public to watch their practices.
I turn and head toward the back of the facility, past the team shop, the snack bar, and the massive staircase that leads to the second floor viewing area. My path toward the medical offices usually triggers my second thought of the day which is whether I’ll run into Rodriguez, and whether I’ll have the energy to deal with him if I do.
Today the answer is no. Definitely no.
I got maybe four hours of sleep last night, chugged a double espresso in my car this morning, and my ankle is still pissed about lastmonth’s unauthorized skating session when I had a partial breakdown on the ice the morning after Garrett broke up with me. The joint throbs with each step, a reminder of Jake’s lecture about setting back my recovery timeline. He was right. I know he was right. But I needed the ice more than I needed to follow doctor’s orders that day.
Marnie’s office is down a hallway lined with photos of the team. Championship wins, action shots, candid moments from practice. I walk past a photo of Rodriguez mid-celebration after a goal, his arms above his head, stick raised in triumph, with the widest grin on his face. He looks like he’s never had a serious thought in his entire life.
I took that stupid peppermint coffee last month. Sat in my car after he walked away and drank the whole thing and I’m still mad at myself for it.
Marnie glances up at me as I walk in, already smiling.
“Juliette. Come in, sit down. How’s the ankle?”
“Healing.” I sit in the chair across from her desk. “Jake says another three weeks before I can start attempting doubles again.”
“That’s good progress.”
“It feels slow.”
“Recovery always does.” She closes her laptop and gives me her full attention, which is slightly intimidating. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I have a proposition.”
My stomach does a nervous flip. Marnie hired me to shadow her until grad school starts in August, months of watching her work with the team, learning the practical side of sports medicine that textbooks don’t teach. It was supposed to be experience I could use on future applications. Between that and teaching beginner skating classes three times a week, I’ve been scraping by on my savings from competition prize money and what my parents send when I let them.
It’s not sustainable, but it’s only until August. I can make it work.
“What kind of proposition?”
