I didn't have room for anyone else in my life. Not anymore.
I sat up. Bones cracked. Shoulders pulled tight from another night of too-little sleep. I pressed the heel of my palm into my eye socket, grinding away the exhaustion that never quite left. Still tired. Always tired.
The alarm on my phone read 4:47 AM. Three minutes before it would've gone off. I shut it down and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
Shower. Hot enough to burn, short enough not to waste time. I didn't linger. Water was functional—wake the body, rinse away the night, move forward.
Clothes came next. Black jeans. Gray shirt. Hoodie over it, the fabric worn soft at the cuffs where I'd pushed the sleeves back a thousand times. Jacket on top. Layers. Armor.
My keys sat on the counter beside the coffee maker I never used. I grabbed them, checked the deadbolt twice out of habit, and left.
The hallway outside was still dark. My neighbor's door had a wreath on it—fake autumn leaves, cheerful and out of place. I didn't know their name. Didn't want to.
The stairwell smelled like cleaning solution and someone's burned dinner from the night before. I took the stairs instead of the elevator. Five flights. Faster. No forced conversation if someone else stepped in.
Outside, the air bit cold. November clung to the city with teeth. I pulled my hood up, shoved my hands in my pockets, and walked.
The arena was a fifteen-minute drive, ten if I pushed it. I'd walk when I could. Needed the space between waking and working. Needed the quiet.
My phone buzzed. Text from the head coach—schedule update, nothing urgent. I pocketed it without responding.
The streets were empty. Dawn hadn't cracked yet. Just streetlights and shadows and the distant sound of a delivery truck rattling past.
I locked the world out with every step.
The cold slapped me awake better than any alarm ever could. I preferred it this way—sharp, unforgiving, honest. No pretense. Just air cold enough to burn your lungs if you breathed too deep.
I moved through the streets with purpose. Head down. Hood up. Long strides that ate up distance without hurry. People had a way of sensing when someone didn't want to be bothered. Most stepped aside before I had to say anything.
The arena loomed ahead, all concrete and steel and fluorescent lighting that would flood the interior the second I stepped through those doors. Practice didn't start for another hour, but I'd be there, anyway. Always was. Tape to prep, drills to review, footage to watch. Work never stopped, and I didn't want it to.
Except my head pounded. Dull, persistent throb behind my eyes that coffee might—might—dull enough to function through. I didn't usually bother with the arena café. Overpriced, overcrowded, filled with staff and players who thought small talk was mandatory. I kept instant packets in my office for exactly this reason.
But I'd run out yesterday.
I stopped walking. Stood there on the sidewalk, breath clouding in front of my face, weighing options I shouldn't have needed to weigh.
Café. Five minutes, in and out. Black coffee. No conversation.
I changed direction.
The side entrance to the arena was closer to the café than the main coaching offices. Fewer people used it this early. I pushed through, and the building swallowed me whole—warm air, the smell of ice and rubber and sweat that never quite left no matter how much they cleaned.
My boots echoed on the concrete. No one around yet. Good.
The café sat tucked near the main concourse, lights already on, someone moving behind the counter. I slowed. Recognized the older girl—Jenna, maybe. She'd worked here for years, knew better than to try chatting.
I pulled the door open.
Warmth hit me. The smell of burnt espresso and sugar. A few early staffers scattered at tables, heads bent over phones.
The room shifted when I walked in. Conversations dropped mid-sentence. A guy at the corner table glanced up, then back down at his phone—fast, deliberate. Two staff members near the pastry case moved aside without me asking. The space rearranged itself, made room I hadn't requested.
I didn't acknowledge it.
I moved toward the counter, focused on the menu board I'd never actually read, already knowing what I'd order. Black coffee. Same as always. Simple. Fast. No?—
My gaze dropped.
