Coach Barrett appeared at my elbow. "They look sharp."
"They'll do."
"You're hell on them sometimes."
I didn't answer. Didn't need to. We both knew fear of disappointing me pushed them harder than any motivational speech ever could.
Barrett studied my face—trying to read something in the blankness. He wouldn't find it. I'd locked everything down tight. Everything except the awareness still humming under my skin. The pull I couldn't quite silence. The girl in the stands I refused to look at again.
Barrett kept talking—something about defensive pairings, adjustments for their top scorer. I nodded at appropriate intervals, tracked the conversation enough to respond when necessary.
But my focus kept fracturing.
The awareness crept up my spine like static electricity. Skin prickling. Heart rate kicking up half a beat.
She was watching again.
I didn't look. Kept my eyes on Barrett, on the ice, on the clipboard in his hands—anywhere except the stands where she sat.
Didn't matter.
I felt her gaze like physical weight.
My chest tightened. Breath came slightly harder. That unwanted heat spreading through my ribs again, making everything feel too close, too sharp.
Stop.
But my body wouldn't listen. Kept reacting to something I had no right to notice. To someone I should've been able to ignore completely.
Barrett said something about zone entries. I grunted agreement.
Another pull. Another tightening.
Christ.
I gripped the edge of the boards until my knuckles went white.
This was a problem. A serious one. Because ignoring her wasn't working anymore.
Barrett clapped his hands twice—sharp cracks that pulled every head toward him.
"All right, listen up." He planted himself center ice, voice carrying to every corner of the rink. "Tonight's not just exhibition. Tonight counts."
Players circled in tighter. Exhaustion forgotten. Game faces sliding into place.
"They're going to come out aggressive," Barrett continued. "Their forecheck's been brutal all season. We get sloppy with the puck, we're going to spend the whole night in our own zone."
Maddox spat on the ice. "Let them come."
"That's exactly the attitude that'll get you benched." Barrett's tone sharpened. "This isn't about ego. It's about discipline. Clean breakouts. Smart decisions. No hero plays."
A few heads nodded.
"Ackerman spent all week drilling defensive rotations for a reason." Barrett gestured toward me without looking. "You execute what he taught you; we control this game. You freelance, you panic, you try to do too much—we lose."
Silence.
"Crown." Barrett's gaze landed on Andrew. "You're going to see double coverage all night. Make the extra pass."
