Page 31 of Uncoachable

A couple of guys shift uncomfortably.

She explains the movements better than she did yesterday. It’s cleaner and simpler. And damn it—I hate that I understand exactly what she wants immediately.

But what I hate even more is how my eyes keep drifting every time she bends over to draw something along the bottom edge of the board. Cash is doing the same thing next to me, and I narrow my eyes at him.

Dick.

“Noah,” she calls out without looking up from the board. “Timing data.”

Noah appears like a summoned ghost from the shadows of the hallway. He’s holding out a fresh coffee cup.

Heat prickles in my chest, and my jaw tightens. I can’t explain why it bothers me so much that Noah is the one standing there, the one who already knows her morning routine.

She takes the cup without missing a beat. “Thank you, Noah.”

Their fingers don’t touch, but I’m watching for it anyway.

Noah Klein is a human calculator. He’s safe and non-threatening. But the way he moves into her space—the way he already seems to know her patterns—feels like a personal affront to my position as captain.

I’ve spent my career being the guy people watch. I’m the one who gets the standing ovations. But in this moment, watching an analytics guy hand a coffee to a coach, I feel like I’m sitting on the far end of the bench.

It’s a stupid, ego-driven reaction, and I know it. But as we finally head out and I skate toward the face-off circle, I’m digging my blades into the ice a little deeper than necessary.

If she wants “intent,” I’ll give her so much intent she won’t be able to look at anyone else on the ice.

We start the drills.

The first rep is messy, the second is better and by the third rep, it clicks.

I skate harder than I mean to, testing the lanes she’s set up. She corrects our positioning without ever raising her voice. She calls names, and eventually, she gets to mine.

“Moore. Half a second earlier on the transition.”

I adjust. It works perfectly.

“Careful, Cap,” one of the defensemen calls out as we rotate. “Coach is watching. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

“Shut up, Miller,” I snap, sounding sharper than I intended.

“Damn,” he laughs, shaking his head. “She’s got him trained already. Look at him go.”

My jaw tightens so hard it aches. I pretend I don’t hear Iveline’s quiet exhale—the kind of soft sound that says she definitely heard the comment.

I push off harder, cutting across the ice with more force than the drill actually requires. The cold air bites at my lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the heat crawling up my neck.

I can feel her eyes on me.

“Moore,” she calls out. Her voice is steady and clipped. “Reset. Again.”

I circle back, stopping a few feet away from her.

I’m too close, yet not close enough.

Her expression doesn’t change, but I see her posture tighten. It’s a subtle shift, like she’s bracing for an impact she knows is coming.

“For the love of—Cap, stop hovering,” Nico mutters as he skates past. “You’re practically breathing her air.”

“Do you want to run laps, Nico?” I fire back.