Page 138 of Double Puck

And it wasn't… me.

No. Not now. Do the work. He told you to do the work.

I open my laptop. The report sits there already open.

"Okay. Before I present this, I need to say something for the record."

Colin waves a hand. "Darcy, the record can wait, we've got meetings and the forecast is—"

"I'm changing my recommendation."

The kitchen goes silent. Even Biscuit stops thumping his tail.

Coach Pearson leans forward. "Changing it to what, exactly?"

"After careful consideration, I do not think the Bears should trade Beck Morrison. Under any terms. At any price."

Pete's eyebrows climb over his glasses. "Y-you don't?"

"Darcy." Colin's voice takes on a careful tone that does not suit him. It's almost like he cares. "You wrote the original report. You built the model our entire roster recruitment strategy is based on. You stood in Coach's office and told us the numbers—"

"And my numbers were incomplete." My voice doesn't shake. That surprises me more than anyone. "Which means my analysis was incomplete. Which means—"

I stop.

Because twenty-eight years of Madden training claws at the words on their way up. We do not make mistakes. We do not admit fault. We are always, always right.

I think about Beck's fingers threaded through chain-link yesterday. He muttered the wisest words I have probably ever heard from that man.

Then make the mistake. The earth keeps spinning, Spreadsheet.

"I was wrong."

It comes out clean, and as Beck predicted, nothing collapses.

No trapdoor opens beneath my chair. My mother does not appear in the doorway holding a corset and a disappointed expression.

The earth, as promised, keeps spinning.

"My original model measured Beck as an isolated asset," I continue, and now the words come fast, because I've been holding them for days. "I measured his goals, assists, penalty minutes, and his salary efficiency. What it couldn't measure is what he does to everyone around him."

I flip the laptop around so they can see the charts.

"Look at Vegas. We played one game without him and the entire left side collapsed. Bailey isn't a bad player. He's just not the person holding that line together."

I close the laptop.

"And there's one more thing." My heart is going like a stopwatch. "I've watched Beck Morrison up close for weeks now. Closer than any analyst has ever watched any player, probably. So close that somewhere in the middle of all that data collection, I fell in love with the man."

Diego makes a sound like a teakettle. Declan's head snaps toward me. Mason just smiles, like he knew exactly where this was going weeks ago when he witnessed it from a balcony.

"And I want to be extremely clear," I press on, before anyone can speak, "that is not why I'm changing the recommendation. I'm changing it because it's the correct hockey decision, and I will defend that math against any analyst in this league. But I'm telling you the other part because Beachside deserves to know what they have. Because given the chance, this whole town is going to fall in love with him exactly like I did. If they haven't already."

For a second, the only noise in the entire mansion is the ocean and Biscuit's tail restarting against the floorboards.

Then Colin rubs his forehead.

"Darcy. That's... look, that's a hell of a report. Genuinely. Best work I've seen from you." He winces. "But the process has just moved beyond the report. You heard what I said… the teams agreed to terms overnight. The framework for the contract is done."