Page 150 of Double Puck

"What about your brothers?" Poppy asks.

"Mason's been acting weird lately, but Mason weird is like a regular-person who's just mildly distracted. So who knows what's going on with him."

"Weird how?"

"I dunno. Just smiling at his phone all the time. Going out at strange hours. I don't ask questions I don't want the answers to." He stretches his legs out. "But me? I'm good, Doc. Genuinely."

Poppy makes a note. "And how does it feel making your own decisions now?"

Beck sighs from the depths of his soul. "Honestly? It's exhausting."

Poppy's pen stops moving. "Excuse me?"

"I have to make all my own decisions now. Nobody warned me there'd be this many! Yesterday Mason asked what I wanted for breakfast and just... accepted my answer. Didn't even tell me if it was nutritionally appropriate."

"You had waffles," I say, choosing this moment to enter into the conversation.

"Exactly. I'm a professional athlete! Where was the guidance?"

Poppy's mouth twitches beneath a smile. Then, without warning, that terrifyingly calm gaze swings to me.

"And Darcy. How are you handling being wrong?"

Beck immediately starts laughing. A full belly laugh that has him nearly falling out of his chair.

"Careful, Doc. That's still a trigger word."

"Excuse me. I'm handling it," I say, with dignity.

And here's the strange part. I actually am.

My report was wrong. I was wrong, and I admitted it.

And the world didn't end.

Despite the fact I made the wrong call about the trade, Colin still runs my numbers past me before every roster meeting. Coach has still asked for my opinion after the last two games. Even my mother survived last weeks Beverly Hills dinner-party event without a single ill word muttered about the Madden family.

Just like Beck promised, the earth has remained spinning.

"I spent my whole life thinking one mistake would collapse everything," I say. "Turns out the building stays up. It's… nice. It takes the pressure off so I can enjoy the smaller things in life."

"Excuse me? Smaller things?" Beck points both thumbs at himself. "There is nothing wrong with the size of my—"

"Okay!" Poppy shoots up and quickly writes something down that I'd pay real money to read. "Moving on now."

But as she goes to open her mouth, there's a knock at the door. Poppy frowns, which is how I know it's unusual to be interrupted like this.

"Oh. I'm terribly sorry. That's not standard," Poppy says. "Excuse me."

She opens the door to the enormous Sawyer Stone, the Bears goalie, who is standing in the hallway with his eyes bulging.

"Doc. Sorry to interrupt. But Coach needs you. It's… a player thing. It's—" Sawyer glances at us, then back at her, and lowers his voice. "There's a situation that might need your expertise."

Poppy reads whatever is on his face and nods, reaching for the cardigan on the back of her chair. She shrugs it on and looks across her desk.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she tells us. "Help yourselves to the chocolates."

For about ten seconds, we sit in silence in the world's most comfortable chairs, the warm ocean breeze drifting through the curtains.