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“Feelings aren’t always facts.”
Hmm. She was right.
Her lips curled up on one side. “You’ve spent weeks asking, What if I’m not the same? I’d like you to try a different question.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to ask, ‘What if I’m afraid because this matters to me?’”
It did. So much. It was all wrapped up in my feelings for Ellie. Compartmentalizing everything was going to be a challenge.
She suggested I visualize recovering from mistakes, not just making perfect saves, labeling my thoughts as, That’s the injury fear talking, rather than treating every anxious thought as truth, and exploring why my worth felt tied to performance.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all any of us can do. We can talk again. Just reach out.”
“I will.”
I left and went to the gym to work out.
Later that day, the gear felt odd when I put it on in the locker room. Too tight across my shoulders, too loose at the waist. I’d worn this equipment a thousand times and suddenly it felt like I’d placed it on someone else’s skin.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Tolrek noticed first. He always did. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
His expression said he didn’t believe me, but he nodded and went back to taping his stick.
Crim’s voice carried across the locker room. “Kedish, it’s going to go great.”
His approval sat on my shoulders like lead.
My throat closed up, my lungs refusing to expand.
“Kedish.” Veskar strode over to stand beside me. “Focus.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I’m not.”
He left, and I sat, trying to make my hands stop shaking long enough to lace my skates.
The crowd’s roar hit the second we skated out onto the ice.
Home crowd. Purple everywhere. The family section was packed, but I found her immediately in the third row, my hoodie drowning her smaller frame. Smiling.
My chest rose and fell too fast to control. My eyes burned.
I tried to focus on warm-ups. The feel of the ice under my skates, the weight of the puck against my stick. This sort of muscle memory should be automatic.
But I kept looking up.
Was she watching?
