Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
T he gym was humming with activity when Sarah stepped inside, the kind of energy that made her feel like she could do anything before she even got to the treadmill. She scanned the room, noting the usual mix of determined joggers, weightlifters grunting their way through reps, and the occasional person who spent more time on their phone than their workout. The air smelled faintly of rubber mats and overpriced protein shakes. Not her favorite, but this was her routine. And she needed the routine.
Sliding her earbuds in, she set a steady pace on the treadmill. The rhythmic thud of her sneakers hitting the belt was always calming, like white noise. Today, though, her mind was too restless to focus. The half-finished article waiting for her back home loomed like a storm cloud. “The Top Ten Most Overrated Hockey Players.” She groaned internally just thinking about it. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for when she’d started at SportsZone. Back then, she’d envisioned meaningful stories about the sport she grew up loving, pieces that celebrated the skill and grit of the game. But somehow, she’d ended up with clickbait assignments that felt more like taking cheap shots than real journalism. The first time she exposed the drug problem among some of the hockey players, she realized how prevalent it was and when the players got suspended, she saw the power for good her articles might have.
She didn’t hate hockey. She couldn’t. She’d grown up with it—backyard rinks, late-night games on TV, and more than a few frozen toes after skating for hours with Tatum and Travis. Hockey had been part of her life for as long as she could remember.
What she hated was what some players did with the pedestal they’d been given. The wild parties, the DUIs, the scandals splashed across social media—it all felt so reckless. These guys were role models, whether they wanted to be or not. Kids idolized them, hung their posters on their walls, dreamed of being just like them. Sarah couldn’t shake the image of a kid mimicking the behavior they saw off the ice and thinking it was part of the package deal.
She sighed, picking up her pace. Not all hockey players were like that, though. She knew that. Some of them took the responsibility seriously. Some of them were like?—
“Hey, is this machine taken?”
Sarah jumped, fumbling with her earbuds. She turned to see Travis standing there, gym bag slung over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Of course it was him. She regretted the ratty t-shirt, the lack of mascara and the blotchy face she must be sporting.
She shook her head, trying to recover her composure. “Travis, hey. No, it’s free.”
He hopped onto the treadmill next to hers, setting his bag down with an ease that made her acutely aware of the awkward way she was clutching her water bottle. “What are you doing here?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“Working out,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You?”
“Solving world hunger,” she shot back, then cringed internally. Too snarky. She cleared her throat. “I mean, just getting some miles in.”
“Nice. Want some company?”
It wasn’t really a question—he was already setting his pace, the treadmill coming to life with a quiet hum. She considered saying no but never would. For reasons she could never admit, she would always welcome his company.
They ran in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sound of their sneakers filling the space between them.
“So,” he was the first to break the silence, “still writing those hard-hitting exposés?”
She glanced at him, catching the teasing glint in his eyes. “You mean the ones about hockey players?”
“Those would be the ones.”
She hesitated, not sure how to explain the mix of frustration and guilt that came with her job. “It’s not personal,” she said finally.
Travis raised an eyebrow, his pace steady. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
“Well, it’s not.” She paused, debating whether to leave it at that. But this was Travis—he’d always been able to get her to say more than she intended. “It’s just… some of these guys, they don’t realize the impact they have. The partying, the arrests—it’s not just their lives they’re messing with. It’s the kids who look up to them.”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze focused straight ahead. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “I get that. But you know we’re not all like that, right?”
She nodded, her chest tightening. “I know.”
He didn’t press her, and for that, she was grateful. They ran in silence again, and she found herself sneaking a glance at him. He looked the same as he always had—calm, steady, like he belonged here. Travis had always been different. Even when they were kids, he’d been the one who stayed after to help clean up the ice or played goalie when no one else wanted to.
“Have you ever thought about writing the other side of it?” he asked suddenly.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Instead of tearing people down, what if you wrote about the ones who are doing it right? The players who work hard, stay out of trouble, give back to their communities.”
She let the question hang in the air, unsure how to answer. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it wasn’t what SportsZone wanted. Positive stories didn’t generate clicks.
“Maybe someday,” she said finally.
Travis nodded, like he understood. “I’d read it.”
The simplicity of his statement caught her off guard. She smiled, a small, genuine smile that she didn’t have to force. “Thanks.”
They finished their run, stepping off the treadmills in unison. Sarah grabbed her water bottle, suddenly hyperaware of how sweaty she was.
“Coffee?” he asked, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder.
“Are you asking or telling?”
“Asking.”
“Then, sure.”
They walked toward the exit together, the cool air outside a welcome relief after the stuffy gym.
“Do you ever miss it?” Travis asked as they waited for the crosswalk light to change.
“Miss what?”
“Skating. Playing. All of it.”
She hesitated, the question catching her off guard. Did she miss it? The hours they used to spend on the lake, the late-night games, the feeling of gliding across the ice like nothing else mattered—of course she missed it.
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
“You should come out with us sometime,” he said. “The guys would love it.”
Sarah laughed, the idea so ridiculous she couldn’t help herself. “Yeah, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see me after my last article.”
Travis smiled, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Maybe they’d be surprised.” He bumped into her with the side of his body. “Maybe you would be too.”
The light changed, and they crossed the street. Sarah glanced at him, trying to read his expression, but he was already looking ahead.
When they reached the coffee shop, Travis held the door open for her, the gesture so casual it almost made her forget her usual guardedness.
Almost.
As they sat down with their drinks, she found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t expected. Travis had a way of doing that—making her feel like she didn’t have to have all the answers.
“Thanks for this,” she said, wrapping her hands around her cup.
“Anytime.”
And for the first time in a long time, she thought that maybe she and Travis could be friends again.