20. Ty
TY
By the time I slip through the door of the community room, the workshop is under way. Chairs are pulled close, girls talking over each other, and sparkling supplies are spread out across the tables like scattered confetti.
I hang back near the door, out of the way.
Vivian’s at the front, sleeves pushed up, walking them through today’s session with a mix of patience and enough edge to keep them from completely derailing.
“Okay, no—if you glue that before you attach the charm, it’s not going to sit right,” she says, reaching in to fix it before it becomes a problem.
“I was experimenting,” one of the girls argues.
“You were guessing,” Vivian teases, but she’s smiling.
There’s a ripple of laughter, and I find myself smiling, too.
The room’s different from the first week. Less noise for the sake of noise. They’re actually working together now. They pass things, compare what they’ve done, call each other over or help each other proactively, instead of waiting to be told what’s next.
She did that. Vivian made that happen.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her move through it. She doesn’t hover, nor does she take over. She steps in when she needs to, lets them figure the rest out. It works.
She turns slightly, catching sight of me and she winks. Her mouth curves enough so that I know that the hint of a smile she’s sharing is for me and only me.
“Okay,” Vivian says, clapping once to pull them back in. “So put your charms away now, because it’s time to talk about the MVP trophy. We’re designing something that represents the team. Not just hockey. The team.”
A few of the girls immediately start talking over each other again.
“Crown,” someone says.
“It’s not a pageant,” another calls out.
“Stars,” a third offers, already sketching.
Vivian nods, letting it all come out before stepping in. “All right, slow down. One at a time.”
A hand shoots up. “What about diamonds?”
Vivian’s brows lift. “Okay. Talk me through that.”
“They’re strong,” the girl says. “And they last. Like…forever.”
Vivian nods, already reaching for a marker. “Diamonds are durable and strong, and are something that holds up over time.” She sketches as she talks, simple lines, nothing too fixed. “That could work.”
The room leans in a little as another voice cuts in. “What about a puck?”
“Instead of the ice skate?” Vivian pauses, marker hovering. “Makes sense. Why?”
A shrug. “Because…it’s hockey?”
A few of the girls laugh, not mean, just honest.
I hear myself before I plan it. “Because it’s the thing that actually moves the game.”
The words land in the space from the back of the room, and for a second, I almost don’t realize I said them out loud. Heads turn my way as Vivian looks at me.
I push off the wall. “You can have all the other stuff—the lights, the crowd, the jerseys—but nothing happens without the puck.”
One of the girls nods slowly. “Yeah. That.”
Another leans forward. “Like…it’s small, but it matters.”
Vivian’s still looking at me. A second too long, if I’m honest. There’s something in her expression I can’t quite pin down before she turns back to the group, picking it up like it was always part of the plan.
“Okay,” she says, tapping the board. “So we’ve got strength with the diamond, and movement with the puck.” She starts sketching again, faster now. “What if we combine those ideas? Something solid, but central. Something everything else builds around.”
The girls lean in again, talking over each other, but this time it sticks. Builds.
I settle back against the wall again and somewhere in the middle of it, I realize I haven’t once checked the exits. Not the door. Not the windows. Not the path out if it gets too loud.
Something I would have done before, only this time I don’t.
I’m considering whether or not that news is Dr. Hale-worthy when the door opens and a few parents filter in early, voices lower and contained.
There’s a familiar shift in the room as the energy suddenly feels much more…
heightened. Thicker. I look around to see what caused this feeling when I see her.
Danielle’s with them. Thankfully, no glitter today, but there is a tank top that is certainly a choice, and she’s weathering it.
Look, I have a sister, and I will never tell her what to wear, but there are some lines I draw in the sand, and when I can see what’s going on under your shirt, you bet that a room full of kids can, too.
I drag my focus back to the front before my brain can wander too far down that road.
Vivian’s still with the girls, building something out of their ideas—not taking over, just guiding it into shape—and I keep watching her.
Not the whole room this time. Just…her.
The way she lets them talk it out. The way she steps in right before something falls apart and nudges it back on track like it was always heading there. Her presence isn’t just calm and grounding for me, but it works on this group, too. If she could just bottle it, she’d be a billionaire.
She claps her hands once, pulling them back in.
“Okay, everyone—bring it in for a second.”
There’s some groaning, a few last-second attempts to finish whatever they’re working on, but they listen.
“We’ve got two weeks left,” she says, looking around the group. “So next week, we’re doing something fun.”
That gets their attention.
“And the week after,” she adds, “I’ll bring in the MVP trophy design. You guys get final say. If you approve it, that’s the one we use.”
A couple of them straighten at that. One pumps a fist like they’ve already won something.
Vivian smiles. “So don’t rush it. Think about what you want it to represent.”
She steps back, giving them the release. “All right, pack it up. I’ll see you next week.”
Chairs scrape. Bags zip. The room changes from focused to loose in seconds as the girls start filing out, voices picking back up, energy spilling toward the door.
Vivian lingers near the front, saying quick goodbyes, catching a few of them on the way out, and I stay where I am, watching her finish. She’s beautiful when she throws her head back to laugh at feedback from a parent, but she’s even more gorgeous when accepting praise from them, too.
I’m so intensely pulled into her world, I’m surprised when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn, half-expecting it to be one of the girls asking if I’ll help them clean up. But it’s not.
Danielle.
She’s closer than I expected, fingers already playing with a strand of her hair. She smells unmistakably like sugar and baby powder, and I have to press my tongue against the roof of my mouth to stop myself from sneezing directly in her face.
“Hey,” she says, her voice breathy and low. “Do you have a minute?”
I straighten slightly, too aware of how too close she is. Everything about this is triggering me and I don’t like it. My eyes do a quick scan.
Door. Window. Space between the tables…the quickest path out if I need it.
I stay where I am, back against the wall, because I’m still here for a reason.
“I do,” I say, keeping my voice even. “As long as it’s about Ava, right?”
She nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
I give her a small nod to go ahead.
“How did she do today?” she asks. “Is there anything I should be working on with her at home?”
I shift my weight slightly, grounding myself before answering.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that the steady, quiet, calm settling through me feels a lot like the ring does when I rub it, and I make a mental note to ask Dr. Hale why it works—because if there are other ways to feel like this, I want to know them.
“She’s doing well,” I say. “Her positioning’s improved. She’s starting to read the play a little earlier instead of reacting late.” I gesture lightly, keeping it simple. “You could work on stick control—tight spaces, quick touches. We want her to be more comfortable handling under pressure.”
Danielle nods along like she’s right there with me.
“Right, okay. Yeah. That makes sense.”
I’m not sure it does.
“But I can do that,” she adds, brushing her hair back again. “I mean, if I pay for some one-on-one coaching. Just to give her a bit of an edge, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding once. “That’s a good idea if you want to go that route and she’s that serious. My sister did that and it helped her career.”
She smiles, a little too bright. “Yeah, I think I might.”
I reset my footing and glance up. Across the room, Vivian’s looking at me. Then her gaze shifts. It’s quick, assessing—taking in Danielle standing a little too close, a little too angled in, before her attention falls back to me.
Danielle follows my line of sight, then smiles like she’s just remembered something.
“I was thinking,” she says, fingers still in her hair, voice dipping just enough to feel intentional, “maybe I could hire you. If you’d like to be her private coach.”
My head turns before I can stop it.
“Private” lands wrong. Or maybe too pointed. “I—”
There’s a clatter of sound as chairs scrape and tiny desks shift. When I glance up again, Vivian’s already moving. Straight across the room, no hesitation, weaving through the last of the girls and their parents like she’s got a destination in mind.
Which, apparently—
Is me.
She closes the distance fast, and doesn’t slow down. She doesn’t give me a second to figure out what she’s doing before her arms are around me.
“Hey, baby,” she says, bright and easy, like we do this all the time. She stands on her tiptoes and places her beautiful, soft lips on mine.
The moment is quick. Her lips are warm. And this woman is not subtle.
She steps away and cocks her head to one side. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
For a second, my brain tries to put two and two together, but I keep coming up with ten. Behind her, the room erupts. There’s a chorus of squeals, a couple of outright “Oh my gosh!” from the girls who definitely did not miss that.