Chapter 35
GAP CONTROL: A DEFENDER MAINTAINS PROPER DISTANCE FROM THE PUCK CARRIER
Every night, Brennan and I are together now. Whether it’s quiet dates, snuggling under blankets on his back deck, or making love. Despite the introduction of intimacy to our relationship, we’re taking our time to rebuild the threads of trust that were once shattered.
So, when I know Brennan is scheduled to speak to all of the student athletes as a part of the initiative he’s trying to get off the ground with Coach Collins, I head in that direction.
I want to support him the way he’s been supporting everyone else.
Unfortunately, I’m late. I was stopped by another teacher to talk about a student.
By the time I reach the athletic wing, I hear his voice carry down the corridor—steady, unpolished, real.
I lean on the wall outside the gym to listen to Brennan influence the kids that surround me every day.
He’s explaining what it costs to heal, what it means to listen to your body, to your conscience, to the people you love.
I hear his voice clearly. “I know you don’t want to hear this part.”
I cock my head to the side, listening to the cadence of Brennan’s voice. It’s emotional but steady. “I didn’t want to hear it either.”
There’s a murmur from inside the gym. Teenagers shifting, whispering, probably rolling their eyes. I picture them sitting on the bleachers, hoodies pulled tight, phones tucked just out of sight.
I inch closer to the door without meaning to.
“When I was your age,” Brennan continues, “I thought athletics were currency. You’re untouchable and you have to keep the flow coming in so you can cash it in later.”
My fist raises to my mouth when I realize he’s not just talking about athletics.
He’s talking about us and what he lost.
“I thought if I just pushed harder, ignored more, stayed quiet when something didn’t feel right, it would all work out. That someone would tap me on the shoulder one day and say, ‘Congrats. You did it.’”
There’s a pause. Not awkward. Intentional.
“No one tells you that sometimes life happens and the cost is paid sooner than you expect. It comes in the form of losing people in your life—good people. It can come in the form of losing trust in your team. Or it can be as simple as an injury.”
The gym is silent now with something heavy. Reality.
“I’m not here to scare you,” he says. “I’m here to tell you that being a good athlete doesn’t mean being reckless with any part of your body—especially your heart and mind. It means being smart enough to protect them but still embrace the honor you’ve been taught through sports.”
“If something feels wrong, say something. If you’re hurt, sit out. If you need help, ask for it.” He exhales. “You don’t get extra points for suffering in silence.”
A boy laughs nervously. Brennan lets it pass and goes on.
“You all have futures. Some of you will continue with sports professionally; most of you won’t.
Maybe you’ll play for fun; maybe you won’t.
But every single one of you deserves to walk into the next phase of your lives knowing there can be severe consequences if you don’t keep as much of who you are today intact.
Be a friend, a teammate. Form a team of friends even if you never play another sport. ”
Another pause. “I wish I’d listened to the people who tried to teach me that.”
The words hit low and deep, like they’re meant to. There’s a beat. Then the scrape of sneakers, the sound of a few tentative claps that grow louder. Brennan clears his throat. “All right. Go get ready for your practices before your coaches yell at me for keeping you too long.”
Laughter breaks out, the tension snapping like a rubber band.
I stay where I am, heart lodged somewhere between my throat and my ribs.
The doors swing open and a group of boys spill into the hallway, loud and buzzing, adrenaline humming under their voices.
I keep my eyes on the floor, giving them space.
“Dude,” one of them whispers—not quietly enough. “What he said?”
“Crazy,” another says. “I never imagined being a pro was that hard.”
“Not just on you physically, but mentally.”
“Did you ever watch when he played pro?”
“Yeah. He was the best.”
Their footsteps fade down the hall, their voices trailing off into something like awe.
I stay there a second longer, heart pounding in a way I don’t recognize.
Because Brennan chose to expose himself in front of these kids, not exploit the glory.
He didn’t just talk with them about medical concerns, but their overall wellness.
It came from what we lost. It came from not wanting even one of the students of Willow Creek to go through something similar.
It melts all of my worries away as if they’re nothing but steam on the ice.
Stepping into the gym, I catch Brennan just as he turns from the bleachers, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the weight of what he just said. His face shows he’s grounded.
A surge of emotion flows through me when I realize what we’re building is real. Solid.
He spots me and grins. “Hey, didn’t know you were here.”
“I got there in time to hear most of it.”
Something flickers across his face—vulnerability, maybe—but he doesn’t retreat from it. “Yeah?”
“I wish I heard the whole thing because what I listened to was incredible,” I say simply.
He exhales like he’s releasing a heavy weight on his shoulders since he started talking. “That’s good to hear,” he says. “I wasn’t sure how they took it.”
“It resonated. The kids were talking about it when they left.” I cup the side of his cheek. “I promise.”
He smiles bashfully before asking me. “You okay with what I talked about at the end?”
My heart melts. Of course he checks in. “I am,” I say. “Actually, I came by to see if you were still in the building.”
He wraps his arms around me. “Oh? Why?”
“Well…” I draw the word out. “I was wondering how you felt about Mexican food tonight.”
A grin spreads slowly across his face, unguarded and surprised. “Are you sitting across from me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’m all in.”
“There’s a Mexican place in Ridgeview,” I say. “Nothing fancy. Good margaritas. Excellent chips.”
“You had my stomach at chips.”
We head to the parking lot together, but the air between us feels different. “I liked hearing what you said today,” I tell him quietly.
He nods, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. “I want to do right by them.”
The sincerity in his voice does something dangerous to my insides. I reach for his hand. “You already are, Bren.”
He inhales sharply and I swivel in his direction. His eyes are shining. “You called me ‘Bren.’ You gave that back to me. I never expected to hear that again.”
Holding his eyes, I whisper, “Bren.”
His eyes drift shut, pleasure washing over his face. When he opens them and they lock on mine, his blue eyes are glowing softly. “Thank you.”
The rest of the evening unfolds gently. Laughter. Sharing plates. By the time we get home to my place, all I want is Brennan. I ask him to stay after he opens the car door. He pulls me close and murmurs, “Yes. I want to be with you.”
Walking from his car to my building, the night is cool and quiet. His arm is wrapped around my waist. “This is the life I want,” he says.
“Here? In Willow Creek?”
“Anywhere with you.” His hand comes up, warm against my cheek. Underneath the stars, he kisses me. It’s not frenzied as it so often is when passion overtakes us. It’s soft and careful.
It’s the kind of kiss that lingers because it’s full of future promises.
When we pull apart, his forehead rests briefly against mine.
“Are you ready to go upstairs?” he murmurs.
“Yes, Bren.”
I watch light flare in his eyes before he guides me up the walkway. Looping my arm around his waist, my heart is full in a way that feels right.
This is our chance for a real win.
With each other.