20. Brashe
CHAPTER TWENTY
brASHE
The coffee cup sat on my stall like an accusation.
Then I’d seen the cup from the place down the street. The coffee was still warm, and she’d placed a purple sticky note on the lid.
You’ve got this. —E
My throat closed up. I’d learned to ignore feelings like this. They didn’t help you stop pucks.
I picked up the cup, turning it in my hands. She’d been here early enough to beat me, which meant she’d barely slept either. She’d thought about me enough to stop to get me coffee on her way in.
The note stayed stuck to my palm.
“There you are.” Veskar’s voice came from behind me, much too smug. “Someone’s got a girlfriend.”
I didn’t turn around. “Shut up.”
“Is that her handwriting? That’s definitely her handwriting.” He appeared beside me, grinning like he’d won the last game all by himself. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are. Your face is doing a thing.”
“My face doesn’t do things.”
“It’s doing a thing right now.” He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to make the coffee slosh in the cup. “She’s good for you.”
I took a sip instead of answering. The coffee was perfect. She’d remembered how I liked it.
Tolrek arrived next, moving with his usual quiet. He took one look at the cup in my hand, the note, and my face, and nodded once.
“She’s good for you,” he said.
“That’s what I said,” Veskar crowed.
“Everyone shut up,” I muttered.
But I kept the note, folding it carefully and tucking it in my equipment bag where nobody could see it, but I’d know it was there.
My phone buzzed.
How’s the hip? Ellie asked.
Perfect, because you took care of it for me.
Flatterer.
Just honest.
I grinned at my phone like a fool.
Thank you for the coffee, I texted.
You’re welcome.
Mikael walked past, saw my face, and whistled low. “Kedish is smiling. Someone alert the media.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You’re definitely smiling.”
I shoved my phone in my pocket and started getting dressed, but the grin wouldn’t leave.
We went up onto the ice, and the assistant coaches pushed us hard.
By the time we’d finished the third set of defensive drills, my hip burned the way Ellie said it should.
Deep muscle work, not injury. Progress. There was no hesitation in my movements, no pull when I dropped into the butterfly position.
Physically, I felt fine.
Mentally, I was a disaster.
Game four was tomorrow. We needed a win. Four wins and we’d move to the next round.
I’d played like a mess in game three. I’d let everyone down.
Every practice felt like a test I was failing. I could feel it in my shoulders, my jaw, and how my hands wouldn’t unclench.
“Kedish.” Neva’s voice cut through the noise. “A word.”
I skated over to where she stood by the bench, trying to look like I had myself together.
She studied me with that expression she got when reviewing game footage, seeing past the surface stats to the pattern underneath. “Your hip looks solid.”
“Dr. Lundrig cleared me. No restrictions.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Game three, you were in your head. I’ve seen you play scared before, like after that concussion in your second season, when you were terrified of getting hit again. But this was different.”
My jaw clenched. “It won’t happen tomorrow night.”
“I didn’t say it would.” Her expression softened slightly. “I’m asking if you know what changed. Because if you do, you can work with it. If you don’t, it’ll eat you alive out there.”
I knew what had changed. The yellow dress. The pool. The way she’d looked at me, like I was worth keeping.
“I know,” I said.
Neva nodded. “No harm in speaking with the sports psychologist. I’ll tell her you’ll reach out?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tomorrow’s a big game. Home ice, our crowd. Show them what you showed me in practice today.”
“I will.”
She started to skate toward the tunnel, but stopped and turned back. “Kedish? Whatever’s in your head—or whoever—don’t let it make you smaller. Let it make you be braver.”
She left the arena, and I tried to believe it.
Once I hit the locker room, I texted the sports psychologist and set up an appointment for tomorrow.
After changing, I should’ve gone straight to the gym until my upcoming appointment with Ellie.
Worked through the tightness in my shoulders until my body was too tired to feel anything else.
Instead, I found myself walking toward the treatment room, like she was magnetic north and I’d forgotten how to navigate in any other direction.
Voices echoed inside. Her voice, specifically, along with Mikael’s.
I stopped in the doorway.
She was pressing into his shoulder muscle, explaining about rotator cuff mechanics.
Mikael said something I didn’t catch. She laughed.
Weeks ago, I would’ve stormed in there with a territorial growl that made everyone uncomfortable. I would’ve staked a claim I had no right to make. Now I stood in the doorway, watching her work. Being good at her job. Helping my teammate.
The jealousy was still there, a dull ache behind my ribs. But it wasn’t about Mikael looking at her. It was about the fact that she could help everyone else easily, professionally, while every session with me felt like standing too close to a fire.
She finished the assessment, stepping back. “That should help. Ice it tonight, and come see me if it’s worse tomorrow.”
“I will.” Mikael hopped off the table. He spotted me on his way out. “Hey.”
I nodded.
He paused, his expression shifting. “She’s good at what she does, isn’t she?”
“The best,” I said.
“Lucky us.” He clapped my shoulder on his way past.
Ellie turned, finding me in the doorway. “How’s everything feeling?” Spoken as if she hadn’t left coffee on my stall this morning with a note that made my heart ache.
“Good,” I said. “Really good.”
“Come sit down. Let’s take a look.”
I moved to the table, every step heavy. She pulled on fresh gloves, the snap of nitrile loud in the quiet room. Her hands settled on my hip, finding the edge of the muscle through my compression shorts.
The air changed between us.
I’d spent almost two weeks with her hands on me. I knew every variation of her touch.
This felt different.
Her thumb pressed into the muscle, testing for tenderness, and my entire body went taut.
“Relax,” she said in the same way she had a hundred times before.
Except now I knew how she sounded when she said my name with her legs wrapped around me. Knew the exact pressure of her fingers when she was touching me as Ellie instead of Dr. Lundrig.
“I’m trying,” I said, my voice raspy.
She cleared her throat and continued the assessment.
“Any pain with lateral movement?” Her voice stayed steady, but I caught the slight hitch.
“No, ma’am.”
Her gaze shot to mine. “I told you not to call me that. It’s Dr. Lundrig when we’re working and Ellie when we’re alone.”
“We’re alone a lot.”
Her hands stayed on my hip, her fingers spread, warm through the fabric. “Not as much as I’d like.”
I stopped breathing.
She stepped back.
“You’re still cleared for tomorrow,” she said, making notes on her tablet.
“And after that?”
She looked up, her pen hovering over the screen. “After tomorrow, we’ll see.”
“Will you be at the game?”
“I’ll be in the family section if that’s okay.”
“Wearing my hoodie?”
Her mouth curved, almost a smile. “If I do it again, everyone will know.”
“They should.”
She set the tablet down, studying my face. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m fine.”
“Brashe.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m nervous.”
“You’re going to be great tomorrow.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Trust me.”
9:41 PM arrived right on schedule.
I’d done my stretches, iced my hip, and taken the photo with the instruction sheet visible in the frame because I knew she’d look for it. The ritual had become a lifeline I didn’t know how to let go of.
I sent the photo. Following doctor’s orders.
Good boy. I MEANT GOOD JOB. Autocorrect.
I grinned at my phone. Sure it was. I included a wry emoji.
Brashe Kedish, are you flirting with me?
I’ve been flirting with you since you started this job. Glad you finally noticed.
I’ve been noticing everything.
Like what?
Like how you take your coffee. How you arrive exactly 14 minutes early. How you fold the instruction sheet the same way every time. How you look at me when you think I’m not watching.
I stared at that message until my vision blurred. The whole time, she’d been paying attention to the things I did that I thought nobody saw.
How do I look at you? I asked.
Like I matter.
My hands shook typing the response. You’re the only thing that matters right now.
Silence stretched. I watched the screen, wondering if I’d said too much.
Words built in my throat, too big to swallow. What if I’m only good at being the weapon in the net? What if that’s all I am?
I sent it before I could delete it.
Her response came fast. You think the male who laminated an instruction sheet is just a weapon? You think the one who buys sandwiches for strangers is only equal to what he does for 60 minutes on ice? Brashe. Come on.
I stared at those words, trying to believe them.
I want to see you, I said. Not in the treatment room. Not at the arena. Just…you.
After the game?
After we win, I said.
Confident.
Terrified. I’m pretending I’m confident.
That’s very honest.
I’m trying to be. With you.
Tomorrow I’d either prove Ellie right or prove that my performance in game three was who I really was when it mattered.
My phone buzzed one more time. Still awake?
Yeah.
Me too. I pulled up the game footage from your playoff run two seasons ago. The save you made in game seven? When you went full split and caught it with your glove?
What about it?
That’s who you are tomorrow. Not game three. That guy.
Heat flooded through me.
Get some sleep, she sent. Tomorrow’s going to be good. I know it.
This time, I let myself believe her.
Because the alternative was admitting that I’d spent almost two weeks getting my body back just to prove my head was still broken.