Chapter 6 #2
“Before, I just thought I was bad at stuff everyone else seemed to handle naturally.”
She doesn’t immediately respond to that. Just angles her skates, looping us both toward center ice again.
“That must’ve been exhausting,” she says finally.
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.
“Yeah. Dr. Hale said that I spent so much time masking as I grew up, that the pressure of last year, being in the NHL and the team’s rise, all aided in the discovery that I’ve been living with this.
Crazy isn’t it? But just knowing that this is who I am, and that it explains things, is already starting to help. ”
A beat passes between us before Emma gestures with her stick. “Like what, though? What’s one thing that feels different now that you know?”
I glance down at the puck, rolling it slightly side to side on my blade.
“Everything’s louder than I thought it was,” I say. “Not just sound. That’s one of the signs that started messing with me, actually. But I noticed my input felt big. Louder than a crowd, but I always figured everyone else noticed all of it, too, and just didn’t get distracted.”
Emma tilts her head a little. “What do you mean by input?”
I let out a breath, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Everything, I guess. Not just noise. It’s…
” I hesitate, trying to line it up in a way that makes sense outside my own head.
“Lights. Movement. People talking, even if it’s not to me.
The way something feels, like fabric or sweat or…
” I shake my head once. “It all comes in at the same level.”
Emma doesn’t interrupt; she holds space and watches me work through it.
“Like,” I go on, slower now, “most people can tune stuff out, right? Background noise, whatever’s not important. I don’t think I do that. Or I didn’t realize I wasn’t doing it. So when it stacks up, it’s not just loud. It’s everything. All at once.”
Emma nods immediately. No hesitation. No confusion. “Okay.”
“And patterns,” I add. “I can’t not see them. Out here, it’s great. It’s why I love it here…” I gesture vaguely with my stick toward the ice. “Why I’m good at this.”
“Yeah,” she says, a hint of a smile in her voice. “No argument there.”
“But off the ice…” I trail off, searching for the right way to put it. “It’s like my brain keeps trying to solve things that aren’t…solvable. Conversations, people—stuff that doesn’t follow rules.”
Emma winces lightly. “People are the worst for that.”
Can’t argue with that. “They really are.”
She skates backward now, facing me fully, eyes locked on mine in that way she has when she’s dialed in. “I can remember when we were younger, and you would focus only on me when you had to be a part of a group conversation.”
I nod, the memory coming back to me as well.
It was a crutch, but it helped. Still does, these days.
If I’m somewhere that I feel like I’m not fully tethered and uncomfortable, I try to make eye contact with someone I do feel a connection with, someone who I know, if I’m speaking.
The person is usually an Emma-type or, these days, I do it with some of the guys on the team, like Liam.
Can’t be just anyone, I have to trust them.
And I’m practiced at it, because they don’t realize it’s happening.
“You know, all that you’re going through doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly a different person,” she says simply. “You’re you.”
“I know that, too.”
She lifts a brow, still wrapping herself around my diagnosis as well. “But, I guess it feels like it anyway.”
“Yeah.”
She nods once, and I can see she gets it. From here, we fall into a rhythm again, passing the puck back and forth. Tape to tape. Clean. Predictable. Just a couple of grown-up hockey kids messing around.
“I read something,” she says after a second. “About how a diagnosis doesn’t change who you are, it gives you better instructions.”
I catch the puck, stilling it. That lands somewhere solid.
“You know, instructions would be nice,” I admit.
She grins. “You love instructions.”
“I do,” I say, deadpan. “Huge fan. Give me a flat pack from Ikea any day of the week, and I’m your guy.”
She laughs, pushing the puck past me just enough to make me work for it.
“Good news is,” she adds, softer now, “you don’t have to figure it all out at once.”
I hook the puck back, sending it her way again.
“Good,” I say. “Because I’ve got therapy in a few hours and I’m pretty sure that’s where most of the unravelling’s going to happen.”
Emma smirks. “Lucky therapist.”
I shake my head, but there’s a small smile there now. “Not to change the subject, but how’d I do today?”
“Not bad,” she says with a shrug.
I huff. “Ringing endorsement.”
“But,” she adds, pointing her stick at me as she glides backward, “soon? It’s just you and them.”
“Oh, Lord,” I mutter. “Give me strength.”
“Oh, you’re gonna need it.” Emma barks out a laugh, the sound echoing off the rink. “My advice? Don’t show weakness.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I just stare at her. “Is that actual coaching advice?”
“These are 14U girls.” She leans in slightly, lowering her voice like she’s letting me in on a secret. “They’ll eat you alive.”
“They’re kids. Girls, Emma, not raptors.”
“They’re teenagers,” she corrects immediately. “And a couple already think they’re in their twenties, so just know you’re dealing with multiple personalities.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It should,” she insists. “Because you need to understand what you’re up against.”
I cross my arms over my stick. “Which is?”
“Chaos,” she says, without hesitation. “Smart, fast, observant chaos that will absolutely clock you the second you hesitate.”
I shake my head, half-laughing. “Got it. Be emotionally unavailable to a group of middle schoolers. Solid plan.”
“Teenagers. Get it straight. Feral teenagers.” She starts skating toward the boards, then tosses over her shoulder, “I just don’t want to come back and hear any stories about you being tied up and spun around on the Zamboni in the middle of the ice.”
I push off to follow her. “That feels very specific.”
“Because it could happen,” she calls back. “I’ve seen things.”
I laugh, the sound easy, surprising even me a little. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“Yet I’m also correct,” she shoots back. “We live in a world where both are true.”
We reach the boards, both of us slowing as the last of the girls clear out, the energy of the rink shifting into that end-of-practice hum.
Emma rests her arms on the top of the boards, glancing sideways at me. “Oh, and Saturdays. The team bonding sessions. They won’t be a problem, right?”
“I guess not,” I say slowly. “And what exactly am I supposed to do on those days?”
“Like I said the other day, you’ll be in the sessions with them.” Emma’s smile turns just a little too knowing. “You’ll be there, they’ll be there, Vivian will be there…”
“Yes, I gathered that part.”
“And, you will participate,” she goes on. “But try to keep your flirting to a minimum in front of the girls, okay?”
“Flirting?” My jaw drops.
Emma looks at me like I’ve just tried to convince her ice isn’t cold. “I picked up on your nervous, frantic energy the second you saw her at the store.”
I frown. “That wasn’t nervous…”
She lifts a hand, cutting me off. “I don’t need the breakdown right now. I need you to keep it together around the kids. And when Vivian tells you to do something in the workshop…” She points at me. “You do it.”
I narrow my eyes. “What am I getting myself into?” I glance back out at the ice, like it might offer clarity. It does not.
Emma laughs, pushing off the boards. “You’ll be fine.”
I don’t move. “You said that about today.”
“And look at you,” she calls over her shoulder as she skates away. “Still alive.”
I watch her go, then glance back up at the ceiling again.
“Still time,” I mutter. “I can back out now.”
But there’s a pull in my chest now, something sharper than dread. Anticipation, maybe.
Or curiosity. Or just the very real awareness that whatever “team bonding with Vivian” means, it’s not going to follow any kind of system I understand.
Which means I’m going to have to figure it out in real time.