Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
And I already know Jim isn’t my biggest fan.
Jim doesn’t believe in “leopards changing their spots,” a fact he made sure to share with me after I was offered a contract against his advice. He pretended he was open to being pleasantly surprised, but he’s not fooling anyone, especially me.
Watching them from the corner of my eye as I cross to my bike, I tell myself this could be nothing, but the intensity of the conversation says otherwise. Garcia looks like he’s in the middle of a hard sell.
Selling himself as starting goalie, perhaps?
A beat later, Hartley nods, looking impressed, and reaches out to shake Garcia’s hand.
My good mood cools, replaced by that familiar edge I’ve carried with me for years—the knowledge that nothing comes easy, not in this world, not in this game.
Not for men like me.
But I’ve worked too hard to get back to the NHL, pushed through too much pain and regret to let some status-hungry kid derail me now. My thoughts drift briefly to Stephanie, to a wise thing she said in class about not getting sucked into a story without evidence, before snapping back to the scene in front of me.
This isn’t a story.
This is my life, my future
As if sensing my gaze, Garcia looks up. For a moment, our eyes meet across the lot, his expression shifting from eager to smug, before he lifts a hand in greeting.
I play along, offering my own warm wave, but the reality of what’s happening here is crystal clear.
And the reality is: Game on.
CHAPTER 9
STEPHANIE
Wednesday Night
Something’s off with Tank.
On the surface, he’s doing everything right—following my cues, moving through the poses with the laser focus I’ve come to expect from him. But there’s a rigidity in his shoulders that has nothing to do with his old injury, and his jaw is clenched so tight I swear I can hear his teeth grinding together from across the room.
Every time I glance his way, hoping to catch his eye and offer a reassuring smile, his gaze is locked on his mat like it holds the secrets of the universe.
No, more like it’s a screen playing a highlight reel of whatever’s eating at him over and over again on repeat…
“Now flow into warrior two,” I guide the class, making my way toward the back of the room where Tank is set up in his usual spot. “Let your shoulders soften away from your ears. Remember, we’re not at war with our bodies or with this moment. We’re not here to control. We’re here to allow, to soften, to explore what’s possible when we stay present with our breath.”
Tank’s shoulders shift about a millimeter south.
Progress, but not much.
“Beautiful, everyone,” I continue. “Now sink a little deeper into that front leg, remembering to keep your knee tracking over your ankle. Feel the strength in your foundation as you reach through your fingertips, creating length through the arms.”
As I pass behind Tank, I pause to rest light fingers between his shoulder blades. His muscles are rigid beneath my palm, but he doesn’t flinch away. If anything, he seems to lean into the contact, his body instinctively seeking support. Comfort.
My heart squeezes. Whatever’s bothering him, I hate seeing him like this. The Tank I’ve come to know may be gruff and guarded, but there’s also a quiet peace about him. A grounded, solid quality I admire.
This tightly-wound, churning energy isn’t like him at all.
When we finally reach savasana, his hands curl into fists at his sides and his jaw is still balled up tight. Even Mr. Sniffles seems to sense something’s wrong. Instead of cuddling up next to Tank the way he usually does, my normally chill pup crouches anxiously near his mat, casting worried glances my way.
I guide the class through their final relaxation, but my focus keeps drifting to Tank. By the time I rub the singing bowl to signal the end of practice, I’ve made up my mind—I have to say something. Even if Tank were just a student, I’d feel obligated to reach out.
But he’s more than a student; he’s the man I’m dating.
And no, we haven’t been dating long, but that doesn’t matter. I still care about him, probably more than I should after just a few dates.
After exchanging the usual small talk with the other students as they gather their things in the lobby, I ease back into the studio, where Tank is methodically wiping down his mat and returning his props to their homes.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”
He glances over his shoulder from the blanket shelf with a sigh. “Sorry. I was trying to breathe through it, but…” His forehead furrows. “Did I harsh your vibes?”
I smile. “Nah, my vibes are good. I’m just concerned. What’s going on?”
He sighs again, a heavier sound this time. “Bullshit. Bullshit is going on. Want to take a walk maybe? Get some fresh air while I fill you in?”