Puck, Pain & Promises

CHAPTER 9: Building Trust

Jax...

“I heard about the new tutor girlfriend.”

Tristan’s voice cut through the cold morning air as I stepped onto the ice at 5:30 AM. The rink was empty except for us. This was my time. The only place where everything made sense.

I took a hard lap around the boards, skates cutting into the fresh ice. The cold burned my lungs in the best way. I did not answer right away. Tristan skated beside me, matching my pace like he always did.

“What else did you hear?” I asked finally.

“That you left Harlan’s office before he finished the sentence.” Tristan grinned. “Smart move, Captain. But a tutor girlfriend? That is new.”

I took a shot at the empty net. The puck hit the post with a loud clang. “She is not my girlfriend. She is a tutor. Fake dating to clean up my image. That is all.”

Tristan laughed. “Sure. And I am the queen of England. You showered twice yesterday after practice. You never do that.”

I ignored him and took another lap. The ice was where I could think. Where I could push my body until my mind shut up. I had been doing this since I was four years old. It was the only thing that never let me down.

Practice started slow. A few more guys showed up. We ran drills. I pushed hard. Harder than usual. Every hit, every pass, every shot helped push the suspension threat out of my head. One more incident. Three weeks. I could not afford to lose control.

Riley arrived late. He skated onto the ice with that easy smile he always wore. But something was off today. His eyes found me across the rink and lingered a second too long. The look was not friendly. It was calculating. I filed it away. I did not know what it meant yet, but I would remember it.

We ran a drill. Riley came at me during a corner battle. His shoulder stayed on me a fraction longer than necessary. Nothing violent. Nothing the coaches would call. But I felt the intent. The other guys noticed too. Harlan blew the whistle early.

“Clean it up,” Coach said, looking straight at me.

I looked back. Neither of us spoke. I skated off the ice with the rest of the team.

Later that evening I sat in the locker room waiting for Eden. I had cleaned up the space a little. Not enough that she would notice. Just enough that it did not look like a disaster.

My notes were already out on the bench. They looked inadequate even to me. I had been trying to study the old way. Memorize. Repeat. It was not working.

The door opened at exactly nine. Eden stepped inside. She was on time. She always was. She set her bag down and pulled out her books without looking at me first.

We started with chemistry. She explained things in a way that made sense. When I got stuck she reframed it.

“Think of it like a hockey play. There is a signal. There is a read. There is execution.”

I got it in thirty seconds. She noticed the shift in me. She did not comment on it. But something in her posture changed. She adjusted her teaching without saying a word. I noticed that too.

Mid session she put the textbook down. “You owe me the other half of our agreement. You said you would teach me how to stop caring.”

I looked at her. “That is not something I can teach in one session.”

“Then start.”

I thought about it. “First lesson. Stop apologizing for things you have no reason to apologize for.”

She opened her mouth. “I do not…”

She stopped. I raised an eyebrow. She said carefully, “I was going to say I do not do that. But I do.”

“Yes,” I said. “You do.”

I watched her process it. She got quiet. That was how I knew she was really hearing something. I added,

“Second lesson. You do not owe anyone your reaction. Not to me. Not to Brooke. Not to him. Your reactions are yours.”

She looked at me for a long time. “You are surprisingly good at this.”

“I had a good teacher,” I said. “The hard kind.”

She did not push for more. But she heard the implication. We went back to the textbook. The session had a new rhythm now. She explained. I challenged. She reframed. I got it. We moved on.

We were packing up when it happened. She reached across the bench for her highlighter. Her hair brushed my jaw. We both went still. I did not move. She pulled back slowly, highlighter in hand. Her eyes met mine. The look was halfway between her usual careful expression and something rawer.

“You should go,” I said quietly.

“I know.”

Neither of us moved for three more seconds. Then she picked up her bag. At the door she turned. “Wednesday. Same time?”

“Wednesday,” I confirmed.

She nodded and left.

I sat in the empty locker room for a long time after she was gone. I had been with plenty of women before. It was always simple. Clear. Easy to walk away from. What I felt in those three seconds when her hair brushed me was none of those things. It was quiet. Heavy. Dangerous.

I noticed her pen on the bench. She had left it behind. I picked it up. I put it in my jacket pocket. I told myself I would return it next time. I told myself a lot of things that night.

I sat there and realized the transaction was already feeling different. I told myself it was irrelevant.

I almost believed it.