SKY’S POV
We won game one of the playoffs. I stopped thirty shots, we celebrated in the locker room the way you’re supposed to celebrate a playoff win, and none of it prepared me for what waited in Amira’s office the next morning.
Something was off in the room before either of us said a word. She sat further back in her chair than usual. Her notepad stayed closed on her lap instead of set aside the way it usually was by now. Small things. The kind of small things I’d learned to read the way I read a shooter’s shoulders before a shot.
“You’re different today,” I said.
“I’ve been thinking about some things.”
“What things?”
She set the notepad down finally, folding her hands over it instead of picking up a pen. “You’ve become emotionally attached to this process, Sky. To me, specifica
