Page 113 of Off-Limits as Puck

“Coach!” Sophie appears at my elbow, studying Chelsea with eight-year-old directness. “Is that your girlfriend?”

“Sophie—”

“She’s pretty. And she’s watching you like my mom watches those cooking shows. All focused and stuff.”

I look back at Chelsea, who’s clearly heard every word and is trying not to smile. “She’s... a friend.”

“Did you go to school with her?”

I laugh. “No, we didn’t meet in school. Let’s focus on hockey right now.”

But for the rest of practice, I’m hyperaware of Chelsea in the stands. The way she watches the kids, the small smile when Tommy finally manages a clean stop, the way she applauds when Sophie nails that spin move she’s been working on.

When practice ends and the kids file off to the locker room, my heart rate picks up again as I skate over to where Chelsea’s sitting.

“Want to come down here? Ice level’s more comfortable fortalking.”

She makes her way down the bleacher steps carefully, like someone not used to navigating around hockey equipment. When she reaches the boards, I open the gate for her.

“Careful. Ice is slippery.”

She steps onto the rink in sneakers, immediately grabbing my arm for balance. “Jesus, how do you make this look easy?”

“Over twenty years of practice.”

We make our way to the bench, where she can sit without worrying about falling. Up close, I can see the exhaustion around her eyes, the careful way she’s holding herself like someone who’s made a big decision but isn’t sure about the aftermath.

“So,” I say, settling beside her on the bench. “Phoenix to Boston. That’s not exactly a short trip.”

“Neither is Boston to Phoenix.”

I study her profile, looking for clues about why she’s here, what she’s thinking, whether this is closure or possibility. “How long are you staying?”

“Ten minutes. My flight leaves soon.” She turns on her heel, so I grab her, catching a hint of a smile.

“Don’t play me like that,” I tease.

She shrugs. “I bought an open ticket.” She looks out at the empty ice, where the Zamboni is making slow circles. “I needed to see you. Really see you, not just glimpses from a parking lot.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, your interview changed things. Not just professionally—though that mattered. But personally. The way you talked about us, about what we had... it made me realize I’ve been carrying a lot of shame about something that wasn’t entirely shameful.”

I nod, understanding.

“I mean maybe falling in love with you wasn’t the mistake. Maybe the mistake was thinking love was supposed to be convenient. Safe. Something that fits neatly into career plans and family expectations.”

She turns to face me, and I see something in her eyes I haven’t seen since Vegas—possibility mixed with fear, want balanced against wisdom.

“I miss you,” she says quietly. “More than I want to admit. More than what’s probably healthy. When you came to Phoenix and then disappeared, life just fell flat. But I’m going to let you continue this here. I’m staying at the Marriott downtown. Room 412. If you want to talk more, come find me. If you don’t, I’ll understand.”

She stands carefully, testing her balance on the ice. I resist the urge to reach out and steady her, to make this easier than it needs to be.

“The kids are great, by the way,” she says. “You’re good with them. Natural teacher.”

“Thanks.”

“See you later, Reed. Maybe.”

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