Page 75 of Gap Control

TJ opened the door to reveal Mercier, who looked like someone had dragged him through a playoff series backward. His usually neat hair was disheveled, and his shoulders hunched. He stepped inside hesitantly.

"Monroe said you guys... might have a minute?"

"Always." TJ gestured to the chair by the window. "What's going on?"

Mercier sat heavily, hands clasped between his knees. For a long moment, he stared at the floor.

"It's stupid," he finally said.

"Try us," I offered.

Another pause. "Things at home aren't... working like they used to."

TJ settled on the edge of the other bed, giving Mercier space but staying engaged. "Work stuff? Travel getting to her?"

"No, it's..." Mercier's face flushed red. "It's more like... performance issues in the bedroom. I can't—" He winced. "I'm letting her down there, too."

The room was silent. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but charged with the weight of something deeply personal.

TJ leaned forward slightly. "How long's this been going on?"

A few weeks. Maybe more." Mercier's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "She says it's fine and doesn't care, but I know she's frustrated. And the more I think about it, the worse it gets."

I spoke before I'd fully formed my thoughts. "The same thing that makes you great in net is probably working against you here."

Both of them looked at me.

"What? I'm just saying you're always thinking three plays ahead. You analyze and prepare for every possible scenario. Unfortunately, this isn't hockey. You can't strategize your way through it."

TJ nodded, picking up the thread. "Yeah, and the pressure you put on yourself—man, that's like trying to score a goal while someone's screaming the shot percentage in your ear."

"But what do I do?" Mercier sounded a little desperate

TJ was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice had lost all traces of his usual humor. "Talk to her. Really talk. Not about fixing it or making it better. Just about how you're feeling."

"She already knows—"

"No," TJ interrupted gently. "She knows you're struggling with performance. Does she know you're terrified of disappointing her? Does she know you lie awake thinking about it?"

Mercier's face crumpled slightly. "I don't want her to think I don't want her."

I spoke up. "Then tell her that. Tell her exactly that."

TJ stood and moved to the window, looking out at the parking lot. "You know what helped me when I was overthinking everything? Remember that rookie year when I couldn't buy a goal for six games straight?"

Mercier nodded.

"Coach Mac told me to stop trying to be perfect and just be present. The same principle applies." TJ turned back to face him. "Stop performing. Start connecting."

"Maybe take the pressure off completely for a while," I added. "Focus on everything else first. Touch that doesn't have to lead anywhere."

Mercier sat up straighter. "Like... dating again?"

TJ smiled. "Yes, like that. Remember what it was like before you were trying to impress her? Before there were expectations?"

We talked for another ten minutes—about communication, emotional pressure, and the weird ways hockey brain could invade every part of your life. By the time Mercier stood to leave, his shoulders had straightened, and some of the tension had left his face.

"Thanks, guys. I mean it. I didn't know who else to..."

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