Page 18 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Whatever. I don't need pity."
"Good, because I'm fresh out. But I could teach you some stickhandling drills if you want. Might as well do something while everyone else is doing the breathing stuff."
He glanced at the other kids, then at the bag of equipment I'd brought. "You brought sticks?"
"Few old ones from the rink. Nothing fancy."
"I guess. If you want."
We moved to the far corner where I'd stashed the gear. Marcus handled the stick with the easy familiarity of someone who'd been playing since he could walk. His hands were good—soft touches, quick adjustments. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightened whenever he made a mistake.
"You know what helped me with anger on the ice?" I asked, demonstrating a figure-eight drill. "Counting. When I felt that rage building—and trust me, I had a hair-trigger temper—I'd count my breathing. Four in, hold for four, four out. Sounds stupid, but it's hard to punch someone when you're focused on math."
"You had anger issues?" He looked skeptical.
"Dude, I got suspended three games sophomore year of high school for fighting. My dad..." I paused, choosing words carefully. "My dad had opinions about everything I did wrong. Made me feel like I was never good enough. That anger had to go somewhere."
"What changed?"
"Honestly? I got tired of letting him control me even when he wasn't there. Every time I lost my temper, it was like giving him power over me. So I started counting. Then visualization—imagining myself staying calm. Then positive self-talk, which felt super weird at first."
"That's what she's teaching them?" He nodded toward Rachel and the group.
"Yeah. Same stuff, just wrapped in games so it doesn't feel like therapy."
Marcus practiced the drill in silence for a while, his movements becoming smoother as he relaxed. "My mom can't afford any more teams anyway. Equipment's too expensive."
"What if I told you about a program that provides gear and covers fees?"
His eyes lit up before he could catch himself. "For real?"
"I'll talk to Coach Stevens. We sponsor a few kids each year. But you'd have to commit to working on the anger stuff. Maybe come to these sessions, learn the mental game."
"I guess I could try."
We worked through a few more drills, and I watched weeks of tension start to drain from his shoulders. By the time Rachel called everyone back together, Marcus joined the circle without prompting.
"Nice work," Rachel murmured as I sat beside her. "What did you say to him?"
"Just talked hockey."
She studied me with that penetrating look that always made me feel like she was seeing too much. "You're different with them. More real."
"As opposed to my usual fake self?"
"Your usual performing self," she corrected. "This is better."
It might have been the nicest thing she'd ever said to me.
The rest of the session flew by. We taught visualization through a game where kids imagined their perfect performance, then drew it. Marcus's drawing was all violent scribbles at first, then gradually evolved into actual hockey plays.
"You're all naturals at this," I told them as we wrapped up. "The mental game is just as important as the physical. Maybe more."
"Will you come back tomorrow?" Destiny asked.
"We'll be here twice a week," Rachel promised. "Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Can you bring more hockey stuff?" Marcus addressed me directly for the first time.
