Page 53 of Puck Me Thrice
"But if I can create a framework—"
"Then you can convince yourself you have control," Nolan finished. "Which you don't. None of us do. That's the terrifying part."
I stared at my spreadsheet, my chest tight with familiar panic. "What if I'm too high-maintenance for this? What if my anxiety becomes too much? What if—"
"Stop," Blake interrupted gently. "You're spiraling."
"I'm realistically assessing—"
"You're catastrophizing," Nolan corrected. "Which is different. Talk to us. What's actually bothering you?"
I closed my laptop, suddenly unable to look at either of them. "I saw you and Mira this afternoon. Ice fishing. You looked so... comfortable together. Easy. And I realized that I'm the complicated one. The one with medication and therapy and panic attacks before games. Blake doesn't have baggage—he just is. And I'm worried that eventually, Mira will realize she could have an easier relationship with just him. Or you, Nolan. You're steady and logical and you don't need constant reassurance. Why would she choose my mess when she could have your—"
"Logan." Blake's voice was firm. "Stop."
"I'm just being realistic—"
"You're being an idiot," Nolan said, which was harsh enough that I actually stopped talking. "Mira isn't comparing us. She chose all of us. Our complications included."
"But—"
"No buts. You think your anxiety makes you less desirable? Mira has anxiety too. She understands it in ways I never could. Your overthinking matches her perfectionism. You speak the same language of worry and catastrophizing, and that creates connection."
I wanted to believe him. But watching Blake and Mira laugh together by the frozen lake, looking so perfectly matched in their easy comfort, had triggered every insecurity I'd ever had about being too much, too complicated, too difficult to love.
Practice that afternoon did nothing to improve my mental state.
The team had noticed something was different between the four of us. The energy had shifted from professional distance to something more intimate, more obviously connected. We tried to maintain professionalism, but it was hard when Blake automatically handed Mira his water bottle without her asking, or when Nolan adjusted her ponytail during a break, or when I found reasons to skate past her just to catch her smile.
"So," one of the juniors said during a water break, his voice loud enough to carry. "Anyone else notice that Coach Mira seems real friendly with the captains lately?"
Several players snickered.
"Wonder what kind of special training they're getting," another added with a leer that made my blood boil.
Nolan was off the bench before I could move. "Williams. Shut your mouth."
"What? I'm just saying—"
"I know what you're saying. Say it again and you're benched."
"Cap, come on—"
"I'm not kidding. Mira has contributed more to this team's success than any of you combined. Show some respect or find another team."
The rink went silent. Nolan skated back to the bench, his jaw tight with controlled anger.
But I noticed the looks. The speculation. The whispers that would eventually become rumors that would eventually become problems.
We were going to have to address this. Soon.
Later that afternoon, I found myself in the equipment room, ostensibly organizing goalie pads but really just hiding from my own thoughts.
I didn't hear Mira enter until she was right behind me.
"You've been avoiding me," she said.
I turned to find her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
