Page 60 of Puck Me Thrice
"We can explain—" Mira started.
"You don't need to explain," Nolan interrupted, his voice carefully neutral. "You're both adults. You're together. This is—" He paused. "Okay, I'm not going to lie, watching you two together is making me feel some feelings that I need to process."
"Jealousy feelings?" Logan asked. "Because same."
"But also," Nolan continued, "I'm recognizing that this was probably necessary. For both of you. For all of us."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"We've been navigating this relationship as a group," Logan explained, skating onto the ice to join us. "But we also need individual moments. Pairs within the larger dynamic. You two needed this—needed time alone to work through your stuff without us hovering."
Nolan followed Logan onto the ice. "And honestly? Seeing you two together—seeing Blake finally let go of his careful control and Mira trusting him completely—that's beautiful. Jealousy-inducing, but beautiful."
"So you're not mad?" Mira asked cautiously.
"More like we're going to need our own time with you soon," Logan said. "To balance things out. But mad? No."
The four of us stood in the center of the ice, the tension from earlier dissolving into something approaching normalcy. Whatever passed for normal in our extremely abnormal relationship.
"Can we go home now?" Mira asked. "I'm freezing, emotionally exhausted, and I'd like to put on clothes that aren't currently questionable."
"Home sounds good," I agreed.
Chapter 20: Mira
The first tweet appeared at 3 AM.
"Northbridge's 'performance specialist' must be REALLY good at her job if she's 'coaching' three hockey players at once #PuckBunny #SheGetsAroundTown"
By 6 AM, there were a dozen more. By 8 AM, it had gone viral.
I woke up to my phone exploding with notifications. Mentions on social media posts I'd been tagged in, online threads dissecting my relationship with the team, viral videos with my face and cruel commentary.
The memes were the worst. Pictures of me at games, edited with crude captions suggesting I'd earned my position through sexual favors rather than actual expertise. My professional credentials reduced to a punchline. My contributions to the team's championship dismissed as the work of a "puck bunny" who couldn't possibly understand hockey strategy.
I sat in bed, scrolling through the cruelty, my chest tight with humiliation and rage.
"Mira?" Logan appeared in my doorway, his expression concerned. "Have you seen—"
"Yes." My voice came out flat. "I've seen."
He sat on my bed, not touching me but present. "It's bullshit. All of it."
"Doesn't matter if it's true. People believe it."
"The team knows the truth. Coach knows. The scouts who watched you work all season know."
"The athletic department doesn't care about truth. They care about optics." I showed him the email that had arrived at 7:30 AM. "They're considering terminating my position. To 'avoid scandal.'"
Logan's expression darkened. "They can't do that."
"They can do whatever they want. I'm not essential personnel. I'm just the performance specialist who everyone now thinks slept her way into the job."
"You didn't—"
"I know that! But it doesn't matter what's true when the story is better." I threw my phone across the room, not caring when it hit the wall. "Sam wins again. Even when he's not here, he wins."
"What does Sam have to do with this?"
