Page 12 of The E.M.M.A. Effect
“Stop.” Gale’s teeth ground together as anger bubbled up inside him. “I’m not scared,” he snapped, his voice echoing louder than intended in the quiet room.
“Mmm-hmmm.” Coach loosened his tie even more. “Then what would you call it? Because the Gale I knew wasn’t afraid to take risks. He didn’t second-guess every move. He played with passion, with creativity, with a fire in his gut that made everyone else on the ice look like they were standing still.” He ducked his chin. “What happened to that guy? Where’d he go?” A heavy silence settled between them.
Gale could only shrug.
Finally, Coach spoke again. “Remember your first game here?”
Gale nodded, a ghost of a smile haunting his mouth. “Hat trick in my debut.”
“And do you remember what you said to me after?”
Gale hooked a hand around the back of his neck, muscle tight beneath his fingers. “That I was just getting started.”
“Uh-huh. Cocky little shit. And you know what? I believed you. Hell, I still believe you’ve got that potential. But potential doesn’t mean shit if you don’t put in the work, if you don’t push yourself every single day to be better than you were yesterday.”
“But that’s the thing.” Gale felt a lump forming in his throat. “Iam working hard. I’m at the rink before anyone else. I stay late at the gym.”
“I’m talking about what’s going on up here.” Coach tapped his temple. “And you’re not a machine. You’re human. And humans muck things up more often than a pig in a mud wallow.”
“I-I want to come back stronger,” he said. “Ihaveto come back stronger.”
Coach nodded, his eyes narrowing as if he could see the weight Gale carried. “Good to hear. That’s step one. Step two is going to be harder. It’s time to stop trying to be the player everyone expects you to be, and start being the player you are.”
Gale frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference,” Coach explained, “is that one is playing to meet other people’s expectations, while the other is playing for yourself. When you’re out there on the ice, who are you thinking about? The fans? The press?” He paused, his voice softening. “Your old man rotting in that care home?”
Gale startled at the unexpected reference to his father, his hands clenching involuntarily. “I don’t want to get into him.”
“Can’t say I blame you.” Coach’s tone was brusque. “But I will say this. You’re not like him. And you sure as hell don’t have to follow his trajectory. The Regals aren’t giving up on you. Not yet. But you’re going to need to stop giving up on yourself, and soon.
“Find a way to prove me right, Knight.” His rasp was barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t know how many more chances I can give.” And with that he gestured to the door, a sign Gale was dismissed.
A few minutes later, as Gale hit the key fob to open his truck, he caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror at the back of his stall. It was like the other night at the house. For a moment, he saw his father’s face staring back at him, a stark reminder that the oldman was encoded in his DNA. He quickly looked away, unable to bear the sight. What if that version of himself wasn’t just a trick of light and glass? What if it was a glimpse of inevitability, of genetic destiny locked into his goddamn cells?
He climbed into his truck, the leather driver’s seat cold. As he sat there, key in the ignition but unable to turn it, the full weight of his situation crashed down. While the talk with Coach had given his feelings a bump, it already felt like a distant memory. Gale couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of a cliff, one misstep away from disaster. He banged his forehead against the steering wheel a half dozen times, his hyperventilating breath fogging up the windshield.
The truth was, he didn’t know if he had the fight in him anymore. What if tonight’s game was not just another low point in a slump, but the slow slide toward the inevitable pathetic end?
Fuck.
He started the truck and began driving home. The city lights blurred. He was lost—and he had no idea how to find his way back. And there was that nagging truth he couldn’t shake. He’d bolted—there was no other way to describe it. He ran from Harriet. From E.M.M.A. From his past. From everything. Who the hell knew what came next?
He had to figure out how to quit letting fear call the plays.
That decision crystallized in his mind like frost on a winter morning. As he drove, his resolve hardened with each passing mile. By the time he pulled into his driveway, his path forward was clear as the cold night sky. Maybe the universe put Harriet back in his path. He didn’t believe in fate.
But that didn’t mean fate didn’t believe in him.
The next afternoon, Gale sat in his truck, the windshield wipers swishing back and forth in a steady rhythm against the drizzle. His eyes fixed on the entrance to Harriet’s office, and he rubbedhis face, the stubble that had grown over the past few days rough on his palm.
Last night had turned into a real shitshow of beer and internet stalking. He’d blown off a home workout to drown his sorrows in some hipster craft IPA while diving deep into Harriet’s online life. Her company website was a maze of tech jargon, but that staff photo? Holy hell. That elegant neck, those collarbones—they were kryptonite to his self-control.
Seeing her yesterday, hair pulled back tight enough to give him ideas, had unleashed a flood of memories. Back in the day, she’d been older, wiser, and so far out of his league, it was laughable. But his eyes always found that spot where her throat met her jaw, drawn like a magnet to those three little freckles. They formed a sexy constellation, one that sent him dreaming of the night sky.
He tried to focus, telling himself this was strictly business. But scrolling through her socials—artsy coffee pics, horror movie reviews—felt intimate; she was still Harriet, just grown-up and polished.
His mind drifted: high school Harriet sprawled on that ratty purple beanbag in Brooke’s old bedroom, her ponytail bouncing as she described some slasher flick, her cute nose crinkling when he squirmed. Now here he was, a grown man and a pro athlete, and he was still scared shitless of clowns and asking for a second chance.
