11: Same Pattern

SEVEN.

I watched Mikka from across the street.

She didn't move right away after I opened the passenger door. She stood there holding the handle of her suitcase like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The wind pushed loose strands of her hair across her face, but she didn't even brush them away. It was only then that I noticed something I should have seen days ago. She was wearing the exact same clothes from the night we met.

Slowly, she crossed the street.

She stopped beside my SUV and looked at me through the open door.

"You really read it."

I blinked.

"What?"

"My notebook."

She smiled, but it was a tired smile.

"You read it."

I frowned.

"I never told you that."

"You didn't have to."

She nodded toward the notebook resting on the dashboard.

"There are sticky notes everywhere."

I looked at it and almost laughed.

"I guess you caught me."

She climbed into the passenger seat, carefully placing her suitcase by her feet.

"Thank you."

Those two words caught me completely off guard.

"For what?"

"For giving it a chance."

She looked out the window instead of at me.

"Most people wouldn't have,” she said. “And to be honest, for a moment I thought you wouldn't.”

I said nothing to that. I started the engine but didn't drive. There was something I needed to understand first.

"Mikka."

She turned toward me.

“Yes?”

"How do you know so much about my game?" I asked her.

She didn't even need time to think.

"Hockey makes sense."

I waited.

"People don't."

I stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"When I watch hockey..."

She looked down at her hands.

"...I don't see famous players."

"What do you see?"

She smiled faintly.

"I see habits."

Her fingers traced invisible lines on her jeans.

"I see timing. I see confidence. I see fear.”

I felt something tighten inside my chest.

"And then I see patterns."

She finally looked at me.

"Everyone has patterns."

I couldn't stop listening.

"You lean back before every difficult shot."

She pointed toward my shoulder.

"You protect this side without realizing it."

I frowned.

"You noticed all that?"

"I notice everything."

Silence settled between us. One question still refused to leave my mind.

"If you're this good..."

She waited patiently.

"...why aren't you coaching professionally?"

The smile disappeared from her face.

Instead, she looked tired.

"So you finally asked."

I immediately regretted it.

"You don't have to answer."

"No."

She shook her head gently.

"You deserve the truth."

She looked through the windshield while I stayed quiet, waiting for her response.

"I've applied everywhere—junior teams, university programs, and private academies."

She laughed bitterly.

"They all liked my work."

"So what happened?"

She looked at me again.

"They asked for my papers."

I already knew the answer before she spoke again.

"My immigration status."

She shrugged weakly.

"Nobody hires someone they're not allowed to keep."

I swallowed.

"It doesn't matter how talented you are."

Her voice cracked for the first time.

"Well, over here, if your documents are cancelled..."

She forced herself to smile.

"...your future gets cancelled too."

I had no answer for that.

Instead of driving into the city, I turned toward Lakeshore Community Rink.

She looked at me curiously.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

The rink was almost empty when we arrived.

Only one maintenance worker slowly drove the resurfacing machine across one end of the ice. The rest of the arena sat silent beneath bright white lights. It reminded me of the night we first met.

I grabbed my hockey bag before tossing my spare stick toward her.

"Here."

She caught it easily.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Prove it."

She looked confused.

"You wrote an entire notebook."

I nodded toward the ice.

"Show me,” I said. “Show me just how much you know the game.”

She stared at the stick for several seconds before handing it back.

"No."

I blinked.

"No?"

"I'm not the player here,” she said, smiling. “You are.”

Without another word, she walked onto the ice wearing only her boots. She stopped near the faceoff circle before pointing at me.

"Stand here."

I obeyed.

She walked around me slowly like she was studying a machine instead of a person.

"Lift your stick."

I did.

"No."

She stepped closer.

"Too high."

She gently lowered my hands by barely an inch.

"There."

I frowned.

"That's it?"

She smiled.

"Try."

I took one shot, but I missed.

I sighed.

"It didn't work."

She folded her arms.

"I didn't tell you to think."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

She pointed toward my head.

"I could see it."

I laughed quietly.

"You can see thinking now?"

"I can see hesitation."

She skated her finger through the air.

"Again."

For the next hour, she refused to let me settle. Every shot came with another correction.

"No."

"Relax your shoulder."

Again.

"Later."

Again.

"Stop rushing."

Again.

"You're protecting yourself."

Again.

"Trust your body."

At one point, I slammed my stick against the ice.

"This isn't changing anything."

She didn't even flinch.

"Yes, it is."

"No."

"It is. You just can't feel it yet,” she insisted.

I dragged both hands through my hair.

"I'm wasting your time."

She looked straight into my eyes.

"No.” Her voice stayed calm. "You're wasting your confidence."

I froze.

She slowly gathered five pucks from the bucket. One by one, she slid them toward me.

"No thinking."

She backed away.

"Just shoot."

I took a deep breath and grabbed the first puck.

WHACK!

Top corner.

I froze and stared at the net.

I picked up a second puck and shot again. It was another clean hit. The third puck slipped just inside the post. The fourth went straight into the net. The fifth shot was just perfect.

Silence filled the rink.

I couldn't move.

I simply stared at the goal.

Five shots.

Five goals.

Slowly, I turned toward Mikka. She wasn't celebrating. She wasn't surprised. She just smiled quietly to herself.

"I told you."

My voice was barely audible.

"How..."

"You already knew how."

She picked up another puck.

"I just helped you remember."

For the first time, I believed her.

Neither of us spoke much afterwards. We didn't need to. When I stopped outside the rink again, she reached for the passenger door.

"Thank you."

She smiled warmly this time.

"No."

I shook my head.

"Thank you."

She laughed softly before climbing out. Then she reached back inside for her suitcase. That's when I noticed how tightly she held the handle, like she was afraid someone might take it away.

"Mikka."

She looked back.

"Where are you staying tonight?"

She hesitated.

"I'll figure something out."

"That's not what I asked."

Her smile returned too quickly.

"I've managed this far."

"You're avoiding the question,” I said.

"I'm answering it."

"No."

I frowned.

"You're hiding something."

For a brief second, fear flashed across her face. Then it disappeared.

"I'll be okay."

I didn't believe her, not even a little. She closed the passenger door gently before taking a few steps backward.

The evening breeze lifted her hair again.

She smiled one last time.

"Thank you for giving me a chance."

Before I could ask another question, she turned and started walking away with her suitcase rolling behind her.

I watched until she reached the sidewalk. Something inside me refused to let her leave like that.

I lowered the window.

"Mikka!"

She stopped and turned.

I smiled without realizing it.

"Tomorrow..."

She waited.

"...same rink?”