20: Trust It

SEVEN.

Everything felt different the moment I stepped onto the ice that morning. My legs felt lighter, my mind felt quieter, and for the first time in months, I wasn't thinking about missing. I was thinking about playing. Coach blew the whistle and the scrimmage started, and I moved without forcing anything. The passes came naturally, my timing finally matched my body, and when the puck reached my stick, I didn't panic. I heard Mikka's voice inside my head instead.

"Don't fight the shot. Trust it."

I did, and when I took my shot, the puck flew past the goalie and buried itself in the top corner.

The whole rink went silent.

Then someone shouted, "Finally!"

A few of the guys laughed in awe of what had just happened.

"That's one!" my winger yelled. "Do it again!"

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Maybe... maybe I could.

Practice continued, and every drill felt easier than the last. I wasn't perfect. I still missed a few shots, but I didn't fall apart after missing anymore. I reset, breathed, and tried again exactly the way Mikka had taught me. Halfway through the scrimmage, I stole a loose puck, skated past a defender and fired another wrist shot.

Goal!

Coach blew his whistle again.

"Seven!"

I looked over.

He folded his arms but there was the smallest smile on his face.

"About time."

The assistant coaches exchanged surprised looks.

"No kidding," one of them muttered. "Where has this version of him been hiding?"

By the end of practice, I had scored twice and assisted another goal. My teammates slapped my helmet as we skated off the ice.

"Welcome back, bro!’

"Took you long enough."

"Keep doing whatever you're doing."

Their words should have made me happy, but all I could think about was the girl sitting with a notebook in a cold community rink.

None of this belonged to me alone.

As I untied my skates, Coach called my name.

"To my office."

I followed him, expecting another lecture, but instead he leaned against his desk with his arms crossed.

"What changed?"

I stayed quiet for a second.

"A coach."

He frowned.

"I thought you weren't working with anyone."

"I wasn't."

"So who is it?"

I smiled before I even realised I was smiling.

"Someone who taught me to stop fighting the game and start understanding it instead.”

Coach raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds impressive."

I nodded. "She is."

"She?"

I nodded again.

"Her name is Mikka."

Coach stared at me for a few seconds.

"The same Mikka everyone's talking about?” he asked. “The same one from the videos?”

"Yes."

He sighed heavily.

"You know this could become complicated."

"I know."

"But she's the reason you're playing like this?"

I smiled at him. "I wouldn't have scored today without her."

Coach rubbed his chin.

"I want to meet her."

I blinked.

"You do?"

"If she's helping one of my players this much, I'd be stupid not to."

Relief washed through me.

"I'll bring her."

"You'd better."

When I walked outside the arena an hour later, I found Mikka exactly where I expected.

She was sitting on a bench with her suitcase beside her and the notebook balanced on her knees. She hadn't even noticed me yet. Her pencil moved across the page so quickly that she looked like she was racing against time itself.

I sat beside her.

"You planning to rewrite hockey?"

She jumped and clutched the notebook against her chest.

"Oh."

She laughed softly.

"You scared me."

"I've been standing here for thirty seconds."

"I didn't hear you come in, really.."

"I noticed."

She looked embarrassed.

"Anyway,” she said, trying to keep the conversation light. “I wrote down a few new ideas."

"A few?"

She handed me the notebook.

The pages were filled with arrows, circles, timing notes and tiny comments written in the corners.

"If we improve your acceleration out of the neutral zone," she explained, pointing at the page, "you'll create more space before defenders close you down."

I looked at her.

"You've been doing this all morning?"

She shrugged.

"Well, I had nothing to do."

"So you designed drills instead?"

"It helps me think."

I laughed.

"You really are different."

She smiled shyly.

"I've been called weirder."

We spent the next hour talking about hockey instead of actually playing it. She moved bottle caps across the bench to explain passing lanes. She borrowed my hockey stick to show body positioning. Every few minutes she became so excited explaining something that she'd completely forget how tired she looked.

Watching her smile felt... easy. I hadn't felt easy in a very long time.

"You know," I said, "Coach wants to meet you."

Her eyes grew wide.

"What?"

"He said he'd be stupid not to."

She froze.

"You're joking."

"I'm serious."

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Did he say why?” she asked.

"Not really,” I answered. “But I think he's impressed by your coaching.”

She looked away and shook her head slowly. For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence in the room wasn't awkward. It was peaceful.

Then her phone buzzed, and her smile disappeared instantly. She looked at the screen but didn't open the message.

I noticed the way her fingers tightened around the phone.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"No."

She looked at me.

"What?"

"Your face changed when your phone lit up."

She forced another smile.

"It's nothing."

"You've done that before."

"What?"

"Lied."

She looked down.

"I can tell now."

She didn't answer.

I stared at the phone.

"Who keeps messaging you?"

Her head snapped up.

"How do you know someone's messaging me?"

"You just told me."

Her face turned pale.

"I... I never..."

She stopped talking just as I realised it too. She had never told me.

She covered her mouth with one hand.

"Mikka,” I called out.

She looked ready to run.

"I can explain."

Before she could answer, the phone began ringing. It must have been the same number that had been texting her, because she instantly froze. Every bit of colour drained from her face.

"Mikka?”

The phone kept ringing.

"Don't answer it if you're scared."

She swallowed hard.

"I have to."

With trembling fingers, she accepted the call and slowly lifted the phone to her ear.

Neither of us spoke.

A calm man's voice echoed loudly enough that I could hear every single word.

"Midnight. Come alone..."

A small pause followed. 

"...or everyone you're hiding behind pays the price."

The call ended.

Silence crashed over us and Mikka's hand shook so violently the phone slipped from her fingers.

I caught it before it hit the ground.

I turned back to look at her and I could see was very terrified. I slowly lowered the phone and turned fully to face her.

She couldn't even look at me. Her breathing came in short, broken gasps.

I gently placed a hand over hers.

"Mikka."

She closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry,” she quickly said.

"For what?" I asked.

"They found me."

"Who found you?"

She stayed silent.

I squeezed her hand just enough for her to know she wasn't alone.

"Mikka..."

She finally looked at me, and the fear in her eyes made my stomach twist.

"Tell me everything.”