Page 6 of Trade It All

I step out into the hallway and pull the door closed behind me. The moment the lock clicks, my shoulders drop. Fresh morning air hits my face as I walk toward the parking lot.

And for a split second—I swear I can feel strong arms around me again. Hear a steady voice telling me to breathe. I shake the memory away. Because that was almost a year ago.

And Coach Kincade made it very clear. Some lines aren’t meant to be crossed.

Chapter 2

Dean

Thearenaisquietwhen I get there.

Not silent—never silent—but quiet in the way only a building this size can be before it fills with noise and movement and life. The hum of the lights overhead, the distant echo of something metal shifting in the equipment room, the low vibration of the ice system running beneath it all.

It’s steady. Predictable. Controlled. I like it that way.

Mornings like this give me time to think. To go over film, to break things down, to stay ahead of whatever the day is going to throw at me before the team walks in and everything shifts into motion. It’s routine. Routine keeps things in line. Routine keeps things from falling apart.

I’m halfway through reviewing a clip from last night’s game—rewinding the same defensive breakdown for the third time—when I hear the front doors open down the hall.

It’s subtle. A quiet push of air, the faint echo of footsteps on concrete. But it’s enough. I don’t check the clock. I don’t need to. I know who it is.Maddie.I sit there for a second longer than I should, staring at the paused screen in front of me, the glow of the monitor casting light across my desk. Then I push back from the chair and stand.

I tell myself it’s nothing. Just checking the hallway. Just making sure everything’s moving the way it should. But I’m already stepping out of my office before the thought finishes forming. The hallway stretches out in front of me, empty except for her.

Madison Hale walks through the doors like she’s carrying something heavy. It’s not obvious. Not if you weren’t looking for it. But I am.

There’s a hesitation in her movement that shouldn’t be there. Not enough to slow her down completely—she’s still moving forward, still getting where she needs to go—but there’s a weight to it now. Like each step takes a little more effort than it should.

Like she’s pushing through something instead of moving with it.

Her bag slips slightly on her shoulder and she doesn’t fix it right away. That’s what catches me. Because Maddie is the kind of person who fixes things immediately. Adjusts, corrects, moves on without missing a beat.

Today…she just lets it hang there for a second too long. Her head dips as she walks, not low enough to look defeated, just enough that something in my chest tightens before I can stop it. And her eyes—When she finally lifts her gaze, there’s something in them that shouldn’t be there this early in the morning.

Not just tired. Worn. Like sleep didn’t touch her at all. My jaw tightens. I don’t think about the why. She keeps moving, unaware I’m standing there watching her. Like whatever she’s holding together is close to slipping.

Then the doors behind her open. Voices flood the space. The guys start filtering in, loud and easy, their energy filling the hallway in seconds.

And she reacts to it like it’s second nature. Her shoulders pull back. Her spine straightens. The weight disappears.

Not gone. Just…hidden.

Her expression shifts, smoothing over into something lighter, easier. A version of herself that fits into this space without friction. That smile follows a heartbeat later. It lands perfectly. Bright. Familiar. Effortless. Like it belongs there. It doesn’t.

And I feel something low in my chest tighten at the sight of it. Because it’s too clean. Too quick. Like flipping a switch.

“Morning, Maddie!” One of the guys calls out.

“Morning!” she calls back, her voice lifting easily, sliding into place like it’s been waiting for its cue.

She laughs at something one of them says, and it blends in seamlessly with the rest of the noise. No one questions it. Why would they? This is the Maddie they know. The one who keepseverything moving. The one who never misses a step. They don’t see what came before it. The second where she almost looked like she might fall apart. But I do. And I can’t unsee it.

She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder as she turns—And that’s when she sees me.

The smile flickers. Just for a second. So quick no one else would ever catch it. But I do. And it hits harder than it should.

“Coach,” she says, the word coming out steady, controlled. Professional.

“Maddie.” My voice stays even. It always does. Because it has to. Because that line is still there, no matter how many times I’ve stood too close to it.