I go to the training field, not to actually train, oh, no, but to be supervised and watched like I’m a little kid who won’t stay in the time-out corner.

It’s humiliating and degrading and it gives me too much time with my thoughts, and these feelings that are sprouting like goddamn weeds for no good reason. I don’t have time for those right now. Every thought and my every bit of focus should be on healing, on recuperating, on getting better.

On not thinking about Jesse and me having a staring contest in my kitchen last night. On me not thinking about Jesse and me sharing our second meal together in as many days, of him bringing me that food because I made the comment that everything in my fridge just didn’t hit the high bar I had set for my culinary expectations for last night.

God, how do I turn off my brain? Is there a restart button? Where is it? Where?

It’s not like I can run on the treadmill and stick in my earphones and make the world go away. I’ll be doing light exercises like stretching and balancing and whatever Trainer Bee wants me to do while she’ll probably make me do three ice baths today and hit the cryo because it’s hilarious to her that I’m Canadian and hate the cold.

Newsflash: no one likes being cold enough that your nipples have a high probability of falling off. No one.

Jesse left not long after our staring contest, with him being very weird. There were a lot of smirks and smiles directed my way, and once or twice I had the distinct feeling that he wanted to hug me and hold me close, hands being shoved into pockets, moving too close only to dance back.

I’m glad he didn’t hug me, though. Honestly. It would have been super weird if he did.

Right.

“You’re not even thinking about what you’re doing, Maddie,” Trainer Bee sighs, putting her clipboard to her head and smacking it against her skull a few times, leaving behind a red mark when she stops herself.

“I am, I am,” I grumble. I was supposed to not be thinking, but here I am, thinking about him.

I’m currently aiming for a stretch to grab onto my toes but actually not getting anywhere near them. Jesus Christ, when did I become so stiff? My right leg is a throbbing mess of pain just over the bearable threshold, a reminder that I’ve been pushing it too hard, trying to get better fast.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Okay, stop. That’s it for today.” She sighs, then makes a move for my right thigh and I end up yelping when she grabs onto the tender spot where the incision has healed up with barely a trace of a scar left behind. She glares at me like this is all my fault, and yeah, it is, but does she have to do it in such a manner? “Your scans looked good, nothing else looks worse, so there’s that, so you know what that means?” I don’t imagine the gleam in her eyes, I know it’s there. Hell, she knows it’s there, too.

“Cryo?” I ask, wincing as the word comes out of my mouth.

Her eyes are leaping with mischief, and she grins at me. “Yeah. Five minutes at a hundred below and another three at a hundred-and-thirty-five. Don’t freeze your tits off.” She pats me on the head as she gets back to her feet and helps me off the mats with an outstretched hand and pulls me upright. She frowns when I don’t complain.

“I have to turn off my brain,” I tell her, pointing to my temple, in case she didn’t think I had one. I haven’t really been acting like I have one.

She narrows her eyes at me, then gives me a nod, all suspicious, our Trainer Bee is.

“Coach told me that you’re training with Jesse Windmeier.”

God, can I not hear his name for one freaking day?

I shush her, looking around the empty room like it has ears. “Could you keep your voice down? I’m not broadcasting it to the gen pop, thanks.”

Trainer Bee puts a hand over her face and rubs her eyes. I’m like the little problem child she never wanted to have. “I’m only going to say this because I know how hard it is wanting to be on the team only to fall short at the last second.” She makes it sound like it’s a foregone conclusion for me.

My stomach curdles, and my guts twist into knots. I’m finding it hard to breathe past the pain in my throat.

“I’ve been where you are, Maddie, and I never got to make it to the team because I was just like you, pushing myself until the very end. Trust me, it can end very badly.”

“What?” I whisper, sure that I’ve swallowed a hot poker. My eyes are getting wet and I know I’m going to start crying any second now, looking at her. Am I going to be her? Is this how it’s gonna go?

“I was you, Madelyn Chase, just like you. And I’m telling you I didn’t make it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and I love being off the field and helping the team in any way I can, but there’s nothing like being on the pitch with the crowd screaming for you, is there?” She has tears in her eyes, too, and I just hold my arms open because I need a hug, and I think she needs one, too. She laughs at me, but she comes into my arms and we hug it out, me squeezing her tight, tight, tight.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it this time, not just a filler word for things I’ve done in the past. “I’ll get better, you’ll see.”

She sniffs and lets me go, all back to business while wiping her eyes. “You have so much potential. You could be the best player here, but only if you take care of yourself.”

“There’s just a lot of pressure, you know? I want to play football forever.”

She looks at me like I’m a little kid that still believes in Santa Claus. “Maddie, no one can play forever, you know that.”

“I want to make my mark.”

“And you will,” she stresses, “after you rest. Please, no more training with Jesse. The lad’s talented as hell, but he’s been benched, off his game lately.”

How do you turn off a part of yourself for the game? How do you push past everything that’s going on in your heart and head and keep the eye on the prize, winning against your opponent every chance you get?

Ugh.

No more thinking about Windy. No more thinking about training, and some unmentionable future where my career is over.

There is just this moment, there is just now, me getting better, stronger.

But first, the cryo chamber.