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another goal. Coach’s second locker room speech was in the same vein of the first but louder. Cruder. He kept his head down and tried to shake it all off.
    I have to fix this.
    Before he could follow his team back to the ice, Nealy caught his arm.
    He looked down at her, forced himself to meet her gaze. His mouth went dry.
    “Hey, what’s going on with you?”
    I’m sorry, Coach was on the tip of his tongue, but Nealy didn’t want to hear that. Apologies and excuses were for the defeated. She wanted an explanation—the simpler the better—and a plan of action. Going on four years under her coaching style, this was common knowledge. “Can’t get out of my own head.”
    Her small blue eyes narrowed, but the rest of her face remained blank, and for a second, she didn’t have a comeback. It was enough to make his stomach drop. Nealy had a retort for everything. Always. “Talk to me after the game.”
    Shit. The third period was a blur, which was probably for the best. He didn’t want to remember his mistakes in high-def clarity. It didn’t matter, because Nealy would have a detailed list. Slinking off ice after a five to one loss, all the Sinners had their heads down to avoid getting them chopped off by their coach. But she barely reacted. Somehow, that was scarier. Guys showered and changed without the usual ribbing and chatter. It felt like a funeral. His.
    Dylan hung back until the last teammate left. When they were alone, Nealy gestured to the bench in front of the lockers. He sat, but she remained standing.
    “I’m kind of at a loss. I have no precedent for this, Cole. You’ve been my rock. My good one. The only player who never gave me something to scream about. Are you sure you don’t have some personal thing going on? There’s nothing I should know?”
    “I swear I don’t know. I had a bad night.” Only, it didn’t feel like it was over. The unease that had followed him onto the ice had followed him right off. No way was he saying that to Coach.
    “A bad night. I guess everyone’s allowed those.” The tension in her frame eased a little but not completely, as if she were happy to have an excuse for his poor play but didn’t entirely buy it. “If it turns into bad nights, I’m sending you to Kally. Don’t want this carrying into the regular season.”
    Kally, a.k.a. Dr. Alexandra Kallen-Reese, the team shrink. No pressure there.

Chapter Six
    Friday, October 3rd
    One week later, he was knocking on Dr. Alexandra Kallen-Reese’s door. The team called her Kally. With the exception of her husband, the goalie.
    “Come in.”
    It had been almost two years since being in Kally’s office had made Dylan anxious, but the nerves were back. There was no longer a locker room stigma for talking to her, but he’d never been ordered to before. The mandate made it worse. Nealy wouldn’t tell the guys, but they would find out. It wasn’t like they didn’t already know he was off his game. Sinking into the soft cushions on Kally’s sofa took a little of the edge off, however, and there was a plate of strawberry Twizzlers on the coffee table. He smiled. “Thanks.”
    “No problem. I could open my own candy store, the way I have to keep this office stocked. You all have different favorites.” She picked up a big notepad, grabbed a pen, and dropped into the armchair facing him. Then she took a few chocolate-covered gummy bears from the dish on her desk.
    He could have chosen to see the other team sports psychologist, but the guy was so clinical. Impersonal. Some players preferred that, but it made him uneasy. Kally’s office looked like a living room, and she kind of looked like his sister. If he had to get his subconscious cracked open, she was definitely the preferred cracker.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Ah …” His mind went blank, and his face must have too, because she smiled knowingly.
    “Got it. This is more of a recon mission. You need to work out what’s in your way before you can get