Page 16

I catch it on the surveillance screen before I even hear the knock. She parks in the same spot. Hair pulled back tighter tonight. Clothes casual. Not professional. Not gym gear. Just… tight black leggings and a baggy tee like she’s going to sleep.

Interesting.

When I open the door, her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She ignores it, but I don’t.

“You got a boyfriend?” I ask.

She barely blinks. “Yeah.”

I smirk. “Meeting with him after this?”

She shrugs, brushing past me like she doesn’t care what I think.

She follows me without saying another word until we’re back in the guest room—same one as last time. Nothing in here but a bed and a lit candle I forgot to blow out. Subtle vanilla. Whatever. I like it better than the stale air that used to hang in here.

She raises a brow, arms crossed. “Trying to mask a smell?”

I glance over my shoulder. “You trying to imply something?”

She walks in like she owns the place. “It’s just… an odd room. Empty.”

“You didn’t ask for a tour.”

She drops her bag, already annoyed. “Don’t need one. Lay down.”

I watch her for a beat, then oblige. The mattress dips beneath me. I adjust my shorts while she sets up at my side.

“How’s the pain?” she asks. “One to ten.”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I stretch out, arms behind my head. Her eyes flick there for a second before she starts handing me a band and giving out instructions.

A minute later, she checks her phone.

“You don’t seem like the girlfriend type,” I say, watching her on her phone.

She doesn’t look up. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You’re on work hours.”

She scoffs. “I’m actually not. This is my day off, remember?”

I sit up without a word and walk out. No dramatic exit, just gone.

I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it at the fridge, drinking slow. Let the silence do its job. Let her wonder what the hell I’m doing.

Five minutes pass. Ten.

I lean on the counter.

Fifteen.

Nothing.

I smirk.

Twenty.

Finally—footsteps.

She walks out of the room, bag slung over her shoulder, posture stiff. She’s pissed.

“You left me in there for twenty minutes,” she says tightly.

I shrug, take another sip. “You’re not working, so…”

Her jaw twitches. She stares at me for a long second, not saying a word, just watching. Calculating.

“I’m only here to help you, Slater. To treat you. If you’re not going to take it seriously, this is my last visit.”

I set the glass down and look her over, head to toe. Slowly.

“I bet your boyfriend’s waiting for you.”

I walk past her to get another glass of water.

Her eyes follow me this time. I feel it—her focus dragging down my back, pausing at my waist. Maybe lower.

Something sharp and electric flickers in my chest. A little spark in the dark.

Oh fuck.

Feeling.

I’m actually fucking feeling something.

She doesn’t move, just watches me. That jaw of hers tight. Her chest rising a little faster than she wants me to notice. The baggy tee that’s hotter than any piece of lingerie I’ve ever seen. Makes my mind wander.

I grin. “By the way,” I say, voice casual, “you’re not allowed to be on your phone when you’re here.”

Her brow twitches. “Excuse me?”

“If your focus is to better me, then maybe you should… focus. On me.”

She exhales through her nose like she’s trying not to snap. “I was documenting it,” she mutters. “Since I lied to Riley about working on you.”

I pause, glass halfway to my mouth. Lied for me.

Huh.

The words hit somewhere low in my gut, curl in slow like smoke. I don’t expect that.

“You lied to Riley?” I ask, voice softer now. I want to hear it again.

She looks away, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve. “Yeah. Don’t get all excited. I told him it didn’t work out that night because you keep refusing help.”

But that’s not what she said. She said lied.

I lean a shoulder into the counter. “So, you’re documenting fake sessions now, huh? That’s dedication.”

She almost smiles. “Well, he told me to use my pretty privilege, so maybe this is what that looks like.”

I still. “Pretty privilege?”

She shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah. Because I have a face people like to look at or something, and I should take advantage of that. His words, not mine.”

I freeze.

Tension flashes behind my ribs and sits there like a loaded gun.

“You’re joking,” I say.

“I wish.”

I stare at her. My mind’s no longer here, no longer in this kitchen. It’s with Riley. Picturing that smug, managerial bastard sitting behind his desk, looking her up and down like she’s a marketing ploy.

She folds her arms. “So, you gonna get your water or just stare at me all night?”

I blink, come back to myself, and turn to the fridge. “Water?” I offer, holding up the glass.

She hesitates. Nods once. “Thanks.”

We walk back to the room. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask questions. Just sets the water down and kneels beside the bed again.

Her hands are on me a second later.

Warm palms against my calf, sliding upward, guiding my leg out into a stretch. I feel her fingers graze just below the hem of my shorts.

The silence is deafening.

But all I can think about is Riley. That comment. That smirk I bet he gave her after. Like the only reason she’s here is because she’s something nice to look at. A distraction. A body.

My jaw tightens.

She presses my leg outward again, firm, smooth, focused.

I want to destroy him.

I want to slam him up against a wall and crack that smile right off his face. I want to look him in the eye while I ruin his life and make sure he knows it’s because of her. Because he spoke to her like that. Like she wasn’t the most fucking competent, serious person in that whole damn facility.

She’s not soft. Not sweet. She’s sharp. Quietly dangerous. She keeps her power locked up, wrapped in professionalism and dry sarcasm. And Riley—he doesn’t see it. He’s blind. He thinks she’s here with me because I want to see her pretty face? That I’ll bend at his will if he throws her at me?

That stirs something deep inside me that shouldn’t be unleashed.

Fucking idiot.

She adjusts my leg again, and I suck in a breath. “Four,” I say when she glances up.

Her eyes narrow. “It’s more like a six. You’re tolerating it.”

I lift an eyebrow. “What, are you psychic now?”

She doesn’t answer, just grabs the band again and shifts beside me. Her shirt rises just enough for me to see the soft line of skin above her waistband.

I inhale, grip the sheet beneath me.

I want her hands to stay right there. Pressing into me. Fixing me.

Pretty privilege, huh?

And then she releases, documents it, and leaves without saying good night.

I stare at the city skyline from the balcony while smoking the cigarettes I hate.

Riley has no idea what’s coming for him.

The next day, the locker room door swings open under my hand, and I freeze.

There she is—Sage—crouched beside Mitchell’s bench, her small hands wrapped around his ankle.

Her dark hair falls like a curtain as she works, and Mitchell’s looking down at her with this stupid, grateful smile that makes my jaw clench so hard I taste blood.

“Just a little pressure here,” she murmurs, her voice soft and professional. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Mitchell laughs. “With hands like yours? Impossible.”

The possessiveness that roars through me is so fucking strong it nearly makes me steam.

I want to cross the room and rip her hands away from him, want to slam Mitchell against the lockers until that dopey smile disappears.

Instead, I force myself to move past them, grabbing my gear with more force than necessary.

What the fuck has gotten into me?

I watch her.

And there that feeling is again. The fucking spark that I’m alive, and I finally found something that I want but would destroy.

Sage doesn’t even glance up. Doesn’t acknowledge I exist.

That pisses me off even more.

I walk to the locker room and strip off my street clothes with sharp, angry movements, pulling on my gear while thinking about her. She explained something about ice and elevation to Mitchell, her fingers gentle on his skin, and the sight made something dark and ugly twist in my gut.

I slam my locker shut harder than necessary.

Riley’s office door is cracked open when I knock, and his head pops up from behind a stack of paperwork.

“Slater? My man. What’s up?”

“Need to talk to you after practice,” I say, keeping my voice level.

His eyes light up. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to come around. Your hips have been screaming for attention all season.” He’s practically bouncing in his chair. “I’m so glad Sage could change your mind about working with me.”

I don’t correct him. Let him think what he wants. Let him anticipate our little talk.

“After practice,” I repeat, then walk away before he can say anything else.

Practice is brutal. My stick finds flesh more than puck, and when I check Davidson into the boards, I put everything I have behind it. The satisfying crack of his shoulder against the glass echoes through the rink, and he goes down hard.

“Jesus, Slater!” Coach yells, but I’m already skating away.

Davidson’s clutching his shoulder, face twisted in pain, and I know Sage will be busy with him for a while. Perfect.

After practice, I’m barely out of my gear when Riley calls my name. “Slater! Ready for that session?”

I nod, following him toward the equipment room. Sage is standing in the hallway, her medical bag slung over her shoulder, and her eyes find mine. There’s something wary in her expression, like she knows something is up.

I hold her gaze and let her see exactly what I’m capable of. Let her wonder what I’m about to do.

Riley’s chattering about muscle tension and flexibility as we walk into the empty room.

“You know, if we can just get your hip flexors—”

I slam him against the brick wall, my forearm pressed across his chest. His words die in his throat, eyes going wide with shock.

“Listen carefully,” I say, my voice low and steady. “You’re going to quit. Today. Tomorrow. I don’t care exactly when, but it’s going to be soon.”

“What? Slater, I don’t understand—”

I press harder, and he gasps. “You’re going to find another job. Another team. Another city. And you’re going to do it without causing a scene.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything—”

“You want to keep your reputation intact? Keep your career from going up in flames?” I lean closer, letting him see the cold promise in my eyes.

“Then you’ll disappear. Quietly. Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure your life is a living fucking hell.

I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of man you really are.

The kind of man who preys on women who can’t fight back. ”

His face goes pale. “That’s not—I would never—”

“Wouldn’t you?” I smile, and it’s not a pleasant expression. “Because I can make it look like you did. I can make it look like whatever I want. And who’s going to believe you over me?”

I release him and step back, watching him stumble against the wall. “Two weeks. That’s all you get.”

The sound of footsteps makes me turn. Sage emerges from the hallway, her face unreadable in the dim light. Riley straightens his shirt, shooting nervous glances between us, then hurries out the door without another word.

The door clicks shut behind him, and suddenly it’s just me and Sage in the empty room.

“What just happened?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

I look at her for a long moment, this woman who’s been consuming my thoughts and driving me to the edge of sanity. She has no idea what I just did for her. No idea how dark I’m willing to go to keep her safe.

And I can’t tell her. Can’t let her see this side of me.

So, I do what I always do—I ignore her question and walk toward the door, leaving her standing alone.

Her hand wraps around my bicep, small fingers digging in with surprising strength. “Are you insane?”

I stop, muscles tensing under her touch, but I don’t turn around.

“You might be the notorious player around here, but Riley’s going to go straight to HR,” she continues, her voice rising with barely controlled panic. “He’s going to report you, Slater. What the hell are you thinking?”

I shrug her off and face her, letting the fury I’ve been holding back bleed into my expression. “I don’t care.”

“Well, you should! You have something to lose here—”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” She steps closer, and I can see the frustration burning in her eyes. “Acting like this isn’t going to get you anywhere. You can’t just—”

I move faster than she expects, closing the distance between us until she’s backed against the brick wall. My hands brace on either side of her head, caging her in, and I lean down until my mouth is inches from her ear.

“Mind your own business,” I whisper, my voice deadly quiet. “And if you can’t do that, I’ll make sure you don’t see the light of day anymore.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m just trying to help—”

“That’s your first mistake.”

I push away from the wall and stride out the door.

Riley’s already found the coaches. I can see them huddled near the lockers, Riley’s hands moving animatedly as he speaks. Coach catches my eye and frowns, but I just keep walking.

Let them talk. Let Riley file his reports and make his accusations. I’m on contract, and my stats speak louder than his complaints ever will. If they drop me, which they won’t, someone else will pick me up before I even clear the building.

I’m untouchable, and everyone knows it.

The guys part like the Red Sea when they see me coming. Henderson actually steps into a doorway, pretending to check his phone. Smart man. I’m not in the mood for conversation or camaraderie tonight.

My car is a sanctuary in the empty parking lot. I slide behind the wheel and slam the door, immediately reaching for the stereo. The bass hits first, heavy and rhythmic, drowning out the voices in my head that keep replaying the look on Sage’s face when I had her against that wall.

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me, let it fill the spaces where violence wants to live. The melody is dark and driving, matching the chaos in my chest, and slowly—very slowly—I feel the edge start to dull.

Because if I don’t calm down, if I don’t get this rage under control, I’m going to do something that I’m not fucking proud of.

And I can’t let that happen.