Page 1

Chapter one

~IRENE~

Okay, no big deal. This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m just standing in the middle of the LA Panthers’ headquarters, completely and utterly lost.

I shift my tablet to my other hand and scan the hallway like I’m not two seconds from bursting into nervous laughter. This place is insane. Bright lights, sleek glass walls, and high-tech everything. It smells like money, testosterone, and a bit of danger.

I grew up hearing about hockey from my father. The Panthers? Their LA’s own and one of the baddest, most talked-about franchises in the league. Even if you don’t watch hockey, you know who they are. You’ve seen their names in headlines, faces in commercials, and championships plastered all over sports history. Well, now that my father is their coach, I have to hear about them every night at dinner since I got back from college. And I’m supposed to work here for my summer break as a PT assistant with a team of elite-level athletes who could probably crush my skull between their biceps like a stress ball.

I square my shoulders and attempt to look like I know where I’m going, despite the fact I have no idea if this is even the correct floor.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, glancing at the screen. Sidney.

I hit answer. "If you're calling to check if I survived my first five minutes at the Panthers' headquarters, the answer is debatable."

"You got lost, didn't you?" Sid deadpans.

I scowl. "No." A pause. "Okay, fine. Yes. But in my defense, this place looks like the kind of facility where billionaires build secret underground lairs."

"Right, except it’s just a bunch of sweaty hockey players who could probably bench-press you for fun."

“Exactly! Which is why I need to find the office before someone thinks I’m a wide-eyed fan who wandered in with a fake badge.”

Sid hums in agreement. "Remind me again—how did you, someone with exactly zero interest in hockey, end up working for an NHL team?"

"Nepotism." I sigh, rubbing my temple. "But, like, quiet nepotism. I’m trying to act like I belong here."

"Yeah, babe. You’re crushing it."

I groan, taking another turn that looks suspiciously like the last one. "If I don’t find this damn office soon, I’m going to start leaving breadcrumbs."

"Or, and hear me out…you could just ask someone for directions."

"No. Absolutely not. That would require admitting I have no idea what I’m doing, which is already pretty obvious without me saying it out loud."

Sid snickers. "Good point. Carry on wandering aimlessly, then."

"That’s the plan. I’ll call you later if I survive."

"Or if you end up kidnapped by a hockey player."

"Same difference." I hang up and stuff my phone back in my pocket.

I roll my shoulders back, exhaling sharply.

You’ve got this, Irene. You are a professional. You are competent. You are not just a little nepotism hire who got this summer gig because of her father.

Even though…yeah. That’s kind of exactly what happened. No one needs to know. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.

I take another turn, trying not to look like I’m strolling around like a lost child at Disneyland. I mean, come on, how hard can it be to find one room—

Thump.

I stop.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A steady, rhythmic pounding echoes through the hall. Sharp, precise. I glance around. I should keep moving. I should find the PT’s office before my boss sends out a search party. But my curiosity has always been a little stronger than my common sense. So, naturally, I follow the sound to a big set of double doors.

The air shifts when I step into the large space.

Well, it looks like I found the gym.

It’s huge—high ceilings, glass panels overlooking the rink, and high-end equipment everywhere. But I barely register any of it.

There’s a man in here. Shirtless. Huge. Tattooed. Sweaty. Built like a weapon.

He’s at the center of the room, destroying a punching bag. His fists slam into leather so fast and brutal that the bag jerks like it’s been hit by a wrecking ball. Over and over and over. His muscles flex and coil with every strike; he’s all sharp lines, broad shoulders, and nothing but raw power and lethal precision. His entire body is covered in tattoos, from his neck to down his torso, even his hands and knuckles. And I can’t take my eyes off him.

I’d blame the all-girls school I attended when I was younger, but it would be a lie. As a college student, I’ve seen a lot of boys. But this is no boy. I’m not sure if he’s even a man—a beast is a better word to describe him.

He doesn’t see me. He’s locked in, focused, eyes burning with something violent. And I can’t look away. I shouldn’t be staring, but I am. Because there’s something in the way he moves that makes it impossible to look away from.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

And then he stops. The silence is so abrupt that it feels deafening. He goes completely still. Like he sensed me. A shiver creeps down my spine as his gaze lifts painfully slow.

Our eyes meet in the mirror, and my heart drops to my feet.

Oh, God.

His chest rises and falls. Black strands of hair fall over his forehead, damp from sweat. His sharp features are assessing like he’s analyzing me. Like he’s figuring out exactly what I’m doing here and exactly what he’s going to do about it.

I feel pinned, even if he’s more than a dozen feet away. I’m stuck under the weight of his stare, like the air itself has changed.

He raises his right hand to his wrist and unfastens something.

It drops heavily to the floor. He does the same to his other wrist.

My gaze flickers down before I can stop it. Wrist weights, thick and heavy. He was throwing punches that fast with them on? I blink back up at him, wondering how fast he is without them.

My stomach tightens.

And then he slowly moves his head, turning it until he’s looking right at me over his shoulder.

No more mirror. Direct eye contact. A single dark eyebrow lifts. No words, just silence. Something about it feels way worse than if he’d actually said something. I make a sound—something between a nervous laugh and a tiny, terrified squeak.

“Sorry!” I blurt, my voice way too loud in the quiet.

And then I do what any rational, professional, competent adult would do.

I turn and bolt. My heart is slamming against my ribs by the time I round the corner.

Holy. Shit.

What the hell was that?

I burst into the PT’s office like I’m being chased by a demon.

Which, to be fair, isn’t completely untrue. Though, I’m a little disappointed to see no one chased after me.

That’s messed up, Irene.

I’m breathless. Flustered. Sweating. I try to school my expression into something professional, but I already know I look suspicious as hell.

The man behind the desk, Dr. Mathews, lifts a single bored eyebrow at my entrance. My father and I had dinner with him last night to go over the basics, so thankfully, I don’t have to introduce myself or wonder if this is the right office.

He’s older, mid-fifties maybe, with sharp brown eyes and an impressive salt-and-pepper beard.

“Running late?” he asks, his voice smooth.

“Nope! Just…...took the stairs. Three floors up, no big deal.”

He glances at the elevator directly behind me. I internally cringe before closing the door.

“Ambitious.” He smiles, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I, uh, brought some extra references I found, sir.” I clear my throat, gripping my tablet like a shield as I step forward.

Dr. Mathews leans back in his chair, studying me.

“I already read the reports and references you sent me over a month ago.” He gestures toward the stack of files on his desk. “Trust me, there’s no need for more. As I told your father yesterday, I’m impressed. More than impressed, actually.”

“Oh, wow.” My cheeks warm. “Thank you, Dr. Mathews.”

“Relax, Irene. You’re more than qualified for this position.”

“I am?” I blink, the slightest flicker of panic catching in my chest. “Is that…...a problem?”

“Not at all.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Just unexpected. With your resume, most people would’ve aimed higher.”

“Well,” I say, fiddling with a loose strand of hair, “I didn’t want to skip steps. I want the hands-on experience. Learn from the ground up. Learn from the best.”

“And work with your father, I’m guessing.” He nods, looking pleased, then flips open my file again.

I swallow, forcing my voice to stay light. “Yes, but I’d appreciate it if that didn’t come up often. You know, the whole who my father is.”

“Yes, you mentioned this yesterday, but I’m still not sure why that is. Your father might be the most respected person in this building.” He tilts his head.

“That’s exactly the reason, Dr. Mathews. I don’t want that to win me any favors,” I say honestly. “I want to earn my place here on my own. I’ve always wanted to help people. It’s why I’m studying to be a physical therapist. Helping others and making a difference in their lives.”

And every part of that is true. It’s what I’ve been driven to do for as long as I can remember. My dad always says, “ If you can’t help yourself, help someone else.” It’s a piece of advice that’s stuck with me.

But when I was faced with an entire summer of doing nothing—no classes, no growth, just…...being stuck in the same routine—I knew that wasn’t something I could do. I couldn’t spend another summer just sitting around and waiting for the next semester. So, I begged my dad to let me come here. To work at the Panthers’ headquarters. To do something with my time that actually felt important. Something that would help me get closer to my goal.

Surprisingly, he agreed easier than I thought. He was even a little excited about it like he was proud of me for taking the initiative. Maybe it was his way of supporting me, or maybe he just loved the idea of me being around him more. But I needed this.

My response is met with a few moments of silence.

Then Dr. Mathews smiles. “Good answer.”

Relief floods through me.

“Welcome to the team, Irene.” He closes my file and leans back. “You’re gonna do great here,” he adds, motioning for me to sit.

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.” I sink into the leather armchair across from him.

“And your secret’s safe with me. Though, the guys aren’t stupid. They’ll catch on sooner or later,” he says, amused. Then he presses the intercom button. “Tina? Can you bring us some tea, please?”

Thirty minutes later, Tina leads me down another hallway, talking to me the entire time. Truth be told, I’m thankful. Her sweet blabbering eases my thrumming nerves and that’s something not even the chamomile tea could do.

We stop in front of a massive set of double doors, one of which has a plaque that reads ‘Conference room.’

“Heads up. They can be a bit overwhelming, but they’re harmless.” Tina winks at me before she pushes the doors open.

I step inside, immediately feeling my heart rate pick up the pace.

Is this what stage fright feels like?

A long, circular table stretches across the room, filled with men.

Huge, intimidating, unbelievably attractive men.

All eyes swing to me.

I grip my tablet tighter. Focus. Their faces blur together except one—the captain’s. I’ve seen photos of him with my father countless times. Rowan, I believe. His green eyes are reassuring as he looks at me, leaning back in his chair.

Tina strides in first, confidence radiating off her as she leads the way. “Okay, everyone, listen up!” The room falls silent. “You were told you were getting a new PTA, as Dr. Mathews has been looking for one for a while. Meet your new physical therapist assistant, Irene!”

“Hey, everyone!” I step forward, my nerves clawing at me like a wild cat. “I’m really excited to be here.” And it’s the truth. I am excited, though right now, the scales are tipping more toward anxious. But I hope that’ll change as soon as I start settling in. This feels worse than my first day in college. At least there, I didn’t have a room full of elite-level hockey players all staring at me, sizing me up.

The response is immediate—a wave of noise.

“Finally, a cute one!” a man with a buzzcut and kind hazel eyes barks my way, his laugh booming like a cannon.

“Hot doc alert,” a blond guy to his right adds, grinning widely.

“Welcome to the team, Doc!” someone else yells.

“Thank you.” I let out a nervous laugh, not knowing who to address first.

“Stop scaring her, Jesus.” A tall, muscular guy with a twin-braided beard laughs, and the rest of the room joins in.

But just when my nerves are starting to relax, I feel it.

A stare. Different. Heavier. Darker. I don’t want to look at the dark silhouette that’s been leaning against the wall the entire time. But I look anyway. And there he is—the man from earlier. His thick muscular arms are crossed over a broad chest, and he’s put on a black shirt that’s clinging to every sharp line of muscle. Standing taller than everyone else, his presence demands attention.

He looks like he doesn’t belong in this room or even on the ice. He belongs on a battlefield. And far, far away from me. I’m used to examining peers, regular people, not…this.

His muscles ripple under his black shirt, each movement whispering power and danger. Wavy black hair, wind-blown back, exposes his light blue eyes under heavy dark brows, giving him an even more menacing look.

His heavy-lidded gaze drags down my body, slow and lazy. My breath hitches, and I feel my cheeks flush, heat rising to my skin.

Why does it feel like he’s stripping me bare with just a look? The laughter around me fades into a distant hum, and all I can see is him. He still hasn’t said a single word to me, yet I feel like he doesn’t have to. I feel it all.

His hair is still damp. His tattoos gleam under the lights, stretching over his arms and hands—hands that were just demolishing a punching bag like it had personally offended him.

His gaze is still locked on me, then it drags over my body. Not flirtatious but not…not flirtatious either.

Like he’s deciding something, like he’s figuring out what to do with me.

And for some insane reason, my stomach does a weird, treacherous flip. I don’t even realize I’m staring back until Tina nudges me.

“You good?” she murmurs, amused. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I let out a small, breathless laugh and shake my head.

“Nope. Just…big room. A lot of people. No ghosts.”

Lie.

Because the ghost?

He’s still staring.

And the worst part?

I don’t think I mind.