Page 10

Chapter ten

Alex

I toss the lid on the blender and fire it up. The sound is violent—a perfect match for the grim green mess swirling around inside. Spinach, kale, protein powder, a sad banana. Breakfast of emotionally repressed champions.

The motor dies down, and I stare at the sludge like it personally offended me. Then I down it in one go, eyes watering as it hits the back of my throat.

Discipline. Control what you can. Let the rest burn.

I rinse the glass and set it on the drying rack with military precision. Everything has its place. My apartment is clean, orderly. Like my game is, or was.

Except now there's this voice in my head that isn't mine. Calm. Patient. Female.

You're not alone out there.

Damn Nina, you're good.

I scrub harder at the counter than necessary. It was one kiss. Heat-of-the-moment. A mistake. One I can’t stop thinking about.

Her fingers in my hair. Her mouth claiming mine like she had a right to.

I shake it off and grab my gym bag. The workout is calling, and I need to put my head somewhere that doesn't smell like citrus shampoo and bad decisions.

***

The weight room at the Acers' training facility smells like sweat and steel. It's familiar and comforting. Parker's already at the bench press, spotting Ethan, who grunts like he's lifting a small sedan. James is doing curls in front of the mirror like it owes him rent money.

"Look who's early for once," Connor calls, tossing me a towel.

"Not here for small talk," I mutter, wiping down the bench.

James throws his arm dramatically over Parker's shoulders. "Ladies and gentlemen, he's in a mood. Someone didn't get their oat milk this morning."

"I don’t drink oat milk."

"That explains the bitterness," Ethan grins, racking his weights. "Eat a real breakfast once in a while. It might help your mood."

"Unlike you assholes and your breakfast burritos, I treat my body like a damn temple," I say, loading a plate onto the bar.

Connor wipes sweat off his forehead. "Temple of doom maybe, judging by your face."

Parker snickers. "You know, now that you mention it, the whole 'discipline monk' thing you're rocking lately is giving off serious tortured hero energy."

James chimes in again. "You know, you might need to talk to Nina about that green sludge addiction. Could be masking deeper issues."

"Yeah," Ethan adds, grabbing his water bottle. "Maybe you need some extra 'sessions' with Hot Doc."

Parker elbows him. "She has a name, man."

"Yeah, and it starts with Hot and ends in Damn," Ethan adds.

I grip the bar tighter than necessary. My jaw flexes. Apparently not subtly.

James raises both brows. "Whoa. Easy there, gladiator. Look who just went full jealous ex-boyfriend."

"Shut up, Henderson."

Connor snorts. "Protective much?"

"I'm not protective."

"You just death-glared us over a compliment," Ethan says. "Pretty sure that's protective."

James winks. "It's okay, Chadwick. We know you're secretly journaling about her in cursive."

"I’m not writing in a damn journal."

Parker tosses me a med ball. "Relax. We're just messing. But seriously... she’s good. I didn’t expect to get anything out of it, but... she listens. Doesn’t feel like a lecture."

Ethan nods. "She actually got me thinking about the way I spiral after penalties. And that breathing stuff helped."

I grunt in response, catching the med ball and bouncing it once. I won't say it out loud, but they're right. Nina’s not just good at what she does, she’s dangerously good. She’s in your head before you know it, making you say things you swore you'd buried.

I hate that shit. And yet, I keep showing up.

The worst part?

I think she already knows why.

***

Darren’s already seated when I walk into the restaurant, nursing a beer and flipping through his phone like he's been there all day.

"Well look who finally decided to show up," he says without looking up. "I was about to order you the kiddie menu."

"And I was about to text you to make sure you remembered which city you’re in."

He stands up and we hug. Darren’s in his late thirties, salt-and-pepper stubble, ex-military, ex-bouncer, and now somehow a dad who runs a martial arts studio. Same sharp jaw, same too-serious eyes as me, just with a permanent smirk.

We bump fists and slide into the booth like we’ve done a thousand times before. He makes some joke about how I finally remembered to show up on time for once, and I fire back that he's only early when there's food involved. We trade laughs until the waitress brings us menus neither of us bother reading.

“Caught the game the other night,” Darren says, lifting his beer. “You looked... different. Still intense, but not wound up like a rubber band ready to snap.”

I lift a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Less hurricane. More… I don’t know, like you were actually breathing out there.”

I stare at my drink for a beat. Then I nod. “The team brought someone in. Sports psych.”

Darren grins. “Let me guess. Young. Brilliant. Probably way too attractive for the job.”

I groan. “Her name’s Nina. She’s smart. Knows what she’s doing. At first, I was pissed off. Thought it was an imposition. Figured I’d throw up a wall so high she’d need climbing gear to scale it. But…” I trail off, shrugging.

“But now you’re sipping the Kool-Aid?”

“She’s got me thinking in ways I hate. But it’s working.”

Darren sips. "So what is she, some kind of knockout therapist-slash-hockey whisperer?" He smirks, watching me squirm. "You going to tell me she’s also a former model or what?"

I sigh. "She's really hot and acts like she knows all your secrets. And after one of our worst losses, she cornered me in the hallway. I was in no damn mood, and somehow, she got under my skin."

Darren narrows his eyes. "Under your skin? That bad?"

I scoff, shifting in the booth. "I was pissed, man. Heated. We'd just lost, I was in no mood for company. She showed up, said one thing like she could read my mind, and I lost it."

Darren leans forward. "Lost it how?"

I meet his gaze, deadpan. "I told her off and then I kissed her. Didn't plan it. Didn't think. Just... boom."

His eyes widen. "Damn. You kissed her? That's dangerous on so many levels."

"Tell me about it. Caught me off guard. Still does."

"Holy shit, man."

The waitress swings by to take our order. I go with a burger. Darren orders a salad like it’s a personal attack.

He leans in, lowering his voice. “So, what’s her deal really, because you were different in the last game. Not much. Still a tight-ass. But... like you're not trying to hold back a hurricane.”

I tear open a sugar packet and dump it into my iced tea. "She’s... smart. Relentless. She knows how to dig without making it feel like surgery."

"Sounds like a Jedi. Or a Bond villain."

"Probably both."

"And are you into her, or just terrified of her?"

"It’s not like that."

"It never is. Until it is."

I take a sip and sigh. "She sees too much. Makes me think about stuff I don’t want to think about."

Darren’s face softens. "Dad."

One word. A landmine.

I nod. Just barely.

He shakes his head. "You stayed. I bailed. We both did what we had to."

"You ran. I absorbed."

"And now you're letting it out. With her. That’s good, Alex."

I look out the window. The sky is gray, like it always is here. "It scares the hell out of me."

He slaps my hand. "Good. Means it's real. Now can we eat before you order another emotional breakthrough?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "You’re the worst."

"You love me. And I love food. So let’s eat."

We talk over the rest of the meal, and I promise him tickets for the next home game—him, his wife, their twins. "Third row. Tell the kids they might catch a puck or a fight."

"Or both," Darren grins. "They’ll love it."

***

Nina’s office is warm. So is the lighting. She’s sitting cross-legged on the mat again, waiting. Her hair’s down today, and I hate how much I notice that.

"Hey," she says softly.

I sit beside her, legs out, arms resting on my knees. "So, more mind games today?"

She grins. "Only if you behave."

We start slow. She asks about the game. My breathing. My control. I tell her the truth, how I remembered to focus in the crease, how I didn’t spiral after a goal.

"That’s progress," she says.

I shrug. "You keep saying that."

"Because it’s true. So tell me, how was your day today so far?"

I lean back slightly, stretching my legs out in front of me. "It was... decent. Had a session in the gym with the guys. Connor was still chirping James for faceplanting at the youth clinic. Parker swore off the protein bars in the lounge after nearly choking on one. Same circus, different day."

She smiles, eyes soft. "Sounds lively."

"Yeah, and after that, I met up with my brother for lunch."

Her brow lifts. "Your brother?"

"Darren. Older. Former military. Now runs a martial arts studio, teaching both kids and adults. He's a black belt and the kind of guy who commands a room without saying a word."

"Sounds... intense."

"He is. But in a good way. Keeps me grounded."

I pause for a second, thumb brushing the seam on my sweatpants. Then I glance up and meet her gaze.

She nods slowly, studying me with those steady eyes. "Control must’ve been important growing up. Your brother’s military. He runs a martial arts studio. You’re an elite athlete. That’s not coincidence. That’s survival."

I clear my throat. "I used to be terrified of messing up, not just on the ice, but at home too."

She stays still. "Tell me more."

"Dad was... intense. There was no such thing as ‘good enough.’ You failed, you paid for it. Not fists. Just... disappointment. Silence. Cold."

"That’s a punishment all its own," she says quietly.

I nod. "Don't really want to talk about it. It just slipped out."

She shares her story. "I grew up in a house where achievement was oxygen. Burnout was failure. I collapsed in my second year of grad school and still tried to give a presentation when I woke up."

I blink. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious."

We sit in that shared silence. Pain. Pressure. Performance. All woven in different ways.

Then I ask, “You ever feel like if you stop holding it all together, you’ll just disappear?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “All the time. But sometimes, falling apart is where the rebuild starts.”

Our eyes lock. The air transforms.

That kiss flashes back between us like a live wire.

I lean forward without meaning to. She doesn’t pull back.

"Alex," she whispers.

"I know. Boundaries."

We stay right there, inches apart. Desire looming in the room. But no lines crossed. Not today.

Not yet.

***

My house is dark, the hum of the fridge the only sound.

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling like it’s got answers written in glow-in-the-dark paint.

I replay everything.

Nina’s voice. Her laugh. The way she looked at me today.

And how much I wanted to kiss her again. Man, I wanted to rip her damn clothes off.

She sees more than I want her to. And I’m not sure if I hate it… or need it.

Maybe I need it so bad it makes me want to tear the walls down and pull her in. Every session I leave more unraveled—and more addicted.

And the worst part?

I’m starting to want the unraveling.

Even if it wrecks me.