1. Kai #2
Ten minutes of mobility. Five minutes incline walk. Activation circuit.
Then weights.
Everything in order. Everything with purpose. That’s the only way this works. Hockey doesn’t reward almost. It doesn’t care if you’re tired or distracted or carrying some childhood heartbreak around like a lovesick fool. The ice doesn’t make room for your feelings, and neither does the scoreboard.
You show up, or you don’t.
You’re ready, or you’re not.
And I have to be ready.
I’m captain. I’m supposed to be the standard. First in, last out. The guy everyone can count on when the season gets ugly, and bodies start wearing down. The guy Coach can point to when the freshmen need to understand what hard work looks like.
I can’t fold.
I already know what happens when I miss things. When I’m not paying enough attention.
When someone I love needs me, and I’m too late to realize it.
The thought hits fast and mean, like it always does, and Harlow’s face flashes through my mind. Not the Harlow who laughs easier with Grayson’s hand in hers. The old version. The one who learned how to smile like she wasn’t shattering apart because none of us knew how bad it had gotten.
I know what everyone says.
It wasn’t your fault, Kai.
You were a kid too, Kai.
You couldn’t have known, Kai.
Maybe.
But knowing that doesn’t change the fact that I am her brother. Her older brother. The one who was supposed to notice. The one who was supposed to stand between her and anything that could hurt her.
I didn’t.
So now I notice everything.
I count everything.
I prepare for everything.
And when that still isn’t enough, I work harder.
By the end of my third circuit, sweat is dripping down my spine, and Wren’s laugh has finally stopped echoing in my skull.
Mostly.
I’m finishing sled pushes when the weight room door opens.
Grayson steps in first, hoodie up, gym bag in hand, expression still half-asleep until his eyes land on me. Then he takes in the loaded sled, the sweat on my shirt, the clock on the wall, and the look on my face.
He raises a brow. “Morning.”
I drive the sled to the end of the turf. “Morning.”
“You know most people don’t punish their hamstrings first thing in the morning. Especially over feelings.”
I stop with both hands braced on the handles and glare at him over my shoulder.
“I don’t have feelings.” I used to, but now I make sure I only have time for a few things: hockey, Harlow, and my friends.
Finding a new girl isn’t in the cards for me right now.
Maybe because I don’t have time, and maybe because the right one got away.
“Right.” He drops his bag onto the bench. “That was my mistake. I forgot you’re a hockey-playing filing cabinet.”
“Better than being whatever you are.”
“A well-adjusted boyfriend with healthy sleep habits?”
I snort and turn the sled around. “Debatable.”
He walks over and leans against the wall instead of starting his warm-up, which means he’s not done with his therapy session.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m working out.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Grayson’s gaze lingers, and I know he won’t drop it unless I end the conversation.
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Grayson studies me for a second. He’s gotten better at that since Harlow. Or maybe he was always good at seeing things, and I only started noticing when the things he saw involved my sister.
“Your ex is starting school here,” he says finally. “And is around a lot, especially with Harlow.”
My grip tightens on the sled as I stare down at the turf. “I’m aware.”
“You saw her at the party.”
I bend my neck and turn away, trying to show him that I am completely uninterested in having this conversation. “Also aware.”
“And now you’re here extra early in the morning trying to become one with the equipment.”
I push the sled hard enough that the turf burns under my shoes. “This is called training.”
“Pretty sure it’s called avoidance, but sure.”
“Do you have a point?” I don’t intend for my voice to come out as sharp as it does.
“Yeah.” He waits until I hit the end of the lane, then says, “You don’t have to act like you’re fine about it. It’s allowed to be awkward and weird and bring up past shit.”
I laugh once, but there’s no humor in it. “Pretty sure I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Team captain needs to have his shit together, Grayson. We both know that.”
He gives me a pointed look. “You’re allowed to be a human before you’re a captain.”
I turn the sled again because if I stop moving, I might actually have to listen to him. “I’m fine, Gray.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
That’s worse than arguing.
Finally, he says, “Harlow’s worried about you.”
Of course she is.
A sharp, familiar guilt presses under my ribs. “She doesn’t need to be.”
“You know telling her that has never worked once, right?”
“She has enough going on.”
“She’s happy,” he says quietly. “And she’s allowed to worry about you at the same time.”
I don’t look at him.
I don’t want to talk about Harlow worrying about me. I don’t want to talk about Wren being back. I don’t want to talk about any of the things sitting inside me, because talking about any of them right now would feel a lot like rolling my heart over broken glass.
So I push the sled again.
Grayson finally gets the message and drops the conversation, at least for now.
That’s one of the reasons I trust him. He pushes when it matters, but he doesn’t pry for sport. He can stand in silence without trying to fill it, which is more than I can say for most of the guys on our team.
As if I summoned them by the thought, the weight room door bangs open.
“Good morning, you early morning workout freaks.”
Weston Cooper strides in wearing sweats, slides, and a grin wide enough to get him murdered before sunrise. His hair is a disaster, there’s still a pillow crease on one side of his face, and somehow he still looks like the kind of guy people forgive for existing so loudly.
Behind him, our goalie, Asher Hale, follows with considerably less enthusiasm.
Weston stops when he sees me with the sled, his face instantly morphing into a disgusted look.
“Oh, hell no.” He points at me. “Why are you already sweaty? We just got here, and we’re on time for once.”
“It’s called discipline,” I say.
“It’s called a cry for help.” He drops his bag and looks at Grayson. “Did he sleep here?”
“Not this time,” Grayson says.
“Disappointing. I had money on him crawling out of the ventilation system like a haunted protein shaker.”
Asher yawns. “Can we not do whatever this is before coffee?”
“Weights first,” I say.
Weston clutches his chest. “Captain, please. Some of us are delicate.”
Grabbing a towel, I wipe the sweat off my forehead. “You’re six-three and weigh two hundred pounds. Not exactly delicate, Cooper.”
“Emotionally delicate.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Some days, I have the capacity to deal with Weston. Today is not that day. “Then this will build character.”
He points at me. “See, this is why people think you’re terrifying.”
“Good.”
“No, not good. It’s bad for morale.”
“Your morale will survive.”
“Barely.” Weston looks at the loaded bar, then back at me. “Absolutely not. That is too much weight for this hour.”
“For you, maybe.”
“For anyone with functioning survival instincts.” He points at me, then the bar. “You know, most captains ease their team back in after break. Maybe a little mobility. Some light cardio. A trust circle where we all say one thing we missed about each other.”
“Absolutely the fuck not.”
“See? This is the problem.” He drops onto the bench and starts tying his shoes. “You hear trust circle and immediately choose violence.”
“Warm up, Cooper.”
“I am warming up.”
“Warm up something other than your vocal cords.”
Grayson snorts.
Weston looks around the weight room, then back at me. “Actually, while we’re sharing, I’d like to say I missed absolutely none of you. Except maybe Grayson, because he brings snacks sometimes.”
“Which you’re not supposed to eat.” Grayson doesn’t look up from adjusting his wrist wraps. “Those are for Harlow.”
“Love that for her. Hate that for me.” Weston pushes to his feet and claps his hands once. “All right, Cap. What’s first on the agenda? Legs? Core? More emotional repression?”
I grin at him. “Lucky for you, today is a heavy cardio day.”
His smile drops instantly. “I was afraid of that.”