8. Rhys
Rhys
Morning light filtered through the rink's high windows, catching dust particles suspended in air that smelled like ice and rubber. I stood at the equipment table longer than necessary, reorganizing stick tape that didn't need organizing.
Restless energy crawled under my skin. Had since I woke at four-thirty, staring at the ceiling, unable to shut my brain off.
I gripped the edge of the table. Released it. Checked the clipboard inventory for the third time in ten minutes, even though nothing had changed.
Focus.
But focus slipped through my fingers like water. Practice wasn't for another two hours. Film review after that. I had paperwork waiting in my office—scouting reports, defensive breakdowns that needed analysis.
Work. That was what I needed. Something concrete to anchor myself to instead of this aimless frustration burning through my chest.
I grabbed my jacket off the bench.
Just need coffee. That's all.
The lie tasted bitter even as I told it.
My loafers echoed against concrete as I walked the back hallway toward the main concourse. Each step deliberate. Controlled. Like if I moved carefully enough, I could pretend this was routine instead of the mistake I knew it was.
Shouldn't be here.
The thought pounded against my skull in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Turn around. Go back. Get coffee somewhere else.
But my feet kept moving forward.
The café came into view through the glass doors ahead—warm light spilling out, the hum of the espresso machine audible even from here. Normal. Ordinary. Nothing that should make my pulse kick harder.
I pushed through the door, anyway.
This is a mistake.
The bell above chimed. A few early staff members looked up, then quickly looked away when they saw me. Good. I didn't want conversation. Didn't want acknowledgment.
Just get the coffee and leave.
I joined the short line, hands shoved deep in my pockets, hood pulled low. Stared at the menu board even though I ordered the same thing every time.
Don't look at her.
But my eyes betrayed me. Found her immediately.
Olivia stood behind the counter, tying her apron with quick, efficient movements. Her hair pulled back, exposing the vulnerable line of her neck. Dark circles shadowed her eyes—visible even from here.
Something clenched hard in my chest.
She looked exhausted. Worse than exhausted. Like she hadn't slept at all.
None of your business.
The thought came sharp and cold, but it did nothing to stop the protective instinct roaring through me—loud, demanding, impossible to ignore.
The rookie ahead of me bounced on his heels while he waited—too much energy, too early in the morning. Fresh-faced, probably eighteen at most, with the cocky swagger players got when they thought making the team meant they'd already won.
He ordered something complicated. Extra shot, almond milk, some syrup I didn't recognize.
Olivia punched it into the register, her smile polite but strained. Professional.
"Coming right up." Her voice came out lighter than yesterday—practiced cheerfulness that didn't reach her eyes.
The rookie grinned wider. Leaned against the counter like he owned it. "You're new, right? Haven't seen you before."
"First week." She turned toward the espresso machine, clearly hoping that would end the conversation.
It didn't.
"Yeah? How you liking it so far?" He shifted his weight, angling himself so she'd have to look at him when she answered. "Must be pretty cool working around professional athletes."
Her shoulders tensed. Barely noticeable, but I caught it.
"It's fine." Short. Clipped. The universal signal for please stop talking to me.
He either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Hey, you want to grab dinner sometime? After the game maybe?"
She froze mid-motion, steam wand forgotten in her hand. Color flooded her cheeks—not the pleased kind. The panicked kind.
"I… can't." She set the wand down carefully, like her hands needed something to do. "I don't date players. It's against the rules."
Smart answer. True, even. Company policy existed exactly to prevent situations like this.
The rookie's smirk sharpened. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something he probably thought was charming.
"We could keep it between us."
Heat exploded through my chest—sharp, immediate, threatening to crack through the control I'd maintained for years.
My jaw locked. Fists clenched hard enough my knuckles went white inside my pockets.
She said no.
Crystal clear. Unambiguous. The kind of no that should've ended the conversation immediately.
But he'd heard her and just… didn't care. Thought he could smile his way past it. Thought the rules didn't apply to him because he could skate fast and had a pretty face.
I stepped forward.
I hate rookies.
I stopped beside them. Close enough to crowd the space. Silent.
The rookie's grin faltered mid-sentence. "Coach Ackerman—" He straightened, some instinct finally kicking in. "I was just—"
I looked at him. Didn't say a word. Didn't need to. Just held his gaze with the same expression that used to stop fights before they started—flat, dark, utterly devoid of warmth. The kind of look that said I see exactly what you're doing, and you need to stop.
His face went white.
"I'll just—yeah. See you later, uh—" He glanced at Olivia, then back at me, then grabbed his drink from the counter so fast he nearly knocked it over. "Practice. Gotta get ready for practice."
He left without looking back, shoving through the café doors hard enough they slammed behind him.
Silence dropped like a stone.
Two staff members near the pastry case stared at me with wide eyes, frozen mid-restocking. One barista at the far end of the counter gripped a rag like it might protect her.
I didn't acknowledge them. Just shifted my attention to Olivia.
She stood perfectly still, hands braced against the counter, color high in her cheeks. Those dark circles under her eyes looked even worse up close—deep purple bruises that spoke of sleepless nights and exhaustion that ran bone-deep.
Her lips parted. Closed. Opened again.
"Thank you." Barely a whisper. "You didn't have to—"
"Black coffee." My voice came out rougher than I meant. "Please."
She blinked. Nodded once, quickly, and turned toward the machines.
Her hands trembled as she reached for a cup.
Damn it.
I turned toward her, lowering my voice so the other staff wouldn't hear. "Sorry about him."
Meant it. Every word.
Olivia's shoulders pulled inward, making herself smaller. She shook her head quickly, already dismissing it.
"It's fine. It happens." The words came out automatic, rehearsed—like she'd said them a thousand times before. She attempted a smile that died halfway across her face. "Really. I can handle it."
The forced brightness in her tone cracked something open inside my chest.
It happens.
Two words. Casual. Accepting. Like men ignoring her boundaries was just part of the job. Part of life. Something she expected and endured without complaint because what else could she do?
Heat flooded my veins—different from the anger I'd felt toward the rookie. Deeper. Darker. The kind that simmered low and dangerous and didn't have a clear target.
She poured coffee with steady hands now; the trembling gone or hidden. Professional mask firmly back in place.
Who taught you to be this small?
The question burned through my thoughts even though I already knew the answer. Had a pretty damn good guess, anyway.
Someone had trained her to apologize for existing. To minimize herself. To accept mistreatment as inevitable and never make a fuss about it because complaining only made things worse. Someone had taught her that her comfort didn't matter as much as keeping the peace.
And I'd bet everything I owned that the someone had been the man whose face I'd broken all those years ago—the one who'd screamed threats through a blood-soaked living room while I carried a terrified child out the door.
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.
She didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve to flinch at loud voices or accept harassment like it was part of the weather. Didn't deserve to look exhausted and scared and so goddamn alone while pretending everything was fine.
She slid the cup across the counter toward me, still not quite meeting my eyes. "Here you go. Sorry for the wait."
Stop apologizing.
The words caught in my throat. Stayed there. Because what right did I have to tell her anything? I was part of the problem—another man in her space, making her uncomfortable just by existing too close.
I wrapped my hand around the cup. Our fingers didn't touch, but I felt the heat of her proximity anyway.
"Morning skate in an hour." The words came out stiff. Mechanical. I cleared my throat, tried again. "Big game tonight. Against Boston."
Smooth, Ackerman. Real conversational.
But Olivia's shoulders dropped slightly—tension easing. Her smile shifted, still small but closer to genuine.
"I heard. Everyone's been talking about it." She wiped down the counter between us, movements less hurried now. "First time working during a game. I'm a little nervous."
"It gets chaotic." I wrapped both hands around the cup, anchoring myself. "Loud. Crowded. Don't let anyone rush you."
She nodded, glancing up at me properly this time. "I'll try to remember that when I'm drowning in orders."
The corner of my mouth twitched. Almost smiled before I caught it.
"You always take it black?" She gestured toward my coffee, curiosity replacing the fear that had been there moments ago. "No sugar or anything?"
"Always."
"That's very..." She paused, searching for the word. "Straightforward."
"I like things simple."
"I noticed." Her lips curved slightly—teasing, gentle. Nothing mocking about it.
Something warm unfurled in my chest. Unwelcome. Dangerous.
I shifted my weight, searching for something else to say that wouldn't send her retreating back behind that professional mask.
"You settling in okay?" The question came out rougher than intended. "With the job, I mean."