Chapter 2 Wren
I don’t realize how badly my hands are shaking until I’m off the ice again.
The boards slam shut behind me as I step into the tunnel. My breath still comes quick, my body buzzing with leftover adrenaline—and something else I don’t want to name. Not yet.
Being stared down by three different flavors of dangerous will do that to a girl.
Kael’s command.
Finn’s heat.
Atlas’s raw, coiled violence.
Most women probably fantasize about a room like that. Me? I’m trying to remember how to breathe.
I press a hand to my chest and draw in a slow breath.
In.
Out.
Pretend that stepping between a full-on hockey brawl didn’t light a fuse in my blood.
My pulse hasn’t settled.
Not because I was scared.
Because they listened.
All three of them.
And that? That scares me far more than a punch to the face ever could.
The door to the locker room bangs open behind me, voices escalating again. One of the assistant coaches yells something about discipline and fines. Someone else curses.
Practice isn’t anywhere near done.
Unfortunately for my anxiety.
I straighten my shoulders and step back inside.
The atmosphere changes instantly. A few guys lift their chins at me. One smiles like an apology. Another nods respectfully.
But three men pull my focus like gravity.
Finn sits on the bench with his pad half-off, his shirt clinging to his shoulders with sweat. His hair is damp, curling at the ends, cheeks flushed in a way I should not find attractive. He sees me—and his entire face lights up like he’s been waiting.
Atlas leans against his locker next to him, knuckles bleeding anew, chest rising and falling with leftover rage. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes tracking me like I’m something he can’t decide whether to fight or devour.
And Kael...
Kael stands apart from all of them, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t read. Stoic. Controlled. Intense. His gaze drags over me, slow enough to feel, quick enough to make me doubt it happened.
I break eye contact first.
Because I need to work.
Not melt into a puddle at a man looking my way.
“Finn,” I call softly.
He perks up instantly. “Say the word and I’ll strip.”
Atlas groans. “Jesus Christ.”
I force a straight face. “Let’s keep your pants on for now.”
“For now,” Finn echoes, grinning as he stands.
He follows me into the training room like an obedient puppy—which would be endearing if he wasn’t six-one, built like a swimmer, and looking at me like I hung the damn moon.
I pull gloves on. “Shirt off.”
He obeys without hesitation, lifting the fabric slowly—slowly enough that I give him a look.
“What?” he asks innocently. “I’m injured. I can’t rush.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You love it.”
I ignore that and gesture for him to sit on the table. He does. I step between his knees, lifting his arm to inspect the strain more closely.
It’s clinical.
It’s professional.
It’s—
Finn inhales sharply.
His thigh brushes my hip.
I freeze. “Does that hurt?”
He smirks faintly. “Which part?”
I look at him sharply, but he’s watching me with something soft and vulnerable under the teasing.
For a heartbeat, the room feels warmer. Smaller.
“Raise your arm,” I say.
He does. Winces. Muscles ripple under my hands.
I keep my touch steady.
“You strained your deltoid. Nothing torn. But you need ice and rest.”
“Will you stay and supervise?” he asks, voice dropping into something warm and gravelly.
Before I can respond, a shadow fills the doorway.
Kael.
Of course.
“I need her.” His voice is clipped, controlled. Directed at Finn, not me.
Finn’s jaw tics. “For what, Captain?”
Kael’s eyes flick to me. “Atlas.”
I sigh inwardly. “What did he do now?”
Kael steps aside so I can walk past him—and I swear, swear, his gaze dips to my mouth for half a second.
Finn mutters behind me, “You’ve got competition, captain.”
Kael ignores him but his jaw flexes.
Oh.
This is going to be complicated.