Chapter 3 Kael
She shouldn’t be here.
Wren Harper shouldn’t be in my training facility, in my locker room, in my team’s orbit. She definitely shouldn’t be standing so close that I can smell the faint sweetness of her shampoo or hear the quickness of her breathing when she’s flustered.
She’s too small. Too soft. Too breakable.
And yet—
Two minutes ago, I watched her step onto the ice like she owned the place and shut down Atlas Ward mid-fight.
Atlas Ward.
A man who once broke another player’s nose during warm-up because the guy looked at him wrong.
She told him to sit.
He sat.
I’m still trying to understand it.
Wren walks beside me toward the corner of the locker room where Atlas sits, shoulders slumped, head tipped back against the brick wall. He looks... lost. Empty.
I tense.
Atlas’s blank-eyed moods are dangerous. Unpredictable. And the only person in this building who might be able to snap him out of it is now walking straight into the line of fire.
“Atlas?” she says gently.
His eyes lift—stormy, chaotic—and lock onto her.
Something changes in them. Sharpens. Focuses.
I step closer.
He drags in a breath. “He grabbed my stick.”
“That’s why you tried to break his face?” she asks.
“He grabbed my stick,” Atlas repeats, as if that explains everything.
Wren kneels in front of him, gloved hands resting lightly on her thighs. “Let me see.”
He hesitates. Then slowly—too slowly—extends his hand.
She inspects the splits in his knuckles, cleaning the blood with calm precision. Atlas watches her like she’s an animal he doesn’t understand—beautiful, dangerous, unpredictable.
“You hit hard,” she murmurs.
He huffs a laugh. “Yep.”
“And make terrible decisions.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Yep.”
“And think your pain tolerance means you don’t have to take care of yourself.”
Atlas’s lips twitch. “You’re bossy.”
“You need bossy.”
I swear his pupils dilate.
She finishes wrapping his hand, then stands—and he stands too, towering over her.
Too close.
I feel it in my jaw.
Wren steps back and turns toward me. “He’s fine. But if he fights like that before Friday’s game, he won’t be.”
Atlas’s gaze drops to her hips. “I fight how I fight.”
“And I treat what you break,” she fires back.
He grins, slow and dangerous. “That what you’re into? Fixing broken things?”
Before I can intervene, Wren narrows her eyes. “Only if they’re worth fixing.”
Atlas’s nostrils flare.
He’s never been handled like this.
Hell, neither have I.
She starts to walk away, but I catch her wrist—gently, carefully, like she’s made of glass I shouldn’t touch.
“Good work,” I say quietly.
Her eyes meet mine.
Electric.
“That brawl could’ve gone bad,” I add. “You diffused it.”
Her voice softens. “It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that.”
She inhales sharply.
Shit.
I let too much slip.
I release her hand.
She steps back, breathing unevenly.
Finn calls out behind us, “Cap, you’re scaring her.”
Wren turns. “He’s not.”
Finn smirks. Atlas watches her like he’s starving.
And I...
I watch all three of us like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t.
Something dangerous.
Something inevitable.