Chapter 15 Kael
I get to the rink early the next morning.
Earlier than usual. Earlier than everyone.
I tell myself it’s because we have a rough week ahead, because there’s film to review, because the rookies need eyes on them—
But that’s bullshit.
I’m here because of Wren.
Because of the way she looked at me yesterday.
Like I was too much.
Like I was something to be afraid of.
The worst part?
She wasn’t wrong.
I scared her.
I pushed too hard.
I crowded her without realizing it.
I don’t make mistakes like that. Not with people. Not with my team.
But she isn’t just “people.”
She isn’t just “staff.”
And that’s the problem.
I’m reviewing plays in the darkened film room when I hear the sound of soft footsteps outside the door. Not skates. Not staff. Sneakers.
Wren.
I know her steps already. Light. Quick. Nervous.
I shut the laptop and stand before I even think about it.
When I open the door, she jumps back like she wasn’t expecting anyone.
Her eyes are shadowed, rimmed with faint purple she definitely didn’t have yesterday. Her hair is pulled into a messy knot, and she’s dressed in a hoodie too big for her, sleeves covering her hands.
She looks small.
And tired.
And scared.
Something cold settles under my ribs.
“Morning,” I say quietly.
She swallows. “Morning.”
Her voice is hoarse, like she didn’t sleep.
I keep my distance.
Farther than I want to.
Farther than feels natural.
“Rough night?” I ask.
I regret it the second it leaves my mouth.
Her shoulders tense, her hand sliding instinctively toward her pocket—toward her phone.
“Yes,” she says too quickly. “No. I’m fine.”
She’s not fine.
She’s wound tight enough that if someone slammed a door right now, she’d shatter.
I nod once, tamping down the urge to step closer, to touch her, to fix whatever put that look in her eyes.
“Take it easy today,” I tell her. “If you need more time in the training room—”
“I said I’m fine,” she interrupts.
The words are sharp, but her voice isn’t.
Her voice is fragile.
She flinches right after saying it, like she didn’t mean it to sound that way.
I lift my hands slowly, palms out. “Okay. You’re fine.”
I don’t say it sarcastically. I don’t challenge her.
I accept it.
Her breath catches like she expected a fight and doesn’t know what to do now that she isn’t getting one.
She steps around me, heading toward the trainers’ office. But halfway down the hall, she pauses and looks back.
“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, eyes on the floor, “I wasn’t... scared of you.”
That’s a lie.
I know a lie when I hear one.
But she’s trying. She thinks she owes me reassurance.
I shake my head. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I do,” she whispers. “I just... can’t.”
Then she turns away again, shoulders tight, head down like she’s trying to fold into herself.
Something in me twists painfully.
I want to follow her.
I want to ask what’s wrong.
I want to know who put that haunted look in her eyes.
I want to tear the world apart until she feels safe again.
Instead, I step back into the film room and shut the door.
Because she asked for space.
And because if I keep pushing, I’ll lose her completely.
But the second the door closes, I lean both palms against it and bow my head.
Because something is happening to Wren Harper.
Something she’s hiding.
And if I don’t figure out what it is soon...
I’m afraid someone else will get to her first.
Someone who doesn’t care about her safety.
Someone who already has his hands in her past.
Someone who knows exactly how to break her.