Chapter 17 Kael
Captain’s meetings always run long.
They always start with good intentions—quick updates, tactical adjustments, maybe a few notes about discipline—but by minute twelve, the rookies stop pretending to pay attention, Coach starts rambling about “fundamentals,” and someone inevitably asks a question that derails the entire agenda.
Today, that someone is Whitaker.
“You want us to tighten the forecheck in the neutral zone?” he asks. “Because if Atlas keeps pinballing off guys like yesterday, the refs are gonna bury us in penalties.”
Atlas isn’t here, thank God. I don’t need the collision replayed in front of him.
Coach sighs the sigh of a man who has aged fifteen years this week. “I want everyone to tighten everything. You’re all skating like your heads are in your asses.”
He’s not wrong.
The team is distracted.
Unfocused.
Snappy at each other.
Because I’m distracted.
And the team follows the captain.
Coach clicks the remote and video footage lights up the screen: yesterday’s scrimmage, the hit, the instant Wren sprinted onto the ice like her life depended on it.
I tense. Hard.
Coach pauses the clip mid-collision. “This,” he says, pointing at Atlas’s limp body sliding down the boards, “is what I’m talking about. You boys are playing reckless because you’re not paying attention to the damn game.”
He looks at me deliberately.
I unclench my jaw. “We’ll tighten it.”
“We?” Coach echoes. “Or you?”
The room shifts.
The rookies suddenly look very interested in their laces. Whitaker bites the inside of his cheek. Finn—sitting two seats down—keeps his eyes on the table, pretending not to feel the tension.
Coach folds his arms. “You’re off. I don’t know why. But if the captain’s head isn’t in it, the team’s isn’t either.”
He’s right.
But I’m not about to sit here and talk about the real reason:
A small, exhausted trainer who jumped when I said her name.
A woman who backed away from me like I could break her without touching her.
Someone whose absence is currently punching a hole in my chest.
I force my expression blank. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Coach fires back.
Finn shoots me a quick look, the kind that says You gonna lie or tell him the truth?
I look away. “I’ll handle it.”
Coach grunts. “Good. Because until you do, this team’s gonna keep skating like newborn deer.”
A few guys snort. I don’t.
Coach dismisses us, but as I stand, he calls out—
“Kael.”
I stop.
“Whatever’s going on,” he says quietly, voice low enough that only I hear, “fix it before Friday.”
“I will.”
I say it like a promise.
But the truth is, I’m not sure how.
I file out with the others. Whitaker and one of the rookies shove each other playfully, joking about something dumb. Finn falls into step beside me as we head down the hallway.
“You okay?” he asks under his breath.
I answer the same way I answered Coach. “I’m fine.”
Finn doesn’t buy it. He never does. “Because you seem... tense.”
“I’m always tense.”
“Okay, yeah, but this is like—extra Kael tension. Like someone-punched-you-in-the-soul tension.”
I don’t respond.
Because I’m not talking about it.
Not with him.
Not with Coach.
Not with anyone.
We stop by the locker room entrance. Finn leans against the wall.
“You talked to her this morning, right?” he asks carefully.
My jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
“And...?”
“She said she’s fine.”
Finn huffs a breath. “Which means she’s not.”
I look at him sharply. “Back off.”
He lifts both hands. “Hey. I’m not judging. I’m worried too.”
Worried.
About her.
The word hits harder than it should.
Finn scratches the back of his neck. “Just... let me know if you figure out what’s wrong.”
I nod once.
He leaves.
I don’t go into the locker room.
I don’t go to the gym.
I don’t go anywhere.
I stand in the hallway with my hands shoved deep in my pockets, staring at my boots, chest tight, head buzzing.
Coach was right.
My head’s not in the game.
Because it’s somewhere else.
Wrapped around someone else.
Around the memory of a woman who looked at me yesterday like she was bracing for impact.
And for the first time in a long time—
I have no idea how to fix something.
But I know this:
Whatever’s happening to Wren Harper?
It’s getting worse.
And if I don’t figure it out soon...
Something’s going to break.