Chapter 24 Kael
I get to the arena before dawn.
I tell myself it’s because captains should set the standard, because the ice is cleaner in the early hours, because it gives me time to prep before the other guys show up.
Truth is, I didn’t sleep.
At all.
I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Wren flinched yesterday. The way she swallowed panic so hard it hurt me to watch it. The way she walked out of the arena alone, shoulders tight, expression hollow.
And the way something in me—something I thought I buried years ago—rose like a threat in my chest.
She’s not safe.
Even if she thinks she is.
Even if she pretends she is.
Something’s wrong.
And I’m done waiting for her to tell us.
I run drills alone on the ice, cutting sharp lines into fresh surface. My body moves; my thoughts don’t.
By the time the rest of the guys start rolling in, sweat is dripping down my spine and my jaw is locked so tight it aches. I force myself into captain mode—neutral, steady, collected.
At least on the outside.
Finn is the first to arrive.
Which is unusual.
He doesn’t look hungover, but something about him is off. His hair’s still damp like he showered quickly. He’s wearing the wrong hoodie—the gray one with the stretched-out neck he only wears on days he doesn’t want attention. And his eyes...
His eyes flick to the door every few seconds. Like he’s waiting for someone.
I don’t want to jump to conclusions.
But my stomach tightens anyway.
He grabs a roll of tape from the shelf, fiddles with it, drops it, curses softly under his breath, picks it up again. Finn doesn’t fumble. Not with tape. Not with anything.
I lean my stick against the bench and cross my arms.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He startles. “What? Nothing. Why?”
I level a look at him. “You’re jumpy.”
“No, I—damn it.” He drops the tape again.
“Finn.”
He freezes.
He won’t look at me.
Something curls low in my gut. Something instinctive. Something territorial I don’t like examining too closely.
“You go out last night?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Just for a drink.”
Alone?
With someone?
With her?
Before I can decide on my next question, the doors at the far end of the rink open.
And she walks in.
Wren.
Hair still slightly damp. Hoodie zipped up to her chin. Eyes shadowed like she barely slept. She carries her bag over one shoulder, clipboard under her arm, trying so hard to look normal it hurts to watch.
But the worst part?
Finn sees her first.
He straightens. His shoulders loosen. Relief washes over his face with such softness I almost miss it.
Almost.
Wren catches his gaze.
She freezes.
Only for half a second—but I see it.
And Finn sees it.
And suddenly the entire room goes silent in my head.
Because that look?
That’s not the look you give a coworker.
Or a teammate.
Or someone you waved goodbye to yesterday afternoon.
That’s a look with... memory behind it.
Slowly, Wren walks toward us. Her steps are steady but her jaw is tight. She keeps her arms close to her sides, as if afraid to disturb the air.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
Her voice is softer than usual. Not cracked. Not broken. Just... tender.
Too tender.
Finn smiles at her—small, gentle, almost shy.
And she returns it.
Barely. But it’s there. A tiny softening at the corner of her mouth she doesn’t give to anyone else.
I feel something sharp and cold twist under my ribs.
“What time did you get in?” I ask Wren.
It comes out casual.
She stiffens anyway.
“Late,” she says.
Finn’s shoulders jolt.
Wren doesn’t notice.
I do.
My jaw clenches.
I nod slowly. “You walk home?”
She hesitates.
“Finn drove me,” she says.
Finn’s head snaps toward her like he wasn’t expecting her to admit it.
My pulse hammers once—hard enough I feel it in my palms.
“You drove her?” I ask quietly.
To anyone else, it sounds like a simple question.
Both of them react like it’s a test.
Wren looks down at her clipboard. “I didn’t want to walk alone.”
Finn clears his throat. “I happened to be near her place.”
“Near?” I echo.
He stares at me, and for the first time since I’ve known him, his expression is closed.
Guarded.
Like he has something worth hiding.
A slow, hot pressure spreads through my chest—not anger, not jealousy, but something older and more dangerous than both.
“She was safe with me,” Finn says finally.
The way he says it—steady, proud, protective—hits me like a blade to the sternum.
Because I believe him.
And I hate how much that matters.
Wren steps back, hugging the clipboard to her chest. “I’m going to grab ice packs before warmup.”
My instincts scream to follow her.
Finn’s instincts scream the same—he shifts like he’s about to.
But I move first.
“I’ll help,” I say.
She flinches.
And it’s tiny—maybe no one else would see it—but I see everything she tries to hide.
I stop in my tracks.
She notices. Her throat bobs in guilt. “Kael, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” I say flatly. “Go. I’ll see you on the ice.”
She nods. Walks away quickly.
Finn watches her go, eyes soft. Too soft.
My chest tightens again.
He runs a hand through his hair and turns back to me. “Kael—”
“Don’t,” I say.
“Don’t what?”
I meet his gaze hard, unblinking. “Don’t lie to me.”
He drops his eyes to the floor.
That’s answer enough.
Something shifts inside me.
Not fury.
Not betrayal.
Worse—
a sinking, bone-deep certainty that I missed something.
That I wasn’t there when she needed someone.
That Finn stepped into a gap I didn’t realize existed.
He clears his throat again. “Nothing happened.”
He means physically.
He means sexually.
He means the thing he thinks I’m worried about.
But that’s not what I’m asking.
“What did she tell you?” I say.
“Kael—”
“What did she say?” My voice is steel now.
He hesitates.
And that’s when I know:
She did open up.
Not fully.
Not everything.
But something.
She let him in.
She let Finn in.
And she didn’t let me.
He finally says, “She wasn’t okay last night.”
That hits hard.
I swallow once. It burns. “Is she okay now?”
He looks toward the hallway Wren disappeared down.
“I don’t know.”
That’s the first honest thing either of us has said this morning.
He exhales, rubbing his face. “Kael... she needed someone. She didn’t want to be alone.”
“And you were there.”
He doesn’t deny it.
He just looks away, shoulders tightening. That alone tells me everything.
“She trusts you,” I say.
His jaw flexes. “I’m trying not to mess that up.”
“You won’t,” I say. “If anything, I’m the one who—”
I stop.
Because I don’t finish sentences like that.
Finn’s head snaps up. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I laugh under my breath. Humorless. “Tell that to the way she flinched yesterday.”
His face softens. “She flinches at everything right now. It’s not you.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I look toward the med room again.
“She’s hiding something,” I say quietly. “And it’s not us. It’s someone else.”
Finn’s expression shifts. “I think so too.”
“You know who?”
He shakes his head. “No. But... it’s bad, Kael.”
My chest tightens. “How bad?”
He hesitates again.
Long enough to confirm everything I’m afraid of.
“I’m not sure,” he finally says. “But whoever it is? She’s afraid.”
Afraid.
The word detonates something in me.
“I’m going to find out who,” I say.
Finn steps closer. “Kael—be careful. If you push too hard—”
“Then she’ll pull away more,” I finish.
He nods.
We stand in silence for a moment. Not as teammates. Not as rivals. Not even as friends.
As two men who both want to protect the same woman.
Two men who both failed her yesterday.
Two men who both know neither of us gets to lose her.
I break the silence first.
“Don’t tell Atlas.”
Finn almost smiles. “God, no.”
Atlas would burn the city down looking for a ghost.
Finn pulls on his gloves. “We need to keep her safe.”
Safe.
That word hits the deepest.
“I will,” I promise.
Not to him.
Not to the team.
Not to myself.
To her.
He nods once and heads toward the ice.
I stay where I am for another moment, staring at the empty doorway she disappeared through.
She came home last night with Finn.
Not scared.
Not alone.
Not falling apart in the streets.
She trusted him.
And the sick truth is...
I’m grateful.
And I hate it.
I tighten my grip on my stick, anchoring myself.
If she won’t tell me what’s wrong—
I’ll figure it out myself.
If someone is hurting her—
I’ll end it quietly.
If she trusts Finn before she trusts me—
fine.
But she will be safe.
I’ll make damn sure of it.
No matter what it takes.