Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Kyle
The elevator dings open, and I step out, grinning.
The silence behind me is alive with that humming tension that comes when the world tilts and you know it won’t snap back into place.
She didn’t say a word or even move, just stared at me like I’d knocked her heartbeat out of rhythm, and she wasn’t sure how to get it back.
The way she looked at me like she couldn’t decide whether to breathe me in or push me away follows me down the hall, clinging to the back of my mind as if her gaze left a mark I can’t shake.
I glance down at the smudge of blue ink across my knuckles, where her hand brushed mine when I scribbled my number on her palm.
The ink is already bleeding into my skin, a messy little reminder of a moment I should probably forget.
I shake my head like an eight ball, trying to rattle everything back into focus.
Today was supposed to be my first day of media training with this year’s rookies.
I missed an entire day of training. It wasn’t my fault, but that won’t matter.
My big brother—and the man whose name is on the line every time I step on the ice—is already breathing fire.
If there’s one thing Cooper hates more than losing, it’s me giving him another reason to question why I’m on his team.
He made it perfectly clear he didn’t want me here.
When I told him I wanted to declare for the draft last year, he shut it down.
Said I wasn’t ready. So, I waited and graduated like he asked, but that still wasn’t enough.
We haven’t spoken much since I declared for the draft.
He even went to management when the analysts started calling me the final piece of some “Hendrix Dynasty” and speculating what team would be the best fit.
He called it showing concern, but what he really meant was that having me here would complicate everything—on the ice, in the media, and at home.
The Timberwolves have already done more than their fair share of damage control because of us.
Cole’s time in rehab is still fresh in everybody’s mind, no matter how hard the team tried to spin it as a shoulder that never healed right.
Mercer used to take cheap shots at my brothers, tossing around “your druggie brother” whenever he wanted to get under Beau’s and Cooper’s skin.
I’ve heard enough stories to know it got ugly.
I’m honestly surprised Mercer made it out of the locker room without a broken jaw before they finally fired him.
Then Beau’s medical retirement hit right after, another reminder that nothing about our family ends quietly.
One season he was on the ice, the next he wasn’t.
No farewell tour, no big ceremony. Just a bland press release about long-term health concerns and a quiet move behind the bench.
He still shows up every day as the goaltender coach, but he moves differently now.
Slower. More careful. Like he’s listening to something in his body that the rest of us can’t hear.
I’ve seen the look in his eyes when the guys hit the ice.
Pride and loss tangled so tightly they’re impossible to separate.
Add all that to the mess the team’s been dealing with since Mercer’s contract was terminated and Cooper took over as head coach, and it’s no wonder he didn’t want me dragging the Hendrix name back into the spotlight he’s been trying to dim.
I came anyway.
Cole and Beau thought joining the league right after graduation was the right move.
I’d earned my shot. I did what Cooper told me to do.
I went to college. I put in the work. And if I wanted to play with my brothers, it had to be now, while they were still here.
Cooper and Beau have already hung up their skates, and nobody knows how much longer Cole’s shoulder will hold.
I didn’t want to wait and watch the door close.
I wanted one season. One chance to wear the same colors and share the same ice with my brothers, to make every shift count before the window slammed shut.
So, here I am, late for my first day of media training and about to get my ass chewed out by the head coach, who also happens to be my big brother.
It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.
I was supposed to crash at Beau’s old condo, a five-minute walk from the rink, but Mom called with promises of homemade pasta and cinnamon rolls.
I’m not stupid. You don’t say no to that.
I planned to leave early, beat traffic, show up on time, and prove I could be professional.
Then the flat happened. One loud pop, one useless spare, and me cursing in the driveway while Mom stood on the porch, waving another cinnamon roll like that could fix it.
Cooper won’t go easy on me. If anything, he’s harder on me than anyone else.
No shortcuts. No special treatment. No family favors.
Just a name that carries more weight than I ever asked for and a target painted squarely between my shoulder blades.
Every drill, every shift, every game means I must prove I belong here.
That I earned this. That I’m not just the youngest Hendrix trying to cash in on a last name.
If I fail, it’ll be front-page news. If I rise, it’ll be because no one could stop me.
I can feel the quiet tension between Cooper and me, heavy with all the things we don’t say. Did I fight my way here because I’m good enough or because he couldn’t stop me?
Guess we’re about to find out.
The hallway stretches out ahead of me, all sterile light and clean lines, with framed jerseys and glossy photos from seasons before I was even born.
Metal plaques glint under the fluorescents, each one stamped with proof that somebody earned their place.
I pause for half a second, thumb brushing the strap of my bag.
I haven’t earned a spot on this wall yet, but I will.
A security guard near the end of the corridor looks up from his phone. Broad, mid-forties, beard just starting to gray. His eyes narrow for a beat before recognition clicks.
“Morning, Kyle.”
That catches me more off guard than it should. I’ve never set foot in this building before today, but apparently, my name beat me here.
“Guess word travels fast,” I say.
“Around here, it does.” He snorts, glancing back at his phone. “Also, you missed training, Rookie.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my thing. Gotta make an entrance.”
“Good luck explaining that to your brother.”
“Will you give me a character reference when I’m unemployed,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my duffel.
He laughs, low and easy, and the sound follows me down the hall. It cuts through some of the tension in my shoulders, loosening a knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying since draft day. I have a feeling I’m going to like that guy.
The elevator ride already feels like a glitch in the matrix, but my interaction with Alycia hangs in my chest like a song I can’t stop replaying.
Months. That’s how long it’s been since I saw her at that party.
The night that rerouted something inside me, and I haven’t been able to set it straight since.
Meeting her wasn’t an accident. It felt like a collision.
Light and heat slamming into everything I thought I knew about control.
The sound of her laugh, the curve of her mouth, the way she looked at me like she could see straight through the noise in my head and didn’t flinch.
I’ve carried that night around like a secret ever since.
Now it’s layered with something new. The elevator and the startled look in her eyes when she saw me. The brush of her hand against mine. My number inked across her palm. The way her breath stuttered when I kissed her skin like I’d crossed a line she didn’t know she had.
She’s probably halfway across the city by now, already filing me away as a reckless moment she shouldn’t have let happen. Maybe she’s forgotten the way my name sounds in her mouth, or how her pulse jumped under my fingertips.
I haven’t. I’ve spent months trying not to replay that party in my head, and now she’s not just a memory or some unreachable what-if. She’s here. Real. Close enough to touch. I’m not letting it slip this time.
The thought settles in, heavy and certain, and carries me the rest of the way down the hall until I’m staring at a glass door marked PUBLIC RELATIONS. The plaque gleams in the harsh light, official and polished. The kind of door you only get when you’ve proven yourself.
I wait for someone to respond, but when nothing comes, I push the door open a little wider and step inside.
The air inside is warmer than the hallway, touched with the faint scent of coffee and something clean.
The chair is tucked neatly under the desk, a pale cardigan slung over the armrest like it was forgotten as someone was rushing out for the day.
A coffee cup rests beside a small stack of folders, a pen capped and resting parallel beside them.
The entire space is in perfect order, ready and waiting for the owner to pick up where they left off in the morning.
I glance around for a nameplate, something to tell me who this office belongs to, but there’s nothing. Having no idea where the person I’m supposed to meet is, I pull my phone from my pocket and type out a quick message.
I think they left for the day.
It takes only a few seconds for the screen to light up again.
Annoying Big Brother
Makes sense since you’re late. Come to my office.
Great. I guess it’s time for my ass-chewing about professionalism from the man who still treats me like I’m sixteen.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and glance around one last time.
The air carries a faint sweetness of vanilla, or something soft, that pulls at a corner of memory I shouldn’t still have.
For a second, it feels like her. That split second of warmth and surprise that’s been sitting under my skin ever since.
The thought lodges before I can stop it, but I shake it off almost immediately.
There’s no way. The universe doesn’t line things up that neatly.
“Get it together, Hendrix.” The words scrape out low and rough, like someone convincing themselves they’re fine when they already know they’re not.
But even as I turn to leave, that scent clings to the air like a secret I’m not supposed to find. And for the first time all day, I wonder if maybe the universe just lined something up anyway.