Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Kyle
The second I see Alycia, my lungs forget what they’re supposed to do.
The woman I couldn’t stop thinking about last night is here, standing under the fluorescent lights of the Timberwolves PR office like she didn’t kiss me breathless twelve hours ago.
My dreams were full of the way she whispered my name, fingers clenched in my shirt, like she’d waited years to say it.
She’s all polished professionalism now, in high heels, a navy blazer, and a cream blouse.
Put together in a way that shouldn’t remind me of last night but does.
Her hair’s pulled up tight, except for a single curl falling loose against her temple, and that one detail hits harder than it should.
Sin and salvation wrapped up in a woman trying to pretend last night never happened.
She looks up, a flicker of recognition in her eyes—shock, panic, memory—and then it disappears, replaced by the careful calm of a woman who has something to lose.
I should look away and pretend I don’t remember the taste of her lip gloss or the way she melted into me.
But the second I open my mouth, it betrays me.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
She freezes, and the only thing that moves is the pulse at her throat, fluttering high and fast with the ghost of last night thrumming between us. It beats through my own skin before she forces it still, her face going perfectly blank.
“Already charming the staff, huh?” Cole chuckles beside me, turning to Beau. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
“What the hell are you two betting on now?” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from her.
“We bet on how fast you’d turn on the Hendrix charm,” Beau says, squeezing my shoulder.
I snort, forcing a laugh that sounds steadier than I feel. “Really mature, betting on my social skills.”
“Don’t call it social skills. Call it a brand.” Cole grins.
“Yeah? Pretty sure the brand is about to get me fired for sexual harassment.”
“You’re the one who opened with sweetheart, Casanova,” Cole fires back, eyes glinting.
“Relax, baby brother.” Beau grips my shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “You’re a Hendrix. It’s genetic.”
If he only knew how close I am to losing every ounce of my composure right now.
I force out a laugh, but it scrapes raw.
I’m aware of every breath she takes, every blink she uses to hide the fact that she can’t quite look at me.
She’s professional down to the bone, calm in a way people mistake for confidence.
But I see the tremor beneath it, the same one I felt against my mouth.
She’s not looking at me, but around me. Every time her gaze even brushes mine, it feels like it burns.
Cooper clears his throat, a sharp interruption cutting through the static buzzing in my head. “No one’s getting fired unless Ms. Torres has a problem with it.”
She presses her lips together, and then she nods. “No problem here, Coach.”
I barely resist the urge to rub at the spot over my heart that aches at the tone in her voice. This isn’t Alycia; this is her armor. The stillness I mistook for confidence the first time I met her is a mask to hide behind when she is unravelling, and she knows I see it.
It hits me hard, a full-body ache that feels like a hit to the boards.
It’s all there if you know where to look: the fear, the exhaustion, the want.
She’s not distant because she doesn’t care.
It’s because she’s terrified that she does.
That if she lets anyone see what she’s feeling, it’ll all unravel.
Her career. Her reputation. The tightrope she’s been balancing on long before I showed up.
Her eyes meet mine for half a second, and in that tiny window of honesty, she tells me everything without saying a word. Don’t make this harder. Please let me hold the line.
I swallow the words sitting on my tongue, the ones that would blow it all apart and give her the out she’s asking for.
But every nerve in my body is alive because, while she’s hiding, I’m drowning in the memory of her.
She’s telling me not now while the whole damn world is watching, but the look in her eyes—raw and trembling and impossibly brave—tells me she’s not saying never.
“Welcome to Portland, Hendrix,” she says, voice clipped, words so carefully measured they sound like they’re balanced on a blade.
I want to say something to break the ice and put us back on even ground, but there isn’t even ground anymore. There’s just the echo of last night and the sharp edge of what it means now.
Cooper clears his throat, his voice steady, running through the usual script about professionalism and media protocol. Every rule I’ve heard about professionalism runs through my head. Don’t get involved with staff. Don’t give the media a reason to circle. Don’t be stupid.
But none of that matters because I can barely stand in the same room with her and not reach for her wrist, her elbow, anything to prove last night wasn’t something I dreamed.
Besides, I know for a fact there was something going on with Cole and Michele before she moved to another team, and things worked out for them.
Sure, she works for the AHL team and not the Timberwolves.
I’m also pretty sure that no one knew they were together.
A secret relationship isn’t ideal, but it’s better than not seeing where things can go between us.
I just need to get Alycia used to the idea of being with me and remind her that nothing has to change.
We can keep our work professional and our private lives private, or at least we can try to.
I’m Kyle Hendrix. The youngest and last member of the Hendrix family dynasty to enter the league.
I should know better than to even think I can keep anything private, but I’m willing to try.
I’m willing to do anything to ensure we can be together because there is no way I can spend any length of time regretting what happened between us last night.
It felt like something that made sense for the first time in a long time. I wanted it to be real—and still do.
Beau says something about press events; she answers without missing a beat and still doesn’t look at me. It’s almost impressive how she can pretend that fast, avoiding me like the plague. As if we’re both aware that one wrong look could burn the whole thing down.
“Alycia, are you still on board with managing Kyle’s PR for the season?” Cooper asks.
Her pen stills mid-stroke as all the air disappears from the room. She doesn’t look up, just breathes in slowly through her nose, before her eyes flick to mine. “Of course, I’ll make sure he’s prepared.”
Prepared for what? How to pretend that the kiss we shared didn’t knock something loose inside me? Good luck with that, sweetheart.
“Great.” Cooper claps a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll keep you out of trouble, kid.”
“That’s a full-time job right there.” Beau snorts.
“Yeah,” Cole adds, smirking. “Might want to give her hazard pay.”
“You two done auditioning for the world’s least funny comedy duo?” I roll my eyes, fighting the heat crawling up my neck. “It was one suspension. Let it go.”
“Aw, come on, little brother. We’re just proud you managed a full sentence without flirting.” Cole elbows me in the side.
“I wasn’t flirting,” I lie easily, even as my throat tightens. “It’s called being polite. You should try it sometime.”
“Sure. Polite. That's what we’re calling it now?” He laughs, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Drop it,” I warn, softer than I mean to.
It’s enough to make him back off, but he doesn’t get it. None of them do because, for them, hockey has always come first. But this thing between Alycia and me is worth every bit of the risk they’ve always told me to avoid. Somehow, she’s the only thing that’s felt right in months.
Cooper is watching me, brows drawn tight like he’s already sensing the shift in me—the one I can’t afford for him to see.
His whole life has been the ice, the team, the next game.
Even now, with Ramona in his corner, I’m not sure he remembers what it’s like to want something you can’t diagram into a play.
So, I do what I’ve always done when I feel the walls closing in: I hide behind my mouth.
“Guess I’m coachable after all.” I grin, shoulder-checking Beau on my way past him.
Cole laughs. Beau tosses a crumpled napkin at my head. Cooper shakes his head, muttering something about “children.”
By the time they walk out the door, I’ve already locked the smirk back in place.
It’s the safest thing I’ve got. If any of them catch even a hint of what I’m feeling, they’ll never let it go, and I won’t risk dragging her into that.
Whatever this thing between us is, it’s ours.
Something fragile enough to shatter if I let anyone else breathe near it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She exhales hard, leaning back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. The motion draws my eyes where they shouldn’t go, and I drag them back up immediately.
“I didn’t plan this,” I say quickly, my voice rough, too raw to pass for calm.
Her laugh cuts sharply through the silence, with no humor in it at all. “You didn’t plan what, exactly, Kyle? Running into me in the elevator? Making me feel things I have no business feeling for someone I’m supposed to manage? Or was putting my job on the line part of the plan, too?”
“I—” I start, but the rest dies in my throat.
She shakes her head, lips pressed tight, and I can see the shimmer in her eyes that she’s fighting to hide.
“I didn’t plan any of it, but I’m not sorry it happened. This is not the end of the world.”
“It could be.” She straightens, chin lifting in that fierce, defiant way that made me fall for her the first time she looked at me. “Do you have any idea what this looks like? You, the team’s shiny new Hendrix. Me, the PR intern who’s supposed to keep your image clean. You kissed me, Kyle.”