Chapter 12
Faye
The smell of coffee in the Kinesiology department usually signaled productivity. Today, it smelled like panic.
I sat in Dr. Aris's office, my hands folded tightly in my lap, trying to stop my leg from bouncing. The chair was uncomfortable, the fluorescent lights were humming with a headache-inducing frequency, and the man sitting across from me held my future in his hands.
"Faye," Dr. Aris said, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked tired. "You know I think highly of you. You're my best student. Your intuitive grasp of biomechanics is... rare."
"Thank you, sir," I said, my voice tight.
"Which makes this conversation difficult," he continued, picking up a file from his desk. "I received a call this morning from the Dean's office. They are auditing the clinical rotation program."
My stomach dropped. "Auditing?"
"Reviewing hours. Checking compliance. Ensuring that student trainers are maintaining professional boundaries." He looked at me, his gaze sharp. "Specifically, they are looking at the Hockey program."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Oakley.
Had someone seen us? Had the lawyer Varon mentioned to Oakley actually filed a complaint?
"Is there... a problem with my performance?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.
"Not your clinical performance," Dr. Aris said carefully. "But there have been... reports. Rumors. About preferential treatment. About you spending an unusual amount of time with the Team Captain."
"I'm tutoring him," I said quickly. "It's a sanctioned arrangement. Coach Varon set it up."
"I know," Aris nodded. "And on paper, it looks fine. But Faye... you know how this industry works. It's an old boys' club. Perception is reality. If people think you're... involved... with a player, it compromises your credibility. It makes you look like a fan, not a clinician."
He leaned forward, his expression serious.
"The audit is ongoing. But I need to warn you. If they find any evidence of a personal relationship—texts, witnesses, anything—you will be pulled from the rotation immediately. And if you lose the rotation..."
"I lose the scholarship," I finished, my throat dry.
"And your shot at the grad program recommendation," he added softly. "This is your career, Faye. Don't throw it away for a college romance. These athletes... they move on. They go pro, they get famous, they forget the people who taped their ankles. You need to look out for yourself."
"I understand," I whispered.
"Good. Keep your head down. Do the work. And for God's sake, keep your distance from Mr. Thorne."
I walked out of the office feeling like the floor was tilting under my feet.
My career. My scholarship. Everything I had worked for since my dad's knee blew out and I watched his life crumble. I had promised myself I would never be dependent on anyone. I would be the expert. I would be the one in control.
And now, because I had fallen for a boy with golden eyes and a tragic backstory, I was risking it all.
Keep your distance.
It sounded so simple. But how do you keep your distance from gravity?
My phone buzzed as I walked across the snowy quad.
Oakley (11:45 AM): Code Red. Ethics paper due tomorrow. I have written exactly three sentences and they all sound like a serial killer wrote them. Need you.
I stared at the screen.
Need you.
Two words that made my heart flutter and my stomach clench in equal measure.
I couldn't go. I couldn't be seen with him. I couldn't risk it.
But if I didn't help him, he would fail. If he failed, he was benched. If he was benched, his father won.
I was trapped.
Me (11:47 AM): Library is too public. Meet me at the coffee shop on 4th. The one with the bad lighting. 7 PM.
Oakley (11:48 AM): The sketchy one? I love it. See you there, Mouse.
I pocketed my phone, feeling the weight of the lie settle on my shoulders. I was risking my future for an Ethics paper.
It was madness.
The coffee shop on 4th Street was called "The Grind," and it lived up to its name. It was dark, smelled of burnt beans, and was populated mostly by exhausted engineering students who didn't look up from their laptops.
I found a booth in the back corner, hidden by a large potted plant that had seen better days.
Oakley arrived at 7:05.
He looked rough. He was wearing a beanie pulled low over his ears and a hoodie with the hood up, like he was trying to hide. His eyes were shadowed, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. He moved with a stiff, jerky energy that told me his shoulder was hurting, but he wasn't treating it.
He slid into the booth opposite me, not smiling.
"Hey," he grunted, dropping his bag.
"Hey," I said, keeping my voice low. "You look tired."
"I haven't slept," he admitted, rubbing his eyes. "My dad's lawyer is still in town. He's been sitting in on practices. Taking notes. It's like having a vulture circling your head while you try to work."
"That sounds awful."
"It is," he sighed. "And Varon is riding me. He thinks I'm distracted. He's right, but he's also an asshole about it."
He looked at me then, really looked at me. His gaze softened, the tension melting slightly.
"But you're here," he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. "My sanity check."
I flinched. Instinctively, I pulled my hand back.
Oakley froze. His hand hovered in the air for a second before he slowly lowered it to the table. The hurt in his eyes was immediate and sharp.
"What?" he asked. "Did I do something?"
"No," I said quickly, grabbing my coffee cup to give my hands something to do. "It's just... we're in public. Remember the rules?"
"We're in a dark corner of a coffee shop that smells like feet," he countered, his voice gaining an edge. "Nobody is looking at us, Faye."
"We don't know that," I hissed. "Dr. Aris called me in today. They're auditing the program, Oakley. They're looking for reasons to kick me out. If anyone sees us holding hands... I lose my scholarship."
Oakley sat back, his expression hardening. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by the cold, stoic mask of the Captain.
"So I'm a liability," he said flatly.
"No! That's not what I meant."
"It sounds like what you meant," he said. "My dad thinks you're a distraction. Your boss thinks I'm a risk. Everyone seems to agree that we're a bad idea."
"Maybe we are," I whispered, the fear from the morning surfacing.
"Don't say that," he growled, leaning forward. "Don't you dare let them get in your head. We're fine. We're handling it."
"Are we?" I asked. "You're not sleeping. I'm lying to my mentors. We're sneaking around like criminals. This isn't sustainable, Oakley."
"We just have to make it to the end of the season," he insisted. "Four weeks. That's all I need. Once I sign with a team, I have leverage. I can tell my dad to go to hell. I can protect you."
"Four weeks is a long time when you're under a microscope," I said.
"We can do it," he said firmly. "Now open the book. Teach me about... whatever. Virtue. Vice. Just tell me what to write so I can pass this class and get Varon off my back."
We worked for two hours.
It wasn't like our other sessions. The playful banter was gone. The sexual tension was buried under layers of stress and fear. I was curt. He was frustrated.
"I don't get it," he snapped, slamming his pen down after I explained the concept of Enlightened Self-Interest for the third time. "Why does it matter why you do the good thing? If the outcome is good, who cares about the motive?"
"Because motive defines character!" I snapped back. "If you save someone just to look like a hero, you're not virtuous, you're a narcissist!"
"And if you save someone because you love them?" he challenged, his eyes blazing. "Is that selfish? Or is that the only motive that matters?"
"It's biased," I argued. "Ethics requires impartiality."
"Screw impartiality," he growled. "I'm biased. I'm biased toward my pack. Towards you. And I'm not going to apologize for it."
He stared at me, his chest heaving.
"I'm tired, Faye," he said quietly. "I'm so tired of trying to be what everyone else wants me to be. The perfect captain. The perfect son. The perfect student. The only time I feel like me is when I'm with you. And now you're telling me I can't even touch your hand."
My heart broke.
I looked at him—this powerful, terrifying boy who was crumbling under the weight of the world.
"I'm scared too," I admitted softly. "I've worked so hard for this, Oakley. I can't go back to Ohio. I can't be my dad, watching life from the sidelines. I need this career."
"I know," he said. "I won't let you lose it. I promise."
He looked at the clock. "It's late. I have to get back to the Lodge for curfew. Varon is checking beds tonight."
He packed up his things. He looked at me one last time, a longing so deep in his eyes it hurt to witness.
"Goodnight, Mouse."
"Goodnight, Wolf."
He walked out into the night, shoulders hunched against the wind.
I watched him go, feeling more alone than I had ever felt in my life.
The breakdown happened on Friday.
It was during practice. I was in the training room, organizing tape, when the door burst open.
Two players—Jax and a defenseman named Miller—carried Oakley in.
"Doc!" Jax shouted. "We need help!"
I dropped the tape and ran over.
Oakley was pale, his face a mask of pain. He was clutching his left shoulder—the bad one.
"What happened?" I demanded, guiding them to the table.
"He got checked into the boards," Jax said, panting. "Hard. He went down and didn't get up."
They laid him on the table. Oakley groaned, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Oakley," I said, my voice shaking. "Can you hear me?"
"Yeah," he gritted out. "Shoulder. It popped."
Dislocation.
"Okay," I said, switching into professional mode. "Miller, hold his legs. Jax, hold his good shoulder. I need to reduce it."
"Doc Miller isn't here," Jax said. "He's at a conference."
It was just me.
"I can do it," I said, though my hands were trembling. "I've done it in sims."
"Sims aren't real life, Faye," Oakley gasped.
"Trust me," I whispered, leaning over him. "Look at me, Oakley. Eyes on me."
He opened his eyes. The gold was dull, clouded with pain. But he focused on me.
"I trust you," he breathed.
"On three," I said, positioning his arm. "One. Two."
I pulled on two.
There was a sickening pop and a grind of bone.
Oakley roared, his back arching off the table.
Then, silence.
He slumped back, panting heavily. "Fuck."
"It's in," I said, checking the joint. "It's back in."
I quickly grabbed an ice pack and wrapped it around his shoulder.
"You're done for the day," I told Jax. "Get him some water. I'll get the sling."
I turned away to the supply cabinet, my heart pounding so hard I thought I might pass out. I had just hurt him. I had caused him pain to fix him.
When I turned back, Oakley was sitting up. He looked better. The color was returning to his face.
"You okay?" he asked me.
"Am I okay?" I laughed hysterically. "You just dislocated your shoulder, and you're asking if I'm okay?"
"You're shaking," he noted.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just adrenaline."
Jax looked between us, sensing the shift in the room. "I'm gonna go tell Varon he's alive. You got him?"
"I got him," I said.
Jax left.
As soon as the door closed, Oakley slid off the table. He walked over to me and wrapped his good arm around my waist, pulling me into him.
"You saved me," he murmured into my hair.
"I hurt you," I sobbed, finally letting the tears fall. "I heard it pop, Oakley. It sounded awful."
"It felt better the second you touched it," he promised. "You have magic hands, remember?"
He held me while I cried, stroking my hair.
"This is why," I whispered into his chest. "This is why they don't want us together. Because I can't be objective. When you got hurt... I panicked. I almost froze."
"But you didn't," he said firmly. "You did the job. You put me back together."
"This time," I said. "What about next time? What if you get hurt worse? What if I can't fix it?"
"Then you hold my hand," he said. "That's enough."
He pulled back to look at me.
"I'm not going to quit, Faye. And neither are you. We're going to win this. Both of us."
He kissed my forehead.
"Now tape me up. I have to get back on the ice."
"You are absolutely not getting back on the ice," I said, horrified.
"Captain," he reminded me with a grin. "Morale. I have to show face."
I glared at him, but I grabbed the tape.
As I wrapped his shoulder, feeling the heat of his skin and the strength of his muscles, I realized something terrifying.
He was right. I was his anchor. But he was mine too.
Without him, I was just a student terrified of failing. With him... I was someone who could pop a shoulder back in place and stare down a wolf.
We made each other stronger.
And that was why the world was trying so hard to separate us.
Because together... we were unstoppable.