Sixty Hours Before Dawn

The athletic department gives them an ultimatum: sixty mandatory hours of private tracking before dawn, or he sits and her fellowship funding defaults.

She needs that money for her family and wants nothing to do with the arrogant, ruthless hockey player under her hands.

He shuts everyone out and does not allow distractions.

She is there to monitor him, not to get close.

The lab is cold and quiet, and the clinical distance does not hold.

Attaching the sensors means touching bare skin; his orders lose their sharp edge and turn into rough praise.

Stolen contact puts both of their futures at risk, and walking away ceases to be possible.

With his shifts under scrutiny and others watching for a violation, the secrecy itself becomes dangerous.