Chapter Nine #2
I want to argue, but the words stick in my throat. Because she’s not wrong. I don’t know him—not really. I know he loves his daughter. I know he’s funny when he lets his guard down. I know the way his jaw tightens when he’s holding something back.
But do I know what he does when I’m not around? Who he texts at midnight? Whether there’s a rotation of puck bunnies waiting for him after every home game?
The idea of it makes my skin crawl.
“I’ve seen how these guys operate,” Winnie continues, gentler now. “Different girl in every city, the whole thing.” She gives me a sad smile. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
I stare into my wine glass, my chest tight.
The thing is, she’s right to be cautious. I know she’s right. Zayden Bishop does have a past—a documented, photographed, tabloid-covered past. And the fact that he’s been sweet to me doesn’t erase any of that.
“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” I finally say. “I have rules, remember?”
“I know you do.” Winnie reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Just... keep them. Okay? At least until you know for sure what kind of guy he really is.” My chest does something complicated at her words.
“I will.” But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe it.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing.” I say it firmly, as if saying it out loud will make it true. “I’m going to do my job, maintain my boundaries, and get through the rest of this season without doing anything stupid.”
“And if he tries to almost-kiss you again?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Because the truth is, if Zayden Bishop looks at me the way he looked at me in Detroit, I’m not sure I’ll be strong enough to walk away.
“Let’s order food,” I say instead. “I need something to absorb this wine before I start making confessions I can’t take back.”
Winnie lets me change the subject, but her expression says this conversation isn’t over.
It’s probably not.
But for now, I’m going to eat my weight in tacos and pretend that my carefully constructed life isn’t on the verge of falling apart.
· · ·
I get to the training facility early.
Not because I spent half the night staring at my ceiling, replaying Winnie’s warning on a loop. And definitely not because I need time to compose myself before a certain French-Canadian hockey player shows up for his 8 AM session.
I’m just... punctual. That’s all.
The hallways are quiet this early—just the hum of the HVAC and the distant sound of someone in the equipment room. I drop my bag in my office, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and head toward the training room to set up.
That’s when I hear his voice.
Low, tense, coming from around the corner near the vending machines. I slow down without meaning to.
“She’s not a prop for your Instagram, Sienna.” Zayden’s voice is barely controlled, like he’s fighting to keep it level. “You can’t just show up when it’s convenient—”
Silence. He’s listening to whatever she’s saying on the other end.
I should keep walking. This is private. None of my business.
Too bad my feet won’t move.
“Fine.” The word comes out flat. Resigned. “Sunday. Two hours. Supervised. I’ll be there the whole time.”
More silence. Then he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“Yeah, Sienna. I know you’re her mother. You remind me every time you want something.” A pause. “I’ll text you the details.”
The silence stretches, and I realize the conversation is over. I’m about to get caught eavesdropping like some kind of creep. I start walking again, rounding the corner at what I hope looks like a natural pace.
Zayden’s leaning against the wall next to the vending machine, phone still in his hand, head tipped back, eyes closed. He looks... wrecked. There’s no other word for it. The mask he usually wears—the stoic, untouchable thing—is gone, and what’s underneath is raw.
Then he opens his eyes and sees me.
For a second, neither of us moves. I watch him pull himself together in real time, watch the walls go back up brick by brick. It’s impressive, honestly. And also a little heartbreaking.
“Everything okay?” I keep my voice neutral. Casual. Like I didn’t just hear his entire conversation.
“Maisie’s mom.” He pushes off the wall, shoving his phone in his pocket. “She wants a visit.”
I nod. Don’t push.
“She does this,” he says, and I can tell he didn’t mean to keep talking but can’t seem to stop. “Shows up every few months, plays mom for an afternoon, takes some photos for her followers. And Maze gets her hopes up every single time, and then Sienna leaves, and I’m the one picking up the pieces.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, truly unsure what I can say that would help.
“I’m just not sure what else I can do.”
“You just be there to support your daughter.” I hold his gaze. “That’s what you do.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not. But you’re good at it.”
His guard dropped for half a second—surprise flickering through those dark eyes, maybe gratitude—and I felt the pull between us. Dangerous. Undeniable. It would be so easy to close the distance. To reach out and touch his arm, his face, to offer comfort that has nothing to do with being his PT.
I don’t.
“I’ll see you at eight,” I say instead, and continue down the hallway before I do something I can’t take back.
· · ·
I spend the next twenty minutes setting up equipment I don’t need and reorganizing supplies that are already organized. Anything to keep my hands busy and my brain from spiraling.
Winnie’s voice keeps echoing in my head. I’ve heard of Zayden Bishop. Everyone’s heard of Zayden Bishop.
But the man I just saw in that hallway—the one who looked gutted at the thought of his daughter getting hurt again—that’s not the guy from the tabloids. That’s not a player running game or working an angle.
That’s just a dad trying to protect his kid.
Unless that’s exactly what he wants me to think.
Ugh, I’m exhausting myself.
I check the clock. 7:45. Fifteen minutes until Zayden’s session. I need to get out of my own head.
The weight room is just down the hall, and I can hear music thumping through the door—something with heavy bass that probably violates several noise ordinances. When I push inside, I find Logan Knight doing bicep curls in front of the mirror, mouthing along to what sounds like a Taylor Swift remix.
He catches my eye in the reflection and grins, not even slightly embarrassed.
“Tori! Just who I wanted to see!”
“Why does that sound ominous?”
He racks the weights and grabs his water bottle. “What brings you to my domain?”
“Your domain?”
“I’m here more than anyone else. That makes it mine. I’ve claimed it.” He gestures grandly at the rows of equipment. “Welcome to Casa de Cupcake.”
I snort. “That’s not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing. I’m making it a thing.” He drops onto a bench and pats the space next to him. “Sit. Chat. Tell me all your secrets.”
“I don’t have secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets. Mine is that I actually hate cardio but I do it anyway because Coach will kill me if I don’t.” He takes a long swig of water. “See? Sharing is caring.”
I sit down, shaking my head. Logan is ridiculous, but he’s also weirdly easy to be around. No subtext, no hidden agenda—just golden retriever energy and a complete lack of filter.
“How’s the knee feeling?” I ask, because I should at least pretend I’m here for professional reasons.
“Good. Great. Ready to score a million goals.” He flexes dramatically. “I’m basically superhuman at this point.”
“Uh-huh. And the stretching protocol I gave you?”
“I’m doing it. Mostly. Sometimes.” He catches my look. “Okay, I did it once and then forgot. But I’ll do it today! Right after this. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever actually a scout?”
“No, but I feel like I have the vibe, you know?”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly charming, you mean.” He grins, then tilts his head, studying me. “You okay? You seem... I don’t know. Tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what Bish says when he’s not fine. You two are spending too much time together.” He says it casually, but there’s something sharper underneath—curiosity, maybe. “Speaking of which, how’s his shoulder? He gonna be good for the playoffs?”
“He’s progressing. Ahead of schedule, actually.”
“That’s because you’re a genius.” Logan points at me with his water bottle. “Seriously. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. I’ve never seen him actually follow a protocol before. Usually, he just grunts at whoever’s treating him and does whatever he wants.”
“He grunts at me plenty.”
“Yeah, but he also listens. That’s new.” Logan’s grin turns sly. “Maybe he just likes you.”
My face heats before I can stop it. “He’s my patient.”
“Didn’t say he wasn’t.” But he’s watching me now with an expression that’s a little too knowing for comfort. “Relax, Tori. I’m just messing with you. Bish is... he’s a good guy, under all the grumpy. He’s just been through a lot.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Logan’s voice softens slightly. “Because a lot of people don’t bother to find out. They see the reputation, buy into the rumors, and they think they know the whole story. But that’s not him. That’s never been him.”
I think about Winnie’s warnings. About all the reasons I have to be careful.
Then I think about Zayden in the hallway, looking wrecked over a phone call about his daughter.
“I know it’s not,” I say quietly.
Logan nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Then we’re cool.” He stands up, stretching his arms over his head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pretend to do cardio for thirty minutes so Coach doesn’t murder me.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.” He heads for the door, then pauses, looking back. “Hey, Tori?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth? I think you’re good for him.
Whatever this is.” He waves vaguely between us—meaning me and the absent Zayden, I assume.
“I’ve known Bish for two years. He doesn’t let people in.
Like, ever. But with you...” He shrugs. “I don’t know.
He seems lighter or something. Less like he’s carrying the whole world. ”
He’s gone before I can respond, leaving me alone in the weight room with Taylor Swift still thumping through the speakers and my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
He seems lighter.
I check the clock. 7:58.
Time to go put my hands on a man I definitely don’t have feelings for and pretend everything is normal.
This should be fun.