Rachel's throat closed.
Her hands started trembling before her mind fully caught up. The phone slipped slightly in her grip. She couldn't look away from that smile, the same one he'd had that night at the party, when he'd cornered her in the empty hallway outside the restrooms. When he'd stood too close, blocking her path. When hishand had—
No.
She closed the app, her breathing shallow and fast.
It didn't matter. Derek worked with NHL teams, Olympic programs, elite athletes. He'd only been in Burlington temporarily for some consulting gig with Brad's team. Their paths would never cross. Mac's semi-pro team was so far below Derek's radar it might as well not exist.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Rachel's entire body went cold. Not the kind of cold from winter air. The kind that came from deep inside, spreading outward, making her fingers numb and her chest tight.
She knew, somehow, before she even opened it.
Unknown:Hope Vermont is treating you well, Rachel. Brad sends his regards. :-D Derek
The room tilted. Rachel grabbed the edge of the mattress, forcing herself to breathe. Mr. Darcy meowed, concerned, pressing his head against her arm.
Another message appeared.
Unknown:Saw your boyfriend's team got some press. Eagles are making waves. Impressive for semi-pro.
Rachel's vision blurred. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone.
No. No, this couldn't be happening.
She typed "Derek Matthews Vermont" with trembling fingers, each letter taking effort, her breath coming in short gasps.
The results loaded.
The headline blinked up at her from the screen:
Hockey Legend Dr. Derek Matthews Questions Safety of Small-Town Hockey Programs
Dated one week ago.
The article talked about “concerning patterns” in regional teams, outdated training, lax oversight, injuries brushed off as part of the culture. No names. Just enough accusation toland like a threat.
Vermont.
He was in Vermont.
Here. In her state. In her town, or close enough.
Rachel couldn't breathe.
She thought of Mac's hands on her waist tonight, gentle and careful. The way he'd asked permission with his eyes before kissing her. The way he'd stopped immediately when she'd needed space.
And then she thought of Derek's hands, not gentle, not asking.
Her stomach lurched. She barely made it to the bathroom before she was sick.
Afterward, Rachel sat on the cold tile floor, her back against the tub, Mr. Darcy appearing in the doorway with worried green eyes.
She deleted the messages with shaking fingers, but it didn't matter. The words were burned into her mind. The threat was clear.
