“Morning, Torres.”
I glance up to find Beau Hendrix leaning there, wearing a grin that usually means trouble, with Cole standing just behind him, already amused by whatever’s coming.
“Morning, please tell me you’re not here because there’s already a PR issue.”
Cole shakes his head, dimples flashing. “Not yet. Though we figured we’d make sure you’re ready for your new project.”
“I’m pretty sure I can handle one rookie,” I say, arching a brow.
“Yeah, well, he’s not just any rookie.” Beau smirks.
Cole’s grin widens. “He’s our baby brother.”
“Right. Nothing says rookie hazing like a full family escort.”
“Pretty much,” Beau says, and both brothers laugh. For a second, it almost feels normal.
Beau gestures over his shoulder. “He should be here any second. Cooper wanted him to meet you before his evaluation this afternoon.”
Janine still hasn’t sent over his file yet, so all I know is what the roster sheet says:defenseman, rookie, Kyle Hendrix, but the file never shows the real story anyway. The Timberwolves didn’t just sign players; they inherited the legacies that come with the Hendrix last name.
“You all started the party without me?” Cooperappears in the doorway next, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Of course, you did.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Cole grins, all teeth and trouble.
“Do you all travel in a pack, or is this just a family thing?” I huff out a laugh, unable to help it.
“Both. It keeps things entertaining,” Beau responds, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“All right, let’s get this over with before the rookie has a heart attack waiting outside.” Cooper claps his hands once to get everyone’s attention.
And then I hear it. The low and familiar sound of someone I’ve been telling myself I’d never see again.
“Wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, Coach.”
My heart doesn’t just stutter; it drops to my toes. When Kyle steps around the corner, the world shifts, tilting hard.
He’s in Timberwolves workout gear—green shirt stretched across his shoulders, gray shorts, team logo like a cosmic joke. His hair is damp, curling at the ends. A faint bruise shadows his jaw.
He shouldn’t look like this here. He shouldn’t be here at all.
Our eyes meet, and something inside me sparks alive before I can stop it. The smile he gives is slow and knowing, like he already understands the damage he’s causing.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
The word knocks the air from my lungs. Heatfloods through me, sharp and humiliating. The brothers are talking; Cooper is saying something about scheduling, but none of it reaches me.
Of course, it’s him. The one man I swore I’d never see again. The one I spent the morning pretending didn’t matter.
He’s a Timberwolf. A Hendrix. The youngest brother of a hockey dynasty. And he’s standing in my office, wearing the team colors like fate’s favorite punchline.
The universe must hate me.
Journal Entry
Kyle
I don’t know what else to do with all this, so I’m writing it down. She said to “pay attention,” so here it is.
