“Relax, baby brother.” Beau grips my shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “You’re a Hendrix. It’s genetic.”
If he only knew how close I am to losing every ounce of my composure right now. I force out a laugh, but it scrapes raw. I’m aware of every breath she takes, every blink she uses to hide the fact that she can’t quitelook at me. She’s professional down to the bone, calm in a way people mistake for confidence. But I see the tremor beneath it, the same one I felt against my mouth. She’s not looking at me, butaroundme. Every time her gaze even brushes mine, it feels like it burns.
Cooper clears his throat, a sharp interruption cutting through the static buzzing in my head. “No one’s getting fired unless Ms. Torres has a problem with it.”
She presses her lips together, and then she nods. “No problem here, Coach.”
I barely resist the urge to rub at the spot over my heart that aches at the tone in her voice. This isn’t Alycia; this is her armor. The stillness I mistook for confidence the first time I met her is a mask to hide behind when she is unravelling, and she knows I see it.
It hits me hard, a full-body ache that feels like a hit to the boards. It’s all there if you know where to look: the fear, the exhaustion, the want. She’s not distant because she doesn’t care. It’s because she’s terrified that she does. That if she lets anyone see what she’s feeling, it’ll all unravel. Her career. Her reputation. The tightrope she’s been balancing on long before I showed up.
Her eyes meet mine for half a second, and in that tiny window of honesty, she tells me everything without saying a word.Don’t make this harder. Please let me hold the line.
I swallow the words sitting on my tongue, the ones that would blow it all apart and give her the out she’sasking for. But every nerve in my body is alive because, while she’s hiding, I’m drowning in the memory of her. She’s telling menot nowwhile the whole damn world is watching, but the look in her eyes—raw and trembling and impossibly brave—tells me she’s not saying never.
“Welcome to Portland, Hendrix,” she says, voice clipped, words so carefully measured they sound like they’re balanced on a blade.
I want to say something to break the ice and put us back on even ground, but there isn’t even ground anymore. There’s just the echo of last night and the sharp edge of what it means now.
Cooper clears his throat, his voice steady, running through the usual script about professionalism and media protocol. Every rule I’ve heard about professionalism runs through my head.Don’t get involved with staff. Don’t give the media a reason to circle. Don’t be stupid.
But none of that matters because I can barely stand in the same room with her and not reach for her wrist, her elbow, anything to prove last night wasn’t something I dreamed.
Besides, I know for a fact there was something going on with Cole and Michele before she moved to another team, and things worked out for them. Sure, she works for the AHL team and not the Timberwolves. I’m also pretty sure that no one knew they were together. A secret relationship isn’t ideal, but it’s better than not seeing where things can go between us. I just need to get Alycia used to the idea of being with meand remind her that nothing has to change. We can keep our work professional and our private lives private, or at least we can try to.
I’m Kyle Hendrix. The youngest and last member of the Hendrix family dynasty to enter the league. I should know better than to even think I can keep anything private, but I’m willing to try. I’m willing to do anything to ensure we can be together because there is no way I can spend any length of time regretting what happened between us last night. It felt like something that made sense for the first time in a long time. I wanted it to be real—and still do.
Beau says something about press events; she answers without missing a beat and still doesn’t look at me. It’s almost impressive how she can pretend that fast, avoiding me like the plague. As if we’re both aware that one wrong look could burn the whole thing down.
“Alycia, are you still on board with managing Kyle’s PR for the season?” Cooper asks.
Her pen stills mid-stroke as all the air disappears from the room. She doesn’t look up, just breathes in slowly through her nose, before her eyes flick to mine. “Of course, I’ll make sure he’s prepared.”
Prepared for what? How to pretend that the kiss we shared didn’t knock something loose inside me? Good luck with that, sweetheart.
“Great.” Cooper claps a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll keep you out of trouble, kid.”
“That’s a full-time job right there.” Beau snorts.
“Yeah,” Cole adds, smirking. “Might want to give her hazard pay.”
“You two done auditioning for the world’s least funny comedy duo?” I roll my eyes, fighting the heat crawling up my neck. “It was one suspension. Let it go.”
“Aw, come on, little brother. We’re just proud you managed a full sentence without flirting.” Cole elbows me in the side.
“I wasn’t flirting,” I lie easily, even as my throat tightens. “It’s called being polite. You should try it sometime.”
“Sure. Polite. That's what we’re calling it now?” He laughs, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Drop it,” I warn, softer than I mean to.
It’s enough to make him back off, but he doesn’t get it. None of them do because, for them, hockey has always come first. But this thing between Alycia and me is worth every bit of the risk they’ve always told me to avoid. Somehow, she’s the only thing that’s felt right in months.
Cooper is watching me, brows drawn tight like he’s already sensing the shift in me—the one I can’t afford for him to see. His whole life has been the ice, the team, the next game. Even now, with Ramona in his corner, I’m not sure he remembers what it’s like to want something you can’t diagram into a play. So, I do what I’ve always done when I feel the walls closing in: I hide behind my mouth.
“Guess I’m coachable after all.” I grin, shoulder-checking Beau on my way past him.
Cole laughs. Beau tosses a crumpled napkin at my head. Cooper shakes his head, muttering something about “children.”
