“You don’t get to use that?—”
“I’m not using it,” he says. “I’m telling you, you saw me.”
Small cracks. Dangerous. “I see what you allow people to see,” I say.
“No,” he replies calmly. “You don’t.” His hand finally closes around my wrist. Certain. Not forcing anything. Electricity shoots straight through me. I should pull away. I don’t. “You see more than anyone else,” he says.
“That’s your problem.”
“Yeah?” His thumb shifts slightly. Barely. Enough. “What if it’s yours too?” The arena feels smaller. His gaze drops to my mouth. Mine stays locked on his. Wrong. Every level of wrong.
My father’s voice echoes somewhere in the back of my mind. Rules. Career. Control. All of it. I step back sharply. The contact breaks. Cold rushes in where heat lived a second ago. “This is exactly why I don’t mix business with players,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change. “Two years ago wasn’t business.”
The words hit like a body check. “You don’t get tobring that up.”
“You brought it here the second you walked into that locker room.” The silence is heavy, charged. “I left for a reason,” I say.
“Yeah,” he replies. “You ran.”
“I made the right choice.”
“Did you?”
I hold his gaze. Force steel into my spine. “Yes.” A beat. He nods once. He doesn't believe it. Neither do I. “Good,” he says, restrained. Then he turns and skates away. I stand at center ice alone, pulse too fast, and for the first time since taking this job, I'm not sure I want the control back.
Chapter Fourteen
14 Toni Amato
Before the game, I’m halfway through explaining transition-zone data to a local beat reporter named Daniel when I realize he’s stopped taking notes entirely. “No, seriously,” he says, leaning against the table. “You should’ve been coaching years ago. The way players talk about you?”
“That feels statistically unlikely.”
He laughs. Too easily. “That’s your thing, right?” he says. “The terrifying professionalism?”
“I prefer structured competence.”
“I prefer terrifying professionalism.” I blink once.Okay. That was flirting. Subtle enough to deny. Clear enough to register.
Unfortunately, someone else registers it too. The energy in the room shifts. I glance toward the doorway automatically. Max. Still in partial gear after practice. Hair damp. Gloveshanging from one hand. Massive shoulders filling the entrance while his gaze locks directly onto Daniel beside me.
Oh no.Daniel notices too late. “Stevens,” he says casually.
Max nods once. Not casual. His expression is perfectly neutral in the way dangerous weather is technically neutral before tornado sirens start. “Toni,” he says. Just my name. But low. Possessive enough that heat immediately climbs my neck.
“I was finishing an interview,” I say.
His eyes flick to Daniel. “You done?”
Daniel straightens slightly. “I mean, if Toni’s done?—”
“She is.”Holy hell.My pulse jumps hard enough to annoy me.
Daniel looks between us now with the dawning realization of a man accidentally stepping into active traffic. “Well,” he says carefully. “Great talking to you.” He leaves fast. Very fast. Silence.
Max stares after him another second before peering down at me. “What was that?” I ask discreetly.
