“Yes.” I’m speaking with more conviction now. Because I need it to be true. “There are lines I don’t cross. Not anymore.”
She holds my gaze until I stop holding hers. Then nods. “Okay.” But I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
Later that night, after she leaves, I sit alone on the couch. The city glows outside my window. As I look around me, everything in my life is exactly where I worked to put it. But Max Stevens just walked back into it. And nothing about him has ever been safe.
Chapter Three
Max Stevens
After I saw Antonia yesterday, two years blindsided me. I’ve taken hits from guys twice my size and stayed upright. One look at her — that’s the one that almost dropped me. Rockford. A rented house tucked in the pines. One reckless night when I was grinding in the AHL and waiting for my shot.
She had vanished before sunrise. No note. No number. Just the smell of her on my sheets and a hollow space beside me. I searched. Bars. Social media. Every variation of the name Antonia I could think of. Nothing. She disappeared. And now she walks toward the bench as if she owns the place.
Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. But I remember it loose around my hands while she laughed in a hot tub under the Rockford pines. Black jacketfitted perfectly over sharp shoulders. NHL logo stitched on the sleeve. Slacks hugging curves I remember too well.
Her eyes sweep the rink. When they land on me, the world tilts. Emerald green. Sharp. Surprise flickers. Gone in a second. The professional mask locks back into place. “I’ll be working with you, Max Stevens. They’ve labeled you a high-priority situation.” Translation: pain in the ass.
“Jesus Christ,” Fuze mutters from behind me. “They sent a hot hall monitor.”
“That’s HR training for you,” Anthony says.
Lucas glides backward past me. “If Stevens behaves for a brunette, I’m requesting one too.”
“Shut up and practice,” I snap.
“I’m skating,” Lucas says. “Emotionally, I’m thriving.”
I skate up close, and then I stop by the boards. Ice sprays over her boots. Her perfume, up close, is a bright burst of citrus. “High-priority, huh?” I lean against the glass. “Sounds important. You here to fix me, An-ton-i-a?”
A muscle twitches in her jaw when I use her full name. But it’s because I prefer Antonia’s company. The one who let her dress fall to the floor and hopped into the hot tub without worrying about a swimsuit.
“Mr. Stevens.” She flips open her clipboard. “I’ve reviewed your file. Cross-checking. Roughing. Instigating. Your penalty log reads like a highlight reel.”
From center ice, Fuze whistles. “Ooooh. Maxie’s in trouble.”
I ignore him. Toni’s gaze stays locked on mine. “My job,”she continues calmly, “is to keep you on the ice instead of in the penalty box.”
I tilt my head. “You make it sound like I’m the villain.”
“Your reputation suggests otherwise.” She straightens her spine.
“You were talking to the refs?”
She arches a brow. “I train them.” That cuts through. Hard. “So, yes,” she says. “Your name comes up. Frequently.”
Two years ago she whispered my name as if it were something secret. Now she says it like it's already in the file. Coach claps his hands. “Morning sessions start today. Stevens, you’re first. Weight room after.”
I push away from the boards but hold her gaze. “Looking forward to it,” I say. “Maybe we can discuss my behavior over coffee.”
Her smile is razor thin. “This isn’t social hour.” Her expression goes flat. “And I don’t mix business with players.”
Ever.
Despite not being spoken, I still hear the word. The drills restart behind me, but my attention stays locked on her. I glide backward slowly.
“Call me Max.” She says nothing. But I catch the tension in her shoulders as I turn away. This is unfinished business.
And I don’t lose twice.
