Rhys
Morning light filtered through the rink's high windows, catching dust particles suspended in air that smelled like ice and rubber. I stood at the equipment table longer than necessary, reorganizing stick tape that didn't need organizing.
Restless energy crawled under my skin. Had since I woke at four-thirty, staring at the ceiling, unable to shut my brain off.
I gripped the edge of the table. Released it. Checked the clipboard inventory for the third time in ten minutes, even though nothing had changed.
Focus.
But focus slipped through my fingers like water. Practice wasn't for another two hours. Film review after that. I had paperwork waiting in my office—scouting reports, defensive breakdowns that needed analysis.
Work. That was what I needed. Something concrete to anchor myself to instead of this aimless frustration burning through my chest.
I grabbed my jacket off the bench.
Just need coffee. That's all.
The lie tasted bitter even as I told it.
My loafers echoed against concrete as I walked the back hallway toward the main concourse. Each step deliberate. Controlled. Like if I moved carefully enough, I could pretend this was routine instead of the mistake I knew it was.
Shouldn't be here.
The thought pounded against my skull in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Turn around. Go back. Get coffee somewhere else.
But my feet kept moving forward.
The café came into view through the glass doors ahead—warm light spilling out, the hum of the espresso machine audible even from here. Normal. Ordinary. Nothing that should make my pulse kick harder.
I pushed through the door, anyway.
This is a mistake.
The bell above chimed. A few early staff members looked up, then quickly looked away when they saw me. Good. I didn't want conversation. Didn't want acknowledgment.
Just get the coffee and leave.
I joined the short line, hands shoved deep in my pockets, hood pulled low. Stared at the menu board even though I ordered the same thing every time.
Don't look at her.
But my eyes betrayed me. Found her immediately.
Olivia stood behind the counter, tying her apron with quick, efficient movements. Her hair pulled back, exposing the vulnerable line of her neck. Dark circles shadowed her eyes—visible even from here.
Something clenched hard in my chest.
She looked exhausted. Worse than exhausted. Like she hadn't slept at all.
None of your business.
The thought came sharp and cold, but it did nothing to stop the protective instinct roaring through me—loud, demanding, impossible to ignore.
The rookie ahead of me bounced on his heels while he waited—too much energy, too early in the morning. Fresh-faced, probably eighteen at most, with the cocky swagger players got when they thought making the team meant they'd already won.
He ordered something complicated. Extra shot, almond milk, some syrup I didn't recognize.
