Page 23 of Blades Out
I repeated it like a prayer. But I didn't believe it.
"You okay?"
Jenna's voice cut through the static in my head. I turned to find her standing in the office doorway, arms crossed, studying me with that sharp, assessing look she got when something felt off.
"Yeah." The word came out too quick, too tight. "Why?"
"You look pale," Ben added from beside the espresso machine. His usual easy smile had dimmed, replaced by something closer to concern. "Like really pale. You about to pass out?"
I forced my grip to loosen on the sanitizer bottle before my knuckles went white. "No. Just tired."
"First day's always rough," Jenna said, but her tone suggested she was testing the waters more than agreeing.
I nodded, focusing on putting the spray bottle back in its designated spot. Precise movements. Normal behavior. Nothing to worry about.
"I'll get used to it."
Ben and Jenna exchanged a glance over my head—quick, silent communication I wasn't supposed to catch but did, anyway. The kind of look people shared when they didn't quite believe you but weren't invested enough to push.
Jenna moved first, turning back toward the office. "Take your break in twenty. You've earned it."
"Thanks."
Ben grabbed the milk pitcher and busied himself with prep work, the comfortable chatter from earlier replaced by something quieter. Not hostile. Just... careful.
I returned to wiping down surfaces, ignoring the way my pulse refused to settle. The prickling sensation along my spine had faded—or maybe I'd just gotten better at pushing it down, at pretending everything was fine when my nervous system screamed otherwise.
The hallway stayed empty. The bell didn't chime again. And I told myself I'd imagined the whole thing.
Chapter 6
Rhys
I yanked the lace tight on my left skate, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
The locker room buzzed with the usual pre-practice chaos—equipment clattering against metal, laughter ricocheting off concrete walls, voices layered over voices until the noise became a physical thing pressing against my skull. Normally, I tolerated it. Blocked it out. Let the sound wash over me while I prepared mentally for ice time.
Today every decibel scraped raw.
I should've gotten coffee. Should've walked into that café, ordered my usual black, and walked out without incident. Simple. Routine. The kind of morning ritual that kept my head straight when everything else threatened to tilt sideways.
Instead, I'd avoided it entirely. Taken the long route to the rink, told myself I didn't need caffeine, that I could function without it.
Stupid.
Now I sat here caffeine-deprived and irritable, surrounded by twenty-something hockey players with too much energy and not enough sense, and my patience had worn through before practice even started.
"New girl in the café looks terrified of us." Greyson Williams dropped onto the bench across from me, all white teeth and sharp angles, his grin carrying that particular edge that meant he was about to say something calculated to get a reaction. "Cute, though."
My fingers stilled on the lace.
"Ben's already talking to her," Sam Harding added from two lockers down, shrugging into his practice jersey. His tone was easy, conversational. No malice. Just observation. "Guy moves fast."
"First-day nerves," someone else laughed. "Give her a week. She'll loosen up."
I resumed tying my skate, movements precise and controlled. Focused on the repetitive motion. The familiar texture of worn laces against calloused fingers. Anything except the spike of something dark and possessive that flared hot in my chest at the casual way they discussed her.
They didn't know. Couldn't know. And I needed to keep it that way.
