The first rule Sheila learned was simple.
Nothing happened in the open.
The second was worse.
Everything was deliberate.
By midweek, the arena felt less like a workplace and more like a board set up by unseen hands. Conversations stopped when she passed. Staff smiled too carefully. Security lingered just long enough to remind her they were watching not protecting.
And Atticus Finch?
He was everywhere.
Not physically close. Never hovering. But always present.
On the ice, he played like a man trying to outrun something chasing him. Off it, he barely spoke. When he did, it was clipped, sharp, and laced with warning.
They hadn’t talked alone since the office incident.
Which meant the tension had nowhere to go.
Until it snapped.
It happened during film review.
Sheila stood at the f
