The Devil on Ice

Aurora's POV Seated in my office, I was going through case files when my phone lit up with a call from my assistant. "Yes, Martha?" "Dr. Vale, I just received official confirmation from the league executives," she said. "The paperwork went through. Killian Hayes is officially assigned to your care for mandatory rehabilitation. And, Aurora, you have to be careful with him, because from what I've heard…" "Send him in, Martha. You don't have to lecture me," I said, and ended the call before she could finish. According to his file, he'd been suspended three times this year alone. That was why I'd been assigned to him, to make sure he didn't kill his next victim in a fight. I'd barely set my phone down when my door burst open hard enough to rattle the frame. NHL superstar Killian Hayes strode into my office like he already owned it. He was an intimidating six-foot-four, and his presence alone made my office feel smaller than it was. Hockey's golden boy, according to the headlines. The man standing in front of me was nothing but a mass of barely restrained anger, his sharp features taut, his shirt wrinkled at the collar like he'd dressed without checking a mirror, one small, careless detail that didn't fit the rest of him at all. I expected him to take a seat. Instead, he rounded my desk and crossed into my side of the room in three long, predatory strides. My spine went rigid, but I refused to lean back as he bent forward, using his height to crowd me into my own chair, his eyes locking onto mine. His piercing blue eyes looked haunted, and I recognized the tactic instantly. He wanted me to flinch, he wanted an excuse to tell the league I was incompetent and walk out the door. I didn't move. I held his glare and matched his suffocating presence with a cold one of my own. For a long moment there was nothing but silence between us. Up close, the anger in his eyes wasn't the only thing there. Underneath it sat exhaustion, like a man who had been bracing for a fight so long he'd forgotten how to stand any other way. I filed the observation away and didn't let it soften my face. When he realized I wasn't backing down, he finally spoke. "You must be Dr. Vale," he said, tilting his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Something crossed his face as he said it, it was gone almost immediately, I saw the same brief look I usually saw on clients just before they heard a name they didn't want to hear. I filed that away too, without deciding what it meant. Probably nothing. I wrote it down anyway, in the margin where I keep the notes that actually matter. His gaze lingered on my face, stopped at my lips for a moment, then moved over the rest of my body His smirk sharpened. "They told me the league hired the best." His eyes lingered a second too long before a crooked smile appeared. "Either they lied, or the interview process has gotten a lot more interesting." As the words left his mouth, his chest expanded on a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring slightly, like he was inhaling the vanilla in the air. A laugh almost escaped me, not because it was funny, but because I'd been expecting something worse. For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes before the smirk was back in place. Interesting. He recovered fast. When he heard me laugh, his brows lifted and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin as he tried every angle he had to intimidate me. "Do you think this is funny?" His voice sharpened with irritation. "I assure you, there is nothing funny about this." "Sit down, Mr. Hayes," I said coolly, cutting him off. "Your cologne is a bit much. Standing this close makes it feel like I'm breathing in the whole bottle." His smirk turned mocking when he realized I wasn't backing down. "And if I don't? Are you going to analyze me, Doctor? Write a few little notes about how my aggression stems from childhood issues?" "No," I said, crossing my arms and leaning back, my eyes flat on his. "If you don't sit down, I'm going to call the league commissioner and inform him that the captain everyone speaks so highly of is too terrified to sit in a room with a five-foot-seven woman." I let that land before I added, "I'll also tell them your little display of intimidation is nothing more than a predictable coping mechanism because you're unraveling, and this is the only language you have left for it." The smirk dropped off his face instantly, his eyes widening a fraction, a flash of shock crossing his features. No one had spoken to him like this before. I'd have bet my license on it. "You think you know me?" he growled, voice dropping an octave, fists clenching. "I know your type," I said, unimpressed by his looks or the influence everyone kept talking about, even as some small, unhelpful part of me catalogued exactly how striking they were. "You're an arrogant athlete who thinks his size and money make him untouchable. You put on these violent outbursts because they give you a sense of control.” “But out here, in the real world, you're just a man crashing out because you're carrying weight you can't hold. You wanted to make me quit today so you could run. I don't quit, Mr. Hayes. And I'm not intimidated by a man who wears anger like a blanket to hide his fear." For a moment he said nothing at all. It was the first time since he'd walked in that he looked like he was actually listening, like the words had gotten further than he'd meant to let them. The silence that followed was suffocating. His chest rose and fell as he breathed hard, his eyes fixed on my face. The anger coming off him was almost enough to touch, but beneath it, I saw something else entirely. "You're different." He smirked, but it had gone humorless. "Most therapists spend the first five minutes trying not to offend me. You started diagnosing me before I even sat down." "Killian, you need to stop. You're embarrassing yourself." I pushed a hand through my hair. "I don't care who you are or what you do. I'm here to do my job. If you can't manage to sit in a chair for fifty minutes, get out of my office and report your own failure to the executives." His eyes widened, but he seemed to have run out of words. Slowly, he straightened to his full height, exhaled hard, and stepped back. I nodded, silently approving the decision, and he turned and walked to the door. He yanked it open in anger. I thought he was finally leaving, until, just before stepping through, he paused. He turned his head, and his eyes met mine one more time. "You think you're very good with words. That you've won, Aurora." He used my first name like a threat. "But you just stepped into a game you don't know the rules to. Enjoy your peace while it lasts, Doctor. I'm going to make you regret taking this assignment." His fingers tightened on the handle. "And stop wearing vanilla." "Excuse me? " He didn't answer. He walked out and shut the door hard behind him. It sounded less like an insult and more like a man who didn't want to keep noticing it. Days from now, when I close my eyes, it won't be the threat I remember first. It'll be that brief moment when his anger slipped, and underneath it, he looked like a man drowning, angry at the water for pulling him under.