The Devil on Ice

Two

Aurora's POV

The remaining days of the week passed in a blur. Killian hadn't cancelled our second session, a miracle in itself, but the anticipation of his return made me jumpier than I wanted to admit, for reasons I didn't examine too closely.

My phone buzzed on the desk that morning, a text from Priya, the closest thing I had to a best friend outside these four walls.

Priya: Tell me the hockey menace hasn't scared you into quitting yet.

Me: He tried. I have a new professional record for shortest tantrum survived.

Priya: Proud of you. Dinner Friday, you're paying, you clearly need the distraction.

I smiled despite myself and set the phone face-down before I could keep the conversation going instead of prepping for my ten o'clock. It was a small thing, five lines of nothing, but it was the only five minutes of the week that felt like mine instead of everyone else's crisis.

Then I spent the rest of the morning bracing for another round of explosive anger, half expecting my door to burst open the way it had the first time.

Instead, when the door opened that afternoon, the man who walked in seemed like someone else entirely.

Killian didn't slam the door this time. He closed it gently behind him, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he turned to face me.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Vale," he said.

"Mr. Hayes," I replied flatly, staying relaxed in my chair. "Please, sit."

He chuckled and started walking, but instead of taking the chair, he circled my desk again, his eyes pinning me to my seat.

He stopped a few inches from the corner of the desk, leaned against the edge, and crossed his arms, his gaze dragging over me before settling back on my face.

"You know, Aurora, I spent the last few days thinking about everything you said." His tone dripped with a mockery I clocked immediately. "And I realized I was entirely wrong about you. You're not a babysitter at all. But I do have to wonder, is all this armor necessary? A blazer that tight seems like a distraction. Tell me, are you trying to keep me focused on the therapy, or are you just curious how long it takes me to notice the curves underneath it?"

My pen stopped moving against the notepad, just for a beat, before I made myself finish the sentence I'd been writing. I buried the reaction before it reached my face, though from the way his eyes tracked the motion of my jaw, I suspected he'd caught it anyway.

For a fraction of a second the air between us felt like a live wire. My pulse hammered loud enough that I was almost afraid he could hear it over the clock on the wall.

I decided it was either an attempt to end our sessions, or he simply wanted to see how far he could push. Either way, I wasn't falling for it.

"A very good deflection, Killian," I said smoothly, refusing his last name since he'd already claimed the right to use mine. "You spent days calculating how to handle me, and this is what you came up with? Flirtation, because the anger didn't scare me off? A little uninspired, don't you think?"

His smirk didn't falter, genuine amusement flickering through the performance for a second, like he was pleased to have been caught rather than embarrassed by it. "I call it adjusting to my environment, Doctor."

His voice dropped, quieter, almost to himself. "Or working with what's here. A woman who thinks she's got me solved after one week. I've had twenty-nine years and still can't manage it. Forgive me if five minutes doesn't impress me."

"No, you call it running," I said, leaning forward, forearms on the desk. "Let's talk about forty-eight hours before you walked into my office. You had another episode in the third period. The reports say you stopped responding to the referees entirely, and once someone hit you first, you nearly beat a man to death."

I turned a page, keeping my voice level. "The broadcast footage shows you looking toward the tunnel entrance for almost four full seconds before it happened. Long enough that three different camera angles caught it. Who was standing there, Killian?"

The playful edge dropped off his face like a mask. His eyes went flat, the light in them replaced by sudden emptiness. His breath hitched, his whole body going rigid.

His gaze was fixed on something on my desk, his pupils dilating until the blue of his irises nearly disappeared. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was somewhere else entirely.

I watched his fingers dig into the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, the muscles in his neck corded. He looked frightening. I wasn't fazed, this job had shown me every version of this before, so I held his stare without blinking.

"Stop talking," he said, voice thick.

"What were you thinking about when you attacked him, even though you knew better?" I pressed, keeping my tone soft but unyielding. "Who were you looking at right before you snapped? Someone in the crowd? Was it…"

His hand slammed onto the desk, making my files shake as he leaned toward me, his tall frame towering over mine. But as he put his weight on the desk, his right forearm shook hard under the strain. He tried to hide it by clenching his jaw so tightly it looked like it might c***k.

"I said shut up." His voice dropped to a growl, the veins in his neck standing out. "Stay out of my head, Aurora. You don't know what you're playing with."

My heart hammered at how fast he'd transformed, but I kept my face an unreadable mask.

He stayed like that for three long seconds, waiting for a reaction. When I didn't give him one, something changed. A flash of horror crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared, as if he'd only just realized how close he'd come and how intimidating he must have looked leaning over me.

He stepped back farther than the moment required, like he didn't trust himself not to close the distance again. Then, without another word, he crossed to the door, wrenched it open, and slammed it shut behind him hard enough to make me jump.

My hands trembled against the desk as the adrenaline drained out of me.

"That was intense," I whispered, rubbing my temples, trying to process what could make a man lose control completely and then look horrified at himself for it.

One minute he was fine. The next he was someone else entirely. Underneath the fear he'd put in me sat a harder question I didn't want to sit with yet: what would it take to make a man that afraid of his own hands?

Before I could organize my thoughts, my phone rang. Coach Miller.

"Dr. Vale."

"Aurora, it's Coach Miller. Hayes just stormed out of the facility looking like he wanted to put someone through a wall."

"He had a severe panic response during our session, Coach," I said, keeping the details vague for confidentiality. "He's not in a state to be pushed right now."

"He doesn't get a choice. He plays tonight, the owners are demanding it, and he's the best we've got." Exhaustion thickened his voice. "I need a favor. There's a pass waiting for you at the VIP entrance. Watch him tonight, and tell me if he's about to crash out again."

"Do I really have to?" The words were out before I could stop them.

Not because I was afraid of him, I was fairly certain of that much. I was starting to suspect I was afraid of how much I wanted to understand him.

"Yes. You must." A pause. "Having him in that game matters as much as having you in that arena."

Cold dread pooled in my stomach as I looked out the window. Going to the game meant stepping directly into Killian's world, and I had no idea how he'd react to finding me there.

"I'll be there, Coach," I said, and ended the call.

I sat there a moment longer than I needed to, my phone still warm in my hand, and thought about texting Priya back. Dinner on Friday might have to wait. I think I just agreed to watch a man who terrifies me play a full-contact sport, for professional reasons that are starting to feel a lot less professional.

I didn't send it. I wasn't ready to see those words staring back at me yet.