MY HOCKEY ALPHAS' SHARED OBSESSION

Chapter 2

WREN'S POV

I did not sleep much.

I kept the note folded in my coat pocket instead of throwing it away, which probably said more about me than I wanted to admit. By morning, I had built three separate explanations for the growl in the parking lot, and none of them felt true.

"It was probably a truck," I told my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Diesel engines growl."

My reflection did not look convinced either.

The rain had finally stopped by the time I reached the arena, though the sky still hung low and grey over Blackpine like it was thinking about starting up again. Ingrid met me just inside the doors, clipboard already in hand.

"You look tired," she said.

"Bad night."

"Get used to it." She started walking before I could ask what that meant. "Dr. Standish wants to observe you in the medical bay this morning. He does that with every new hire. Try not to take it personally."

"Is that possible with him?"

"No," Ingrid said. "But you can try."

"One more thing," Ingrid said, stopping outside the medical bay doors. "Whatever he says in there, don't argue with him in front of the players. Save it for after."

"Why?"

"Because he'll make you regret it," she said simply, and pushed the door open before I could ask anything else.

The medical bay smelled like antiseptic and cold metal. Dr. Emory Standish stood by the treatment tables when we walked in, tall and sharp featured, arms crossed, watching me the way a hawk watches something small moving in the grass.

"Ms. Hendrix," he said. "I have read your file. Impressive credentials. We will see if they translate to competence in my building."

"I'll do my best, Doctor."

"Your best is not the standard here. Correct is the standard." He gestured toward the tables. "Begin with Mr. Holloway. Full mobility assessment, shoulder and hip."

Dax was already sitting on the table, grinning like he had been waiting for this exact assignment. "Hey, Doc says I get to be your test subject. Lucky me."

"Lie back," I said, keeping my voice level. "Arms at your sides."

"Bossy," he said, but he did it anyway, and his eyes tracked me the entire time I worked, warm and amused and a little too interested for a routine mobility check.

"Your grip is too tentative," Standish said, watching over my shoulder. "Athletes do not respond to hesitation. Commit to the movement."

I adjusted, pressing firmer into Dax's shoulder, rotating carefully. His breath caught, just slightly, and heat crawled up my neck that had nothing to do with the room temperature.

"Better," Standish said. "Now the hip."

I moved lower, guiding Dax's leg through a slow rotation, and he watched my face the whole time instead of the ceiling, which made it very hard to concentrate on anything clinical at all.

"You're staring," I said quietly.

"You're touching me," he said. "Seemed only fair."

"Focus, Ms. Hendrix," Standish snapped. "Not on his commentary. On his hip flexor. There is clear resistance on the left side that you are missing entirely."

He stepped closer, reaching to demonstrate the exact pressure himself, and his hand closed hard enough around Dax's thigh that Dax actually flinched.

Dax sat up fast. "Back off."

"Excuse me?" Standish's eyebrow rose.

"You heard me." Dax's voice had lost every trace of teasing. "You're gripping like you're trying to break something. Ease up."

The room went very still. I stepped between them without fully deciding to, one hand raised.

"I can handle the assessment, Dr. Standish," I said. "Mr. Holloway, please lie back down."

Dax's eyes flicked to me, and something in them softened immediately, though the tension in his shoulders did not. "Only because you asked."

Standish studied the two of us for a long moment, something calculating behind his stare. "Interesting," he said finally. "You inspire loyalty quickly, Ms. Hendrix. That can be an asset. It can also be a liability."

He did not explain which one he meant, and he did not wait for me to ask. He simply turned and walked toward the next table, leaving the question hanging in the cold air between us.

The rest of the morning passed in sharp corrections and colder silences. By the time Standish finally left, my hands ached from tension I had not realized I was holding.

Dax found me in the empty lounge afterward, two cups of coffee in his hands, one of which he set in front of me without asking if I wanted it.

"You didn't have to step in back there," I said.

"Yeah, I did." He sat across from me, all the earlier teasing gone from his face. "Standish doesn't know when to stop. Somebody has to."

"I can take care of myself."

"I never said you couldn't." He leaned back, studying me over the rim of his cup. "You handled Standish better than half the veterans on this team do. I've watched grown men flinch at him."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to be a compliment." He smiled, just a little. "You're bad at accepting those, you know that?"

"I'm good at my job. That's different from needing to be told I am."

"I know." His eyes held mine, steady, warmer than they had any right to be after a morning like that. "Doesn't mean I have to like watching him grab you like that."

I wrapped both hands around the coffee cup, grateful for something to hold onto. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends on the something."

"Last night, in the parking lot. Did you hear anything strange? Like an animal?"

Something shifted behind his eyes, quick and careful, gone before I could fully read it. "Define strange."

"A growl. Low. Close." I kept my voice steady even though my pulse had picked up again just saying it out loud. "There was nothing there. No dog, nothing."

Dax's jaw tightened. "You should head home straight after practice from now on. No lingering in the lot."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got right now." He stood, coffee forgotten, something urgent replacing the ease in his posture. "Just trust me on this one, Wren."

Before I could push further, the lounge door swung open, and Roman filled the doorway, gold eyes sweeping the room and landing hard on Dax.

"We need you on the ice," Roman said. "Now."

"Give me a second."

"Now, Dax."

Dax's shoulders dropped in something close to surrender, and he shot me one last look, equal parts warning and apology, before following Roman out.

I sat alone in the quiet lounge, coffee cooling in my hands, replaying the growl, the note, the way Dax's whole body had gone rigid at the mention of it.

I stood to rinse my cup at the small sink, and that was when I caught it in the mirror above the counter, a reflection I almost dismissed as a trick of the fluorescent light.

For one full second, my own eyes stared back at me perfectly normal. And just behind my shoulder, reflected in the glass of the lounge window, Cassius stood in the hallway watching me through the doorway I had not heard him approach.

His eyes were not brown anymore.

They were burning, amber gold, exactly like Roman's, exactly like something no human being should ever have.

I spun around fast, heart slamming, ready to ask him what I had just seen.

The hallway behind me was empty. No footsteps. No sound of a door closing. Just the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the coffee going cold in my shaking hands.