1. Sydney

CHAPTER 1

SYDNEY

How do you survive a first day at a nerve-wracking new job?

Start it with sugar and caffeine. A crapload of it.

The tantalizing aroma of caramel and espresso swirls around my twin sister Selena and me as we settle into a cozy corner booth at Dark Matter, our favorite coffee shop from college. Two frappuccinos topped with whipped cream and drizzled chocolate tower between us.

"To your first day," Selena declares, raising her plastic cup in a toast. Her cat-eye liner is on point, even at this ungodly early hour. It's still surreal, being back near my sister after so many years apart.

I clink my cup against hers. "To new beginnings," I say, meaning the words in more ways than one.

I take a long sip, savoring the icy sweetness. It's already working its magic, taking my mind off of my first day jitters.

Today, I start as the new addiction counselor for the Chicago Blizzards. It's an enormous responsibility. There is a wild amount of media scrutiny on the team right now.

I need to prove to the world that I can handle it.

And prove to myself that I'm not the insecure, broken shell of a person Paul left behind.

Selena reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, maybe reading some of that in my eyes.

"You'll be great," she says. "Remember when we'd come here to cram for exams? You always had those ridiculous color-coded notes." She takes a long drag of her sugary drink.

"Hey, those notes were a work of art," I protest.

"Exactly my point. You turn chaos into order. You're going to do the same for those Blizzards boys," Selena says with a smile.

"From your lips to God's ears," I murmur as I raise my cup, the icy coffee concoction soothing more than just my dry throat. It's as if with each sip, the edges of my old self, the one not dulled by Paul's shadow, come back into focus.

"You're brilliant and compassionate and just what those hockey hunks need right now. And can I just say, I'm mad jealous you get to ogle all that eye candy at work." Selena waggles her eyebrows.

I snort. "Yes, I'm sure ogling will be my number one priority in between crisis management and therapy sessions."

But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it.

The Chicago Blizzards aren't just talented athletes—they're ridiculously attractive talented athletes. The kind with chiseled jaws and abs you could grate cheese on. The kind that grace magazine covers and star in commercials for overpriced cologne.

Not that it matters.

I'll be there to do a job, not get distracted by a bunch of muscled jocks, no matter how tempting the fantasy.

Besides, the last thing I need is another man in my life. I'm still figuring out how to be Sydney 2.0 after wasting years as one half of Sydney-and-Paul.

Selena must sense the direction of my thoughts because she leans forward with a wicked grin.

"All I'm saying is, if one of those hotties makes a pass at you, you better climb him like a tree. When's the last time you had some good D?"

"Selena!" I glance around to make sure no one overheard. But I'm laughing.

It's nice, this effortless teasing. Like no time has passed since we used to gossip over frappuccinos between college classes.

Before Paul isolated me from everyone and everything I loved.

Well, I'm taking it all back now. My life, my career, my relationship with my sister.

I hold up my cup. "To ogling hot hockey players. I can't do more than that—" I glare at my sister in mock severity. "—not while I'm working as a counselor for members of the team. But hey, appreciating the view can't hurt, right?"

"Hear, hear!"

Selena clinks my cup again as we dissolve into giggles, caramel and possibility sweet on my tongue. Maybe I can get the old Sydney back, with my sister's help.

Maybe I can start over in Chicago.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I push open the glass doors embossed with the Chicago Blizzards logo and step into the expansive lobby of the practice arena.

Whoa .

This place is swanky as hell. Sleek white and black accents are everywhere, with massive action shots of the players frozen in triumphant poses covering the soaring walls.

The clack from my heels on the polished concrete floors echoes up to the vaulted ceiling. I feel tiny as I approach the reception desk, but I paste on a bright smile for the immaculately coiffed woman sitting behind it.

"Hi there! I'm Sydney Nelson, the new?—"

"Sydney, welcome!" a booming voice interrupts. I turn to see a distinguished older man striding toward me, arm extended. "Vincent Dale, GM. We spoke on the phone."

"Of course, hi!" I shake his hand, hoping my grip projects confidence. "Pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Dale."

"Likewise. We're thrilled to have you here. And please, call me Vincent." Vincent claps me on the shoulder, steering me down a hallway lined with framed jerseys. "I'll give you the grand tour later, but let's head straight to the heart of the action, eh? Boys are already on the ice."

My stomach flutters at the thought of meeting the team. "Sounds great. I'm excited to dive in."

"I'll be straight with you," Vincent says, his expression sobering. "We need you. Bad. The incident in Canada...it's a mess. Media's having a field day painting us as a bunch of loose cannons."

I nod, my therapist brain already shifting into gear.

People are used to hockey players getting in a lot of fights—but usually , the players are fighting the other teams. The Blizzards got into a massive brawl amongst themselves. Violent, bloody, and nearly career-ending for their starting goalie.

Three players were at the center of the storm, and I'm here to get to the bottom of it and help the team move on.

"I read the reports," I say. "Seems like there's a lot of untapped anger there."

"You could say that." Vincent shakes his head. "But from what Emma's told me, if anyone can get these hotheads to simmer down, it's you. She raved about your work with young addicts. Said you have a gift."

I duck my head, cheeks warming. My friend Emma, who works as the assistant video coach to the team, referred me to Vincent when the team realized they needed to hire a counselor.

Part of me is still not sure if she did it because she thought I was the best person for the job…or if she could see me drowning in Boston and wanted to throw me a lifeline.

Either way, I'm grateful for it.

"I don't know about a gift," I tell him, "but I'll certainly do my best."

"I have no doubt." Vincent pauses outside a set of double doors, his face serious again. "One more thing—the boys don't know the full extent of your role here. As far as they're concerned, you're just providing general counseling and support, not addiction treatment per se. Let's keep it that way for now, yeah? No need to spook them."

"Of course," I agree, though something niggles in the back of my mind.

Secrets are a dangerous foundation for a therapeutic relationship.

But Vincent's the boss. I'll follow his lead.

For now.

He pushes open the doors and I'm hit with a blast of frigid air, the sounds of skates carving ice and sticks slapping pucks.

And then I see them. The Chicago Blizzards in the flesh.

My mouth goes dry at the sheer physical presence of these elite athletes as they fly across the ice, their powerful bodies honed for speed and aggression. The air is heady with the scent of sweat and adrenaline and...testosterone.

Lord almighty. It's a sensory overload.

But the energy seems off, even to my untrained eye. There's a palpable tension, a simmering hostility.

As Vincent and I watch, two players—a stocky D-man and a lanky forward, terms I've learned with Emma's help—slam into the boards, shouting in each other's faces.

"Told you," Vincent mutters. "Powder keg."

As the coaches pull the guys apart, I spot a familiar brunette on the bench.

Emma.

Her eyes crinkle with a warm smile when she sees me. I beam back, fighting the urge to run over and hug her. It's been too long.

Emma and I are way overdue for a catch-up, but I just got into town a few days ago and have been busy unpacking and settling into Selena's apartment. It used to be Emma's apartment, too, until she moved in with her boyfriends— plural —earlier in the year.

"All right, let's get you introduced." Vincent strides over to the coaches, waving them over. "Blizzards! Bring it in for a sec."

The men coast to a stop in a loose semicircle, removing their helmets.

And oh... oh boy.

I was not prepared.

Chiseled jaws, smoldering eyes, crooked grins. It's a buffet of raw male beauty.

Down, girl.

But damn, one guy in particular—a tall drink of goalie with dark hair and piercing blue eyes—makes my knees a little weak when his gaze lands on me.

And is that guy...? Yep, the tatted-up forward is shamelessly checking me out, a flirtatious smirk playing about his full lips.

I snap my eyes away, heat crawling up my neck.

Pull it together, Syd! You're here to help these guys, not drool over them. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.

Vincent points out Coach Daniels, and I do a double take—even the head coach is attractive. Not my type, but silver foxy in that George Clooney kind of way.

Coach Daniels shoots me an encouraging nod, and I immediately sense an ally.

"Gentleman," Vincent booms as I step forward. "I'd like you all to give a warm Blizzards welcome to Sydney Nelson..."

Vincent's voice fades into the background as I step forward, my heels moving awkwardly on the rubber flooring. I paste on my most confident smile, even as my palms grow clammy.

"Hi everyone," I begin, hoping my voice doesn't betray my nerves. "As Vincent said, I'm Sydney Nelson, the new…"

I remember Vincent's warning and trail off for a moment, swallowing the words ‘addiction specialist.' I clear my throat.

"Um, the new team counselor. My door is always open to anyone who needs to talk, and anything that we discuss will stay between us. I'm not just here for the three of you," I nod toward Jason, Mikey, and Tomas, who I recognize from all the unfortunate media coverage, "but for any of you who needs support."

I meet the eyes of the three players I'll be working with most, trying to convey warmth and kindness.

They shift uncomfortably, clearly not thrilled to be singled out.

"Again, I want to assure you all that anything discussed in our sessions is confidential. I'm here to support you, not judge you."

Scanning the group, I'm met with a mixture of guarded expressions and curious gazes. The goalie's electric blue eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. I quickly glance away, my cheeks warming.

Seriously, Syd? Keep it in your pants.

I swallow, trying to pull my thoughts together. "You all, as professional athletes, face a unique set of challenges and pressures that are difficult to navigate. The important thing is that we work together to create a healthy environment for the entire team."

"We appreciate you being here, Sydney," Coach Daniels chimes in, flashing a megawatt smile. "Alright boys, show's over. Back to drills!"

The players disperse, skating off in various directions. Except for Tattoo Guy, who shoots me a wink before gliding away.

That wink reaches places it definitely shouldn't while I'm on the job.

"Syd!" a familiar voice calls out.

I spin around to see Emma jogging toward me, her dark curls bouncing. A huge grin splits my face.

"Em!" We collide in a fierce hug, giggling like the college girls we once were. "God, I've missed you!"

Emma pulls back, hazel eyes sparkling. "Dude, I can't believe you're actually here! When Vincent said they needed an addiction specialist, I was like, ‘I've got the perfect person!' Though I may have oversold your qualifications a bit..." She scrunches her nose impishly.

I gasp in mock outrage, shoving her shoulder. "Wow, thanks for that vote of confidence!"

"I'm kidding. You're gonna be amazing." She links her arm with mine as we meander away from the ice. "So, how's life? How's Selena? Give me all the goss!"

As Emma rattles off questions, I sneak one last glance over my shoulder at the team. Goalie Hottie is barking orders at another player. Tattoo Guy is leaning on his stick, chatting with a group.

My eyes linger on their well-muscled bodies.

The very definition of temptation on ice. Lord help me.

I've sworn off men while I put the pieces of my life back together. I'm here to do a job, not land a date.

Still, a little eye candy never hurt anyone…right?