3. Sydney

CHAPTER 3

SYDNEY

It's still early as I stride into the practice facility, the thud of my sneakers echoing in the quiet hallway. The place is mostly empty, but I want to get a head start on my first day of sessions as the team's new counselor.

In my hand I grip my notepad, already covered in scribbles with thoughts and plans. Three names on it jump out at me: Jason Kirkland, Mikey Torres, Tomas Novak.

The players at the center of the bar brawl incident.

My plan today is to meet with each of them individually, to start building the trust and rapport that will be so crucial to helping them move forward.

I find my new office and drop my bag on the chair. It's small but bright, with a window overlooking the practice rink.

I smile, allowing myself a moment to take it in, to appreciate how far I've come since…

No, I don't want to follow that thought right now.

I pull out the slim files I've been given on each player and start leafing through them, my mind snapping into therapist mode.

Jason Kirkland, right winger, known for his aggressive playing style and rebellious streak off the ice. Rumored alcohol abuse. Otherwise, a pretty clean record.

Mikey Torres, the rookie center with a world of talent and a chip on his shoulder. Suspected drug use. Reading between the lines on what I could find online, a seemingly volatile family situation.

And Tomas Novak, the veteran forward, steady and solid on the ice but clearly struggling with something in his personal life. But what exactly that is—anyone's guess. Gambling addiction? Marital problems? Untreated mental health issues?

Hmmm .

Happily, the hockey lingo is starting to make some more sense after my extensive Google and Wikipedia deep dive last night. So at least that part is less of a mystery.

Three men, each battling their own demons. My job is to guide them, to give them the tools and support to find their own way out of the darkness.

Something I know a lot about myself.

A few hours later, I settle into the chair across from Jason, taking in his guarded posture—arms crossed defensively over his broad chest, jaw clenched tight. But there's a vulnerability in his eyes that belies the tough exterior.

"Thanks for meeting with me today, Jason," I begin, keeping my tone warm and non-judgmental. "I know this process can be a little daunting at first, but I'm here to support you however I can. Why don't you start by telling me a bit about what's been going on with you lately?"

Jason shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flicking away before meeting mine again.

"I don't know, doc. It's just been...a lot, you know? The pressure to perform, to be a guy everyone can count on, both here and at home. I've been trying to make my wife and kid proud of me. I guess I've been leaning on the bottle a bit too much to take the edge off."

I mentally wince when he calls me doc. Technically, yes, I am a doctor—I completed my MD. But that fuckwad Paul convinced me to drop out of my psychiatry residency before I could complete it.

He told me that the pressure was too much for me, and I believed him. He convinced me that I would never make a good psychiatrist, that it had been a waste of my time to pursue a MD at all.

So I'm a doctor who isn't licensed to practice medicine…hence, becoming a counselor.

I brush the thoughts awake and refocus on Jason, nodding empathetically. "That's a common coping mechanism, especially in high-stress environments like professional sports. Can you tell me more about what those pressures are like for you day-to-day?"

Jason sighs, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair.

"It's like, I'm one of the vets now, you know? The young guys look up to me. I gotta set the tone, be the rock. And with everything that went down in Canada..." He trails off, shaking his head.

"The bar fight, you mean?" I prompt gently.

"Yeah. Not my finest moment." Jason's mouth twists ruefully. "I just saw red, you know? Mike was running his mouth, and I just lost it. I'm so ashamed that my two-year-old will be able to google me and find news stories about that some day. I'm supposed to be better than that. I am better than that."

His tone is fierce, almost like he's trying to convince himself.

"Recognizing that is an important first step," I affirm. "It sounds like you have high expectations for yourself, both on and off the ice."

"I guess so." Jason's posture loosens infinitesimally, his arms uncrossing. "I just want to be someone my team can depend on. DJ, Slade, Lukas, Tyler, all the guys—they're like brothers to me."

I perk up at the mention of DJ and Tyler, the two players who caught my eye yesterday. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't eagerly scoured the team roster to find their faces, reading up on their bios last night alongside those of my three patients.

But I keep my expression neutral as I probe further.

"Tell me more about the team dynamics. Who are you closest to?"

A fond smile tugs at Jason's mouth. "DJ for sure. The guy's amazing—so skilled on the ice, but so laid back and fun off it. He's been a real friend, you know?"

I make a mental note of the warmth in Jason's voice. "And Tyler? I noticed you mentioned him as well."

"Tyler's a good kid. Works his ass off out there, real dedicated. I feel bad that my actions contributed to him having to take on Adam's role. To be honest, I don't know him quite as well, but he seems like he's got a good head on his shoulders." He pauses, a slight smirk forming on his face. "And I think he likes DJ even better than I do."

I tilt my head in confusion at his tone. "What do you mean by that?"

Jason waves it aside, laughing. "Oh nothing, nothing."

I steer our conversation back to Jason's personal journey, but I can't help turning over those nuggets about DJ and Tyler in my mind.

There's a part of me that's eager to learn more about whatever is going on between these two gorgeous men—a curiosity that is both professional and, if I'm being honest with myself, personal.

I push aside those distracting thoughts for now, refocusing on the vulnerable man in front of me, who's taken the brave first step of starting to open up. Time slips away as I find myself back in a familiar groove, jotting down notes as Jason patiently answers my questions.

Jason is surprisingly easy to talk to. The session wraps up and he heads out, and the satisfaction rushing through me is a pleasant reminder as to why I got into this work in the first place.

Next, Mikey slouches into my office, all tense shoulders and guarded eyes. He flops onto the couch across from me with an air of insolence.

I have a sneaking suspicion that this appointment isn't going to be quite so productive.

"So you're the shrink they brought in to fix us, huh?" he says with a sneer. "Good luck with that."

I paste on a patient smile. "I'm not here to fix anyone, Mikey. I'm here to listen and provide some tools that could help the team communicate and work together better."

He scoffs. "Right. Because a few heart-to-hearts are going to magically make everything better. News flash, lady—you don't know shit about us or what we deal with."

My smile starts to strain, but I keep my voice even. "You're right. I'm still learning about the team dynamics. Could you give me your perspective? I noticed some tension between you and a few other players yesterday, on the ice…"

Mikey's eyes narrow. "Don't fucking bother. You think you're going to waltz in here and get us spilling our deepest, darkest secrets? Fat chance."

He leans forward, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Let me make this crystal clear—I don't need your touchy-feely therapy bullshit. You shrinks are all just working out your own problems on our dime, anyway. So, how about you just enjoy your cushy office and leave the real work to us?"

With that, he pushes himself up and storms out, slamming the door so hard it rattles on its hinges.

I slump back in my chair and let out a shaky breath. Holy hell. That stung more than I want to admit.

Mikey's words hit too close to home, echoing my own fears that I'm just an imposter, that I have no business trying to help these guys, that my own issues are coloring my work.

For a second, I'm back in that terrible place, broken and defeated after what Paul did to me...

No . I give myself a mental shake. I refuse to let myself go there.

Mikey is hurting and lashing out. I could see the barely concealed vulnerability under all that hostility. The desperate desire to prove himself.

He needs my compassion and deserves my best effort, not my misgivings.

I square my shoulders. Mikey just threw down one hell of a gauntlet. But I've never been one to back down.

I have some time until my next appointment, so I finish dealing with some computer setup tasks I didn't finish yesterday. Eventually, my rumbling stomach becomes too loud to ignore, so I leave my office in search of the kitchen where I stashed my sandwich this morning.

Trying to remember which turn to take, I swing around to glance down the hall and nearly stumble back as I collide into DJ's solid chest.

I catch my balance and look up into his playful eyes, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his perfectly sculpted lips.

"Well hello there, Doctor," he purrs, his velvety voice sending a shiver down my spine. "Here for a surprise examination? If I'd known I'd be running into you, I would've worn my good underwear."

Heat flushes my cheeks and neck as his shameless flirting catches me off guard once again.

I swallow and will myself to maintain composure, despite the way his chiseled physique and alluring tattoos make my heart race.

"Your underwear, huh?" I raise an eyebrow, attempting to match his playful energy even as butterflies swarm in my stomach. "And what qualifies as ‘good' underwear for the great DJ Johnston?"

His eyes sparkle with mischief as they travel slowly down my body and back up again, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. My skin prickles with awareness under his appreciative gaze.

"Mmm, maybe you'll find out someday," he says suggestively. "If you play your cards right."

I scoff and roll my eyes, but can't help the smile playing on my lips. The man is incorrigible.

And damn if his cocky confidence isn't a major turn-on.

"In your dreams, pretty boy," I retort, folding my arms. "Some of us are trying to work around here, you know."

DJ shrugs, but there's a softness in his eyes that catches me off guard. "Listen, I was thinking...I'd really like to grab a coffee with you sometime. I could fill you in on some of the team dynamics that might be helpful for your work."

My heart skips a beat at the invitation. Is he asking me on a date? Or just a work meeting? I search his face for clues, but his expression is inscrutable.

"Oh, um, sure...that could be useful," I hedge, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"Great," he says with a grin, and I can't help but notice how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "I'll email you to set something up."

His hand brushes against my arm as he steps around me to continue down the hall.

"Sounds good," I manage, hoping my voice doesn't betray that I'm flustered. As I watch him walk away, I'm hyper-aware of every flex of his muscles beneath his clothes, the confident set of his broad shoulders.

Sparks of attraction fizz and pop under my skin, and I let out a shaky breath.

What did I just agree to?

Back in my office after lunch, I glance at my watch and sigh. Fifteen minutes past our scheduled appointment and still no sign of Tomas. Drumming my fingers on the desk, I debate how long to wait before officially calling it a no-show.

My phone pings with a new email alert. I pull up my inbox, immediately spotting Tomas's name.

"Hey Doc, sorry but something urgent came up. Gotta bail on today's session. -T."

I frown at the screen.

"Something urgent" could mean anything from a personal emergency like a dead grandparent to partying too hard last night. But given Tomas's history...well, let's just say I have my doubts.

Rather than stew over it, I decide to tackle the mountain of administrative work that comes with starting a new job. Forms to fill out, virtual training sessions to complete, setting up my new email signature...oh, the joys of corporate life.

As I click through the mandatory sexual harassment course, my mind keeps drifting to the three players I'm supposed to help.

Jason, who seems eager to do the work, already facing his problems head-on. Mikey, who barely lasted 5 minutes in session with me before storming out. And Tomas… the mystery.

I want so badly to guide them to a better place, to show them they have the strength to overcome their demons. But first, I need Tomas to actually show up.

Baby steps.

At the end of the day, I have a regularly scheduled status meeting with Coach Daniels and Chloe Bennett, the team's prim and poised PR manager. We're going to be checking in on a weekly basis to discuss the situation at hand, at least until some of the media attention blows over.

The plush leather chairs and mahogany desk in Coach Daniels' office scream "I'm the boss." I settle into a slightly less imposing guest chair, flanked by Chloe.

"So Sydney, what's the game plan?" Coach leans forward, elbows on his knees, his steely blue eyes locked on mine.

I take a deep breath. "Well, first and foremost, we need to create a recovery-positive environment, without singling out the three players in counseling. That means rethinking how the team celebrates wins, hosts events, everything. Mikey, Jason, and Tomas need to be comfortable and safe at any team events."

Chloe nods, already tapping notes into her tablet. "We can make that work without calling anyone out. No need to draw extra attention to the fact that some of our events will be dry—we can focus the narrative elsewhere."

"Exactly. Take alcohol out of the equation. Removing temptation will make it easier for Jason, Mikey, and Tomas to maintain sobriety."

The words taste awkward in my mouth—I'm not used to discussing patients so openly. But for this to work, we all need to be on the same page.

Coach runs a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair. "Whatever it takes. Those boys...they're more than just players to me. They're family." His gruff voice cracks with emotion.

"I'll draw up some specific recommendations," I say gently. "Obviously this will be a process. But with the right support, I truly believe they can come out the other side, and the team can too."

Rising from his chair, Coach extends a beefy hand to shake mine. "We're behind you one hundred percent. With you in their corner, I know our boys will beat this."

His confidence buoys my spirits. It's nice to know I'm not in this alone.

After we wrap, I head out for the day, squinting as the bright late-afternoon sun hits my eyes.

What a day . My feet ache, my head is spinning, and I'm exhausted—but also exhilarated to have a challenge ahead of me.

I trudge across the parking lot toward my sensible Honda Civic. Before I reach it, a sleek black Lexus pulls into the spot right next to mine. The tinted window rolls down, revealing a pair of mischievous brown eyes and a roguish grin I'm already getting far too familiar with.

DJ.

Of course. This guy is everywhere today—what, is the universe trying to test my willpower by dangling this tattooed Adonis in front of me 24/7? I'm only human.

"Fancy seeing you here, Doc," DJ drawls, leaning an arm out the window. "If I believed in fate, I'd say this is a sign we should grab that coffee sooner rather than later."

I can't help but laugh as I wrack my brain for a witty comeback. DJ beats me to the punch, shooting me a wink and blowing me a kiss before peeling out of the parking lot, leaving me standing there gaping after him for the second time in one day.

Flustered, I hop into my car and pull out onto the street, heading for home. But my mind is racing the whole drive, thoughts whirling with possibilities I know I shouldn't entertain.

I'm here to do a job, and do it well. That's all. It's important to maintain professional boundaries.

It's just been so long since I've had this kind of spark, this visceral pull of attraction. After what happened with Paul...well, let's just say my self-esteem and sex drive have been lower than the Blizzards' penalty kill percentage.

I laugh at myself—proud that I pulled that hockey term out of thin air but 100% sure I could not define it if my life depended on it.

The glint in DJ's eyes flashes across my mind again and my cheeks flush. Somehow I can't help but think like I'll be learning a lot in this new job…in more ways than one.