36. Sydney

CHAPTER 36

SYDNEY

A knock at my office door jolts me out of the paperwork trance I've thrown myself into for the past hour. I look up to see DJ standing in the doorway.

At first I think he's here to give me some impassioned speech about our three-way relationship in response to my voicemail, and I don't think I can take it. I stand to ask him to leave, but then look at him properly.

His broad shoulders are slumped in defeat and his dark eyes are bloodshot, purple half-moons sagging beneath them. My heart clenches at the sight of him looking so broken.

I swallow the urge to take him into my arms to comfort him and force a tight smile.

"DJ, come on in," I say, gesturing to the seat across from my desk. "It looks like you're here in a professional capacity…right? Not to talk more about…well, us?"

He sighs heavily and drags himself over, sinking down into the cushions. "To be honest, I was hoping we could do both." He catches my wary expression and sighs again. "But I know it's not right to push you right now. I can respect that boundary. I just don't know who else to go to…is it okay if we just talk?"

I nod, grabbing my notepad and pen. "So," I begin gently. "Tell me what's going on."

DJ rakes a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. "I really fucked up, Syd. At practice today...there was a fight. Marcus and Nikolai were going at it, I tried to break it up but..."

He shakes his head.

"I don't know what happened. One minute I was pulling them apart, the next I was swinging at Marcus myself. Took three guys to pull me off him." His voice cracks. "I've never lost control like that before."

My hand itches to reach out and soothe him, to smooth the anguish from his chiseled features. I grip my pen tighter instead. "These things happen sometimes in high-stress situations. Hockey is an intense, physical sport. Emotions can boil over."

"But I'm supposed to be a leader," DJ says bitterly. "Not flying off the handle and brawling with my own teammate. And I'm always going off about the toxic masculinity in hockey and how dumb it is. God, I'm so ashamed of myself right now. I'm such a fucking hypocrite."

"Let's unpack that," I suggest. "What emotions were you feeling leading up to the fight? Before you intervened?"

He thinks for a moment. "Anger. Frustration. My damn kn—well, I—I haven't been playing my best." He trails off, looking chagrined. "Sorry, you know what? You don't need to hear about my problems. I should go."

"That's what I'm here for," I assure him before he starts to rise. "And it sounds like you've got a lot on your plate. You're human, DJ. Cut yourself some slack." I soften my voice. "Beating yourself up won't change what happened. The important thing is that you learn from this and do better next time."

I could learn from my own advice here. The irony nearly kills me. Every piece of me is aching to take DJ into my arms, to burst right through those professional boundaries I insisted on building back up. But somehow, I hold back.

"You're right, Doc," he says heavily. "I will. I gotta make this right with the team somehow..."

I watch the play of emotions across his ridiculously handsome face, the yearning to lean across the table and kiss him rising up strong and intense.

"One step at a time," I advise, focusing very hard on his eyes and shutting down my thoughts. "For now, let's explore some strategies for managing your stress in healthy ways."

"There's something else," he interrupts, his eyes not meeting mine.

DJ shifts uncomfortably on the couch, his dark eyes darting away from mine. "I...uh, my knee has been killing me lately. I think you know that." His words come out rush, like he's embarrassed to admit any weakness.

My heart squeezes at his vulnerability. DJ never talks about his injuries. This is huge .

"Your knee?" I try to keep my tone gentle and non-judgmental.

He nods tightly. "Yeah. I had a major injury in college, it wiped me out a whole semester. I thought it was totally healed but… It's been aching more and more the last few weeks. Especially after games and hard practices."

I want so badly to reach out and squeeze his hand in reassurance. To pull him into a comforting hug and let him know it's okay, that I'm here for him no matter what. But I restrain myself, clasping my hands tightly in my lap instead.

"I'm glad you told me, DJ. That must have been really hard for you to admit out loud." I give him an encouraging smile. "Have you thought about getting it checked out by the team doctor?"

DJ's jaw clenches and he looks away again. "Nah, it's not that bad. I can handle it."

Classic stubborn athlete . I sigh inwardly.

"DJ, your health needs to be your top priority. If your knee is hurting, you owe it to yourself to get it looked at. At the very least, the doc might be able to give you some stretches or PT exercises to help manage the pain."

He's quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming restlessly on his muscular thigh. Finally, he blows out a breath.

"Yeah, okay. You're right. I'll make an appointment to see the doc this week."

Relief rushes through me and I beam at him. "I think that's a great decision. I'm really proud of you for taking this step."

DJ meets my gaze, his dark eyes stormy with emotion. "Thanks, Syd. For listening and not making me feel like a total wuss about this." He reaches out like he wants to take my hand, then thinks better of it and stops himself.

Oh god, I want to touch him so badly. To feel his warm skin against mine, to interlace our fingers...

But no. I can't. Slowly, regretfully, I inch my hand back and clasp them together again.

"Of course, DJ." I keep my voice steady and expression neutral, even as my heart cracks.

This is ridiculous—I can't be a good counselor to this man, not with the way I care about him .

"Although…I do think it'd be better for you to see someone else for a while, you know, for counseling. To maintain proper boundaries, you know? I can…I can make a referral."

His face shutters closed, going carefully blank. "Right. Boundaries. Got it."

It physically hurts to see him withdraw so completely. But I know deep down this is the right call, painful as it is.

We both need some space. I can't do my job without it.

I walk him to the door, longing to reach out and smooth the tension from his shoulders. "Take care of yourself, okay? Keep me posted on what the doc says."

"Will do. Thanks again, Sydney." DJ hesitates, then gives me one last piercing look before striding away down the hall.

I close the door and sag back against it, letting out a shaky breath. It's only after I can no longer hear DJ's footsteps that I let the tears come.

I bury myself in my work for the next few days, determined to be the best addiction counselor I can be. There's no time to dwell on the smoldering, longing looks from DJ and Tyler that set my body on fire.

My patients need me focused and clear-headed. That's the most important thing now.

I'm practically glued to Tomas's side as we head to practice. "Remember, progress isn't linear. Setbacks are a normal part of recovery."

Tomas nods, jaw clenched. "I know. It's just hard, seeing Mikey struggle like this."

"You're a good friend to him. He's lucky to have your support." I squeeze Tomas's shoulder reassuringly before he takes the ice.

In the stands, I spot DJ stretching, his chiseled muscles rippling beneath his tight gear. Our eyes lock and electricity crackles between us. I flush and quickly glance away.

Not going there , I remind myself sternly.

The next few days pass in a stressful blur of therapy sessions and team meetings. I'm constantly on the move, coffee in hand, typing notes on my laptop.

"The urge to use can be so intense, like a tidal wave threatening to pull you under," Jason confesses at a check-in, bouncing his leg anxiously. "I'm trying to ride it out, but man, it's brutal."

"You're doing great, Jase. Those urges will pass. Let's talk through some triggers..."

By the time I collapse into bed each night, I'm thoroughly drained. But sleep proves elusive as forbidden fantasies of DJ and Tyler continue to invade my mind—the brush of their fingers on my skin, their lips on my neck, hands roaming my curves...

I toss and turn, aching for their touch.

Get a grip , I scold myself. You were the one who chose to end things. This is the right decision.

But keeping my distance is pure torture, especially with the tension of playoffs ratcheting higher with each passing day. I just pray I can hold it together without completely losing my mind.

After a particularly long day I collapse onto the couch, feeling like I just played a triple-header of championship games without any breaks. Every muscle aches but it's my mind that feels most battered, thoughts swirling nonstop.

The front door swings open and Selena struts in, her electric blue bodycon dress as bold as her personality. "Syd! Get your cute butt up, we're going out!"

I groan, burying my face in a throw pillow. "I can't, Sel. I'm exhausted."

She perches on the armrest, narrowing her smoky eyes at me. "You've been hiding in this apartment all week. You need a night out with your sis! Flirty bartenders, spicy margaritas..."

"I'm too stressed and tired for all that." I pull the pillow tighter.

"Babe, I'm worried about you." Her voice softens. "You can't just work and wallow. If you aren't going to let yourself be happy with your guys, then?—"

"Don't." I sit up abruptly. "I'm fine, okay? I just...need rest."

Selena sighs, her brash exterior dropping away to reveal the concern underneath. "Alright, alright. Get some sleep then. Love you."

She drops a kiss on my head before slipping out.

Alone again, I trudge to my bedroom and flop onto the rumpled sheets. I toss and turn for hours, my mind a battleground.

Did I make a huge mistake ending things with DJ and Tyler? Am I an idiot for choosing work over a shot at real happiness?

Paul's mocking voice slithers through my brain . "You'll never be good enough, Syd. Not for them, not for your patients. You're going to screw it all up like always."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out. I picture Jason, Tomas. I'm helping them heal. That has to mean something, right?

But Paul's sinister whisper persists. "Who are you fooling? You can barely handle your own issues. How long until you crash and burn?"

The tears finally break free, soaking my pillow as I curl into myself. The harder I try to be strong, to do the right thing, the more I feel like I'm losing everything.

I'm terrified that Paul was right. That no matter what I do, I'm going to end up broken and alone, a failure at my job and at love.

God, I wish I could silence the doubts and fears. I wish I knew what the hell I'm doing.

I wish...I wish I was back in DJ and Tyler's arms, even just for a moment of peace.

But I made my choice. No matter how much it hurts, I have to see it through. For my patients. For myself.

Even if it means facing the demons in my head alone.