5. Sydney

CHAPTER 5

SYDNEY

I lean back in my chair, the soft creak of leather now a comforting backdrop to the countless hours I've already put in. The first two weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities, with therapy sessions bleeding into team meetings and brief interludes of quiet that I snatch greedily whenever I can.

I'm rifling through my notes from Jason's latest session, pleased that we've been making progress, but my focus fractures as my thoughts are drawn yet again to the issue of Tomas's missed appointments.

If Tomas dodges one more meeting, I'll have no choice but to get Coach involved. I hate the idea—it's important that Tomas wants to get help rather than be forced—but I can't just stand by.

I can't help the man if he refuses to show up.

A cacophony from the hallway, sudden raised voices sharpened by frustration, breaks my concentration. Concerned by the disruption, I rise and inch toward the door, my skin prickling with tension.

Cracking the door open, my eyes widen as I'm met with a scene charged with anger.

DJ and Tyler are squared off, their faces red with the heat of their argument. DJ's tattoos seem to dance on his arms as he gesticulates, while Tyler stands like a bull ready to charge. In the eye of the storm is Jason, hands raised in a futile attempt at peace.

"Your head isn't even in the game anymore, Jason!" Tyler's accusation slices through the air. "It's obvious! You assholes had to go act out, and now we can't win a game to save our lives!"

DJ frowns, stepping in front of Jason defensively. "Back off, Simmonds. We're a team, remember?" DJ's tone is acid laced with honey, sharp but impossible to dismiss.

The three move farther down the hallway and I ease my office door closed, my heart sinking. The headache that's been lurking behind my eyes blooms fully now, a thorny ring tightening around my temples.

The accusation in Tyler's eyes, the distrust in the team's ability to pull together and break their losing streak…this is more than a spat; it's a crack in the foundation of the team.

And it's my job to be the glue.

Ten minutes later, the door swings open and a sheepish Jason steps into my office. His shoulders slump in a way that screams defeat, his usual easygoing charm nowhere to be seen.

"Could you hear us?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hard to miss," I admit, folding my arms across my chest and leaning my elbows on the desk. "Wanna talk about it?"

He exhales, a heavy gust that seems to carry the weight of the entire team. "It's like we're split down the middle, and I have no idea how to stitch us back together. No one trusts each other anymore."

"Maybe it would help to sit down and talk to everyone one-on-one," I suggest. "Address what happened and how you're committed to doing better in the future. Face the music, clear the air."

Jason nods, the gears visibly turning in his head as we toss ideas back and forth like a puck in overtime. By the time he leaves, his stride has regained its confidence.

I sink back into my chair and allow myself a smile. It's a small victory, but it's a step toward mending the fractured spirit of the Blizzards.

If only my own tangled mess of a life could be sorted with a good pep talk.

Later that afternoon DJ swings by my office, a crooked grin lighting up his handsome face. His presence immediately fills the small room, sending a little thrill through me despite my best efforts at maintaining professional distance.

Over the past week, my office has turned into a revolving door of stressed-out hockey players seeking a moment of peace amidst the team's chaos. Tensions are simmering and occasionally boiling over—fights keep erupting on and off the ice.

It's no wonder that the players want a safe space to vent about the mounting pressure.

To my surprise (and secret pleasure), both DJ and Tyler have become regular visitors, often dropping in unannounced. Sometimes they want to dish about team drama, other times they simply seem to crave friendly conversation that has nothing to do with hockey.

Technically, they aren't my official patients—I'm only formally treating the three players struggling with addiction. But I never have the heart to turn DJ and Tyler away when they appear at my door.

There's just something magnetic about them, as different as they are.

DJ with his easy charm and flirtatious energy.

Tyler with his quiet intensity, the simmering emotions hidden just beneath the surface.

I constantly have to check myself, to remember my role as their team's counselor and not...whatever forbidden fantasies threaten to carry me away.

Let's just say it's getting harder to banish inappropriate thoughts of them from my mind, especially late at night alone in bed.

"Hey, Doc," DJ greets me now, plopping down on the chair across from my desk.

God, even the way he sits is sexy. What is wrong with me?!

"Got a minute for your favorite player?" His voice is pure seduction, sending tingles to all the right places.

Wrong places! Wrong places, Sydney!

I shoot him a look, trying to seem stern even as I fight back a grin. "You know I don't play favorites, DJ. But of course, I always have time for you. What's on your mind today?"

His smile falters slightly as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Honestly? I'm worried the team is fracturing...that we won't recover from that shit-show. The guys are at each other's throats constantly. I'm trying to stay positive, but..."

I nod, feeling DJ's concern as if it's my own—and in some ways it is. I've had basically the exact same thought nearly every day this week.

"Has something new happened that makes you think that?" I ask.

We've just started digging into things when a knock sounds at the door. I glance over to see Tyler hovering in the doorway, his brawny frame practically filling it. His gaze darts between me and DJ, uncertainty flickering across his classically handsome face.

The tension in the room instantly ratchets up a notch.

Tyler frowns slightly, his chiseled jaw clenched tight. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were with someone," he mutters, already turning to leave.

But DJ jumps up, waving him inside with a grin that skates the line between friendly and wicked. "Don't be silly, man. I was just heading out, anyway. Besides, Doc could use a visit from her second favorite player, right?"

There's an edge to his tone that I don't have time to interpret before DJ winks at me and motions to leave, but Tyler doesn't budge from the doorway. After a charged standoff, DJ strides over to Tyler, grabs his muscular arm, and practically hauls him into the room.

I watch, transfixed, as DJ's tattooed hand lingers on Tyler's bicep a moment longer than necessary, his fingers trailing across the bulging muscle.

Tyler stiffens at the touch, his blue eyes avoiding DJ's face.

The sexual energy between them is so electric, I swear it crackles across my skin.

Finally it breaks as DJ grabs his jacket and swaggers out, shooting one last look over his shoulder that I sense deep in my gut. I realize that I've been holding my breath, and inwardly roll my eyes at myself as I take a gulp of air.

Tyler clears his throat, looking everywhere but directly at me. "Second favorite, eh? Guess I drew the short straw, eh? Always the backup..."

The ghost of the heat from their exchange still hanging in the air, I force myself to focus on Tyler, noticing how his gaze lingers on the door.

Just what exactly is going on between Tyler and DJ ?

An image of the two men together in bed, their muscular bodies slick with sweat, flashes through my mind.

A flicker of something hot unfurls low in my belly—jealousy? Curiosity?

I firmly push this line of thinking aside. Tyler is here because he needs my help to sort through his issues, not because he wants me perving on him and his teammates.

"What's on your mind, Tyler?" I ask in my most professional voice, folding my hands on the desk and giving him my full attention. Time to do my job.

That night, I sit down across a small table from Selena, gazing with longing at a sashimi platter in the hands of a passing waitress. Selena arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me, a teasing grin playing on her bold red lips.

"Food can wait. Spill," she demands. "I want to hear all about these hot hockey hunks you're spending your days with."

I roll my eyes but can't help the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Oh, they're nothing special. Just giant, muscular men with chiseled jaws and eyes you could drown in, gracefully gliding across the ice and smashing each other into the boards."

"Mmm, sounds rough," Selena purrs, propping her chin on her hand. "Any frontrunners emerging from the pack to sweep you off your feet?"

I snort. "Please. Even if it weren't wildly unprofessional, I'm not ready for that. No matter how tempting their...stick handling skills may be."

But even as the words leave my lips, my mind flashes to DJ and Tyler—their intense gazes, the crackling tension when they're in close quarters…

Selena watches me knowingly as I squirm in my seat. Damn twin intuition .

Desperate to change the subject, I ask about her latest Tinder exploits, and soon we're giggling over cringe-worthy pickup lines and debating the merits of bad boys versus geeks.

As our sushi arrives, Selena's eyes light up. "Ooh, we should plan a spa day soon! Massages, mani-pedis, the works. God knows we could both use some pampering and girl time."

"Mmph, yessh," I mumble around a mouthful of rice and fish. Swallowing, I nod enthusiastically. "I'm so in. My treat, for putting up with my moping lately."

Selena waves a dismissive hand. "Please, what are sisters for? Besides, maybe a little TLC is just what you need to get your groove back. Among other things..."

She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I groan, fighting a blush. As much as I adore my incorrigible twin, her well-meaning meddling is so not what I need right now.

Selena's phone pings and she dives for it, eyes scanning the screen.

"Potential suitor?" I tease. She winks at me saucily as her thumbs fly over the keyboard.

I prop my chin on my hand, letting the cheerful chatter of the restaurant wash over me as I gaze at my sister. This moment might be mundane, but after everything I've been through, something as simple as dinner with Selena makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

Putting down her phone, Selena takes a sip of her lychee martini and leans in across the table. "So, Syd, seriously, when are you going to get back out there and find yourself a man?"

I nearly choke on my tuna roll at her blunt question.

"Wow, way to ease into that topic," I mutter, wiping my mouth with my napkin.

"I'm just saying," she shrugs unapologetically. "It's been months since you and Paul. You can't let that douchebag ruin dating for you forever. There are plenty of great guys out there."

"Can we not talk about Paul right now? Or my love life in general?" I snap, my fingers tightening around my chopsticks.

Selena holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, touchy subject, got it. But I worry about you, sis. I don't want you to close yourself off because of how badly things ended with him."

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the surge of irritation.

Selena means well, but she has no idea how deeply I was wounded when Paul shattered my heart and my self-esteem.

Okay, maybe she doesn't know because I haven't really told her much. But still .

"I appreciate the concern," I say tightly. "But I'm doing just fine on my own. My career is taking off. I have great friends. I don't need a man to complete me."

Selena studies me over the rim of her glass, one brow arched. "If you say so. But if a hockey hottie does come along, don't shut him down just because of Paul. You deserve to be happy in a relationship again."

I stab my chopsticks into my dragon roll, my appetite fading.

Is Selena right? Am I still letting that toxic relationship taint my future, without even realizing it?

The thought unsettles me more than I care to admit.

The next day, Tomas finally shows up.

The dark circles under his bloodshot eyes match the invisible weight dragging his broad shoulders into a slump as he settles into the chair across from me. I study him, my relief at finally seeing him after the missed sessions tinged with unease.

Tomas runs a hand through his rumpled hair.

"Sydney, hey. Sorry about flaking on you before. Things have been..." He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes. "Complicated."

I lean forward, offering what I hope is an encouraging smile. "It's okay, Tomas. I'm just glad you're here now. Do you want to tell me what's been going on?"

He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is ragged at the edges.

"It's Gina. My girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, I guess. I don't know anymore."

A chill prickles my skin. I know that lost, hurting look in his eyes all too well. "What happened?"

"She's always had a temper. But lately it's gotten bad. The things she says..." He swallows hard. "That I'm pathetic. Stupid. Lucky she puts up with me. I try not to let it get to me, but..."

My chest tightens, Tomas's words hitting too close to home.

Memories of Paul's cruel taunts echo in my mind—how he'd tear me down one moment then beg for forgiveness the next until I didn't know which way was up. I take a steadying breath, focusing on Tomas. I can see the desperation in his eyes and I choose my words carefully.

"Tomas, I want you to listen to me. What Gina is doing—the yelling, the insults—that's verbal abuse. It's not okay, and it's not your fault."

He meets my gaze, his dark eyes glassy. "I know. Deep down, I know that. It's just hard..." Tomas takes a deep breath. "I need to break away from her. I can't keep letting her control me like this."

I nod, my heart aching for him. Escaping an abusive relationship is never easy. He has a long road ahead of him.

"Have you ever reached out for help before now?" I ask. "A support group, or therapy?"

Tomas runs a hand through his hair again, his expression conflicted. "I mean, I know I should have but...I don't know. I guess I've been too ashamed to admit that I'm in this situation."

I place a reassuring hand on his arm. "Tomas, there's no shame in seeking help. It takes courage to acknowledge that you need it."

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he meets my eyes. "Thanks, Sydney."

We spend the rest of the session discussing different resources he could explore in addition to his sessions with me.

By the time Tomas leaves, he looks exhausted but determined. We have a lot of work still to do—aside from going over coping strategies that don't involve alcohol, we barely touched on Tomas's substance abuse. But we made a good amount of progress in just one session.

While I pack up my things for the day, my mind wanders back to Paul and our tumultuous past together. He had been my first serious boyfriend in college—charming and charismatic at first, but slowly revealing his true colors as our relationship progressed.

It wasn't until years into the relationship that I realized how bad everything had gotten.

How he'd convinced me that I was worthless and unlovable.

My heart breaks for Tomas because I know exactly how hard it is to break free of a toxic relationship. How easy it is to convince yourself that you're the problem.

As I lock up my office and head out into the chilly evening air, I remind myself that I've done it. I've broken free from my own personal demons. I got away from Paul and have started rebuilding my life. But Selena's words echo in my mind.

"You deserve to be happy in a relationship again."

Maybe it's time to admit that I'm having trouble believing that.