The training facility looked different when you actually belonged there.
During my trial day, every corridor had felt like enemy territory—spaces I was allowed to occupy temporarily, subject to revocation at any moment. Now, with my official ID badge clipped to my lanyard and my name added to the medical team roster, the building had transformed into something else entirely.
A minefield I'd agreed to cross daily.
I arrived early, the same way I approached everything that terrified me: with aggressive preparedness and the armor of professionalism pulled tight around my shoulders.
Dr. Reeves had sent instructions to familiarize myself with the facility before morning practice. I'd read them several times, memorizing protocols I already knew, searching for hidden tests in every sentence.
You wanted this, I reminded myself as I made my way toward the rink. You chose this.
The alternative had been staying at St. Caroline's full-time. Walking the same halls as Xavier, pretending I didn't know about the wife and the pregnancy and the six months of lies.
This was better. This was distance.
The sound hit me as I pushed through the doors to the main arena. Skates carving ice, sticks cracking against pucks, bodies colliding with boards in controlled violence. The players moved like weapons, and the coaches shouted drills with the intensity of generals commanding troops.
I found a seat in the stands where I could observe without being obvious about it. The medical station wouldn't need me until after practice, so for now, my job was to watch, learn, and stay out of the way.
Then Jay skated into my peripheral vision, and clinical detachment became significantly harder to maintain.
He noticed me almost immediately—I saw the exact moment his attention shifted, the slight hitch in his stride. And then, because subtlety had never been part of his vocabulary, he started showing off.
Faster cuts than necessary, harder shots that made the goalie swear, unnecessary flourishes after goals. The kind of theatrical celebrations that would get him benched in an actual game.
Between drills, he waved at me—actually waved, like we were teenagers at a school dance.
I kept my gaze fixed on the whole rink—the center line became fascinating, the blue paint at the crease demanded my attention. I studied the Zamboni marks with the intensity of someone preparing to write a dissertation on ice resurfacing.
When Jay waved again, I examined the scoreboard.
Then practice paused for a water break and I saw him skating toward the boards, helmet tucked under his arm, that dangerous grin spreading across his face. My heart rate ticked up despite my best efforts, and I was already preparing my most dismissive expression when a cold front materialized beside me.
"You must be the new medical staff."
The voice was honey and arsenic. I turned, and for one suspended moment, the world narrowed to a single face.
No. Fucking. Way.
The Queen Bee and my main tormentor. The architect of every humiliation that had convinced me I deserved to be humiliated and “put in place”.
She stood in the aisle with the perfect posture of someone taught from childhood that she was worth looking at. Designer activewear, dark hair swept into an effortless ponytail, green eyes that had haunted my nightmares years of high school.
"Mariana Voss, PR manager." She extended her hand with practiced grace. "I like to introduce myself to all the new staff. Make sure everyone feels welcome."
I shook her hand because refusing would have been more revealing than accepting. Her entire presence radiated the casual superiority that had made my adolescence a waking nightmare. "Summer Ellis. Part-time medical team member."
Something flickered behind her eyes—a pause, a slight tilt of her head. Recognition trying to surface but failing to find purchase.
She didn't know me. Of course she didn't.
The girl she'd tormented had been invisible, forgettable, not worth remembering.
"Ellis." She tested the name like searching for something she couldn't place. "Where did you train?"
"St. Caroline's. I'm finishing my internship there while working here part-time."
"Ambitious." The word dripped with condescension dressed as admiration. "Though I imagine splitting your attention must be... overwhelming for some people."
The old familiar cruelty slithered beneath her polished surface, unchanged since high school. Different words, same poison.
Before Mariana could continue, Jay appeared at the boards below us, slightly breathless. "Summer! You made it. First official day—how does it feel?"
Mariana's attention shifted to him with territorial precision, her entire demeanor transforming into something softer, more possessive. She descended the stairs, positioning herself beside him, her hand finding his arm with casual ownership.
Oh. Oh, they're… together.
Of course they're together. Golden boy and Queen Bee. It's like a fucking fairy tale.
"Jay, darling. You're supposed to be hydrating, not socializing." Her voice dropped into something intimate. "Coach Torres was asking about your shoulder."
Jay's expression remained pleasant, but something dimmed behind his eyes.
He didn't pull away from her touch, but he didn't lean into it either—tolerance rather than welcome. "Just saying hello."
"You're always so friendly." Mariana's smile sharpened. "It's one of your best qualities."
Mariana watched him go with the satisfaction of someone who believed she'd won a contest I hadn't known we were having.
Then she turned back to me, that perfect smile still in place.
"It was lovely meeting you, Summer. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other." A pause. "Though I'd be careful about getting too friendly with the players. Professional boundaries and all that. Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about why you're really here."
She walked away before I could respond, heels clicking on the concrete with the rhythm of a countdown timer.
She hadn't introduced herself because she wanted me to feel welcome. She'd seen Jay waving at me from the ice and recognized a potential threat.
I'm not the same girl who let you break her.
And you don't even know who you're looking at.
Madison arrived mid-afternoon carrying Nathan's lunch. She spotted me immediately, her face lighting up with genuine warmth—the first uncomplicated warmth I'd felt since walking through these doors.
We found a quiet corner, settling onto a bench overlooking the secondary training area.
"So tell me everything," Madison said. "How are you managing both jobs?"
"It's part-time here, three days a week. St. Caroline's agreed to adjust my rotation."
The lie came easily. I hadn't actually asked Xavier for permission—hadn't spoken to him at all since learning about his wife. He'd left messages, called every evening, tried to corner me in the hallways.
I'd avoided every attempt with the determination of someone fleeing a burning building.
"They let you do both?" Madison's enthusiasm was genuine. "Though I imagine your mentor had concerns about splitting your focus."
"He understood." Lying to your own friend felt shitty. "The opportunity was too good to pass up."
Madison studied my face with quiet perception, but she didn't push—just squeezed my hand and moved the conversation forward.
The afternoon wound down slowly and I made my way to the medical office to review supply inventories—a small room with barely enough space to move. Functional and cramped.
I didn't hear him enter. One moment I was alone, cataloging bandage stock, the next the door clicked shut and Jay was there, taking up all the oxygen. He'd showered since practice—damp hair, clean clothes, the scent of soap and something underneath that was just him.
"Busy day?" His voice was casual, but he'd positioned himself between me and the only exit.
"Standard orientation." I stepped backward, my hip hitting the desk. "Familiarizing myself with procedures."
He moved closer, slow and deliberate, giving me time to stop him that we both knew I wouldn't take. The air thickened with something electric and dangerous.
"You've been avoiding looking at me all day." His breath was warm on my face, close enough that I could count the darker flecks in his eyes. "I was starting to think you regretted taking the job."
"I'm being professional." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Something you might try sometime."
His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there for a moment that stretched into eternity. I watched his eyes track over my lips, watched him lean in fractionally closer, watched his hand come up like he was going to touch my face—
"You're blushing, Doc."
The words unlocked something defensive and desperate inside me. The image of Mariana's hand on his arm flashed through my mind. Her possessive smile. Her honey-and-arsenic voice calling him ‘darling.’
Her fingers tightening on his bicep like she owned him.
"Maybe you should go check on your girlfriend instead of cornering the medical staff."
The words came out sharp, aimed to wound. I watched them land—saw Jay's expression flicker with surprise first, then something darker. Something that looked almost like hurt.
I didn't wait for his response, didn't wait to hear explanations I wasn't sure I wanted. I pushed past him with deliberate composure, my shoulder brushing his chest as I escaped through the door.
My footsteps echoed down the empty corridor, steady and controlled, betraying nothing of the chaos screaming through my veins.
But I could still feel it.
The almost-kiss. The moment his eyes had dropped to my mouth and stayed there. The way he'd leaned in, the heat of his body close enough to touch. The look on his face when I'd mentioned Mariana.
It burned in my chest for hours.
Because here's the brutal truth: Jay Callahan had been about to kiss me, on my first official day. And I'd wanted him to. God help me, I'd wanted it so badly I could still feel the ghost of it on my lips.
Even though he apparently had a girlfriend.
Even though that girlfriend was the girl who'd made my high school years a living hell.
Even though I was supposed to be over him, moved on, transformed into someone who didn't need his validation.
You're so screwed, Summer Ellis. So completely, utterly, devastatingly screwed.
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