Broken play, p.2
Broken Play, page 2
She’s too small. Too soft. Too breakable.
And yet—
Two minutes ago, I watched her step onto the ice like she owned the place and shut down Atlas Ward mid-fight.
Atlas Ward.
A man who once broke another player’s nose during warm-up because the guy looked at him wrong.
She told him to sit.
He sat.
I’m still trying to understand it.
Wren walks beside me toward the corner of the locker room where Atlas sits, shoulders slumped, head tipped back against the brick wall. He looks... lost. Empty.
I tense.
Atlas’s blank-eyed moods are dangerous. Unpredictable. And the only person in this building who might be able to snap him out of it is now walking straight into the line of fire.
“Atlas?” she says gently.
His eyes lift—stormy, chaotic—and lock onto her.
Something changes in them. Sharpens. Focuses.
I step closer.
He drags in a breath. “He grabbed my stick.”
“That’s why you tried to break his face?” she asks.
“He grabbed my stick,” Atlas repeats, as if that explains everything.
Wren kneels in front of him, gloved hands resting lightly on her thighs. “Let me see.”
He hesitates. Then slowly—too slowly—extends his hand.
She inspects the splits in his knuckles, cleaning the blood with calm precision. Atlas watches her like she’s an animal he doesn’t understand—beautiful, dangerous, unpredictable.
“You hit hard,” she murmurs.
He huffs a laugh. “Yep.”
“And make terrible decisions.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Yep.”
“And think your pain tolerance means you don’t have to take care of yourself.”
Atlas’s lips twitch. “You’re bossy.”
“You need bossy.”
I swear his pupils dilate.
She finishes wrapping his hand, then stands—and he stands too, towering over her.
Too close.
I feel it in my jaw.
Wren steps back and turns toward me. “He’s fine. But if he fights like that before Friday’s game, he won’t be.”
Atlas’s gaze drops to her hips. “I fight how I fight.”
“And I treat what you break,” she fires back.
He grins, slow and dangerous. “That what you’re into? Fixing broken things?”
Before I can intervene, Wren narrows her eyes. “Only if they’re worth fixing.”
Atlas’s nostrils flare.
He’s never been handled like this.
Hell, neither have I.
She starts to walk away, but I catch her wrist—gently, carefully, like she’s made of glass I shouldn’t touch.
“Good work,” I say quietly.
Her eyes meet mine.
Electric.
“That brawl could’ve gone bad,” I add. “You diffused it.”
Her voice softens. “It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that.”
She inhales sharply.
Shit.
I let too much slip.
I release her hand.
She steps back, breathing unevenly.
Finn calls out behind us, “Cap, you’re scaring her.”
Wren turns. “He’s not.”
Finn smirks. Atlas watches her like he’s starving.
And I...
I watch all three of us like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t.
Something dangerous.
Something inevitable.
Chapter 4: Wren
The rest of practice passes in a blur of bodies and bruises and men who don’t seem to care about their own safety.
By the time the last whistle blows, I’m exhausted.
The team filters out—some nodding at me, some pretending not to stare, some giving me wary looks like they’re not sure if I’m salvation or trouble.
Maybe both.
I start cleaning up equipment when a shadow falls across the table.
Finn.
Hair damp. Shirt hanging off one shoulder. Grin soft and earnest.
“You survived your first day,” he says.
“Barely.”
“You’ll get used to us.”
“Will I?” I ask.
He leans in slightly. “I hope so.”
Before I can respond, Atlas passes behind him, grabbing his bag. “Stop flirting. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Finn scowls. “You jealous, big man?”
Atlas doesn’t answer. He glances at me instead—one quick, searing look—then turns away.
“You’re all ridiculous,” I mutter.
Finn chuckles. “You like ridiculous.”
I don’t deny it.
Because I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll admit something I’m not ready to say.
Kael appears near the doorway, watching the two of us with that unreadable gaze.
“Meeting,” he says to Finn. “Now.”
Finn sighs, throws me one last smile, and jogs after him.
Atlas lingers a moment longer. He looks at me—really looks—like he’s trying to figure out what the hell I am.
Then he leaves too.
The room falls silent.
I exhale, pressing my hands to my face.
These men...
This team...
I came here to rebuild my career.
I didn’t expect to feel pulled—by three different gravity fields, each dangerous in its own way.
I didn’t expect heat.
Or tension.
Or the way my body reacts when any of them look at me like I’m a secret they aren’t supposed to want.
But they do.
God help me, they do.
And I don’t know how long I can pretend I don’t feel it too.
Chapter 5: Atlas
She’s still in my head.
The new girl.
The too-small, too-soft, too-not-built-for-this-life girl.
Wren Harper.
I try to shake it off as I shove my gear into my bag, but the image won’t go away—her kneeling in front of me, wrapping my hand with those small gloved fingers, talking to me like I’m not a monster. Like I’m something human. Something worth fixing.
No one talks to me like that.
No one touches me like that.
And nobody—nobody—looks at me the way she did right before she told me off.
I can still feel it.
The way she stood her ground.
The heat in her eyes.
The way her pulse kicked in her throat when I stepped closer.
Most people flinch when I’m near.
She didn’t.
She fucking leaned in.
I should stay away.
She’s staff.
She’s trouble.
She’s everything I can’t have.
But when she walked out earlier—hoodie slung over her arm, cheeks flushed, breath uneven—my feet almost followed her out of instinct.
Almost.
Finn noticed.
He watches her like he’s already planning the first date.
Kael noticed.
He watches her like he’s already planning the funeral of the man who hurts her.
I notice.
I watch her like I’m trying not to tear the world apart to get another taste of the way she looks at me.
I sling my bag over my shoulder. I need to get the hell out of here.
But then I hear her voice.
Soft.
Close.
In the hallway.
Something in my chest pulls.
I should keep walking.
I don’t.
I round the corner and there she is—tugging that oversized Reapers hoodie over her head, hair getting mussed in the process. She huffs out a frustrated breath, trying to smooth it down.
Cute.
Too cute.
She looks up and stops. “Oh.”
That’s it.
Just "oh."
Like she didn’t just short-circuit my entire central nervous system earlier.
I swallow the growl trying to crawl up my throat.
“You heading out?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
She nods, hugging her arms around herself. She looks small in that hoodie. My hoodie, technically—it’s got Kael’s initial embroidered on it, but all our warm-up gear lives in the same damn bin. Doesn’t matter.
It looks better on her anyway.
“You cold?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Wren blinks. “What?”
“Your hands.”
I lift my chin at them.
Her fingers are tucked into the sleeves, knuckles pink from the ice.
“Oh.” She laughs awkwardly. “I’m fine.”
She’s not.
And I hate that I noticed.
I hate even more that I care.
I take a step closer.
“You shouldn’t walk out alone.”
She raises a brow. “Are you offering to escort me to my car?”
I narrow my eyes. “No. I’m telling you it’s not safe.”
“Atlas, this is Boston, not a war zone.”
“Same thing.”
She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
She goes to step around me.
I move without thinking.
My hand comes up.
Not touching her.
Just blocking her path.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
Fuck.
I drop my hand instantly, jaw clenched. “Just... text someone when you get home.”
She hesitates, then says quietly, “Who?”
It’s innocent.
Too innocent.
Before I can answer, Finn’s voice cuts through the hall.
“There you are! Jesus, I thought you left. Can I walk you out?”
Wren turns, relief blooming across her face. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Of course he'd show up.
Finn grins at her like he didn’t just throw gasoline on whatever this is.
“Night, Atlas,” Wren says, stepping past me.
Something sharp twists in my gut.
Not jealousy.
Possession.
I don’t want her walking with him.
I don’t want her walking alone.
I don’t want her walking away from me at all.
But she does.
And Finn shoots me a look over his shoulder.
Not smug.
Not antagonistic.
Curious.
Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
I do nothing.
For now.
But as Wren steps out into the cold Boston night, Kael’s hoodie drowning her frame and Finn holding the door, one thought hits me dead center:
I’m in trouble.
Because Wren Harper walked into our lives today...
And I already know I’m not letting her walk back out.
Chapter 6: Finn
Wren walks beside me with her hands shoved inside the sleeves of Kael’s hoodie, and I swear to God my heart does a stupid little flip.
Not because she’s wearing another man’s initials.
Not because she looks adorable drowning in fabric twice her size.
And definitely not because I’m imagining what she’d look like wearing one of my warmups instead.
Nope.
I am a professional athlete.
I have discipline.
Self-control.
...sometimes.
“You don’t have to walk me out,” she says as I push the door open for her.
“I know,” I tell her. “I’m doing it anyway.”
Cold night air rushes in—harbor wind carrying the sharp bite of winter and the distant honk of traffic. Her hair lifts with the breeze, brushing my forearm.
She shivers.
“You sure you’re warm enough?” I ask.
Her mouth twists. “Do you rehearse these lines, or—?”
“Nope.” I grin. “All-natural charm.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. Not the polite kind.
The soft kind.
It hits me right in the chest.
We start across the parking lot, our steps echoing on cracked pavement. She stays close—not touching, but close enough that I feel her warmth through the cold.
For a moment, it’s quiet.
Then she asks, “Is Atlas okay? Earlier, he seemed...”
“Like Atlas?” I finish.
She gives me a look.
I sigh. “He’s complicated.”
“They all are.”
She says it under her breath, more to herself than to me, and my stomach does something weird.
She noticed us.
She sees us.
Not just the jerseys and the stats and the bullshit bravado.
She sees the fractures.
“Kael respects you,” I say suddenly.
She blinks. “What?”
“Back there? When he grabbed your wrist?” I shrug. “He doesn’t touch people. Like, ever. So for him to do that? And then back off when you looked at him? That’s him respecting you.”
Wren pauses beside a parked car, leaning against the cold metal. “It didn’t feel like respect. It felt like...”
“Intensity?” I offer, stepping closer.
Her eyes lift to mine.
Yeah.
Intensity.
“It’s not just him,” she whispers.
My chest tightens.
I lean one hand on the car beside her head, close enough to feel her breath but not close enough to scare her.
“Tell me what it felt like,” I say softly.
She swallows, eyes flicking over my face. “Like the three of you... shifted. Around me.”
“You did that,” I murmur. “You walked in and flipped the whole room upside down.”
She breathes out a shaky laugh. “Great. Just what I wanted to do on my first day.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I wet my lips. “Wren... I don’t think you know what you do to us.”
Her breath catches.
Fuck.
Too much.
Too fast.
Before I can make an even bigger idiot out of myself, she reaches out and touches the sleeve of my jacket—just a brush, quick, gentle.
It shuts me up instantly.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For walking me out.”
My throat goes tight. “Anytime.”
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She checks it.
“Uber’s almost here,” she says.
I frown. “You don’t drive?”
“Long story.”
“Then I’m giving you rides from now on.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s not—”
“I’m not asking.”
I step back just enough to swallow the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Text me when you’re home. I mean it.”
She hesitates.
Then nods.
Her Uber pulls up. She opens the door, then turns back, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Goodnight, Finn.”
I grin like a fool. “Night, Harper.”
She disappears into the car.
I stand there until the taillights fade.
And then—
A rough voice behind me: “You’re falling.”
I jump, spinning around. Atlas stands in the shadows near the building, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes dark.
“How long were you standing there?” I hiss.
“Long enough.”
“Eavesdropping is rude.”
Atlas shrugs. “So is drooling.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
I scowl. “You jealous?”
His jaw ticks. “You?”
I don’t answer.
Because, yeah.
I am.
He doesn’t answer either.
Because, yeah.
He is too.
A silence settles between us—not hostile, just... tight. Loaded.
“We’re in trouble,” I mutter.
Atlas huffs a humorless laugh. “No shit.”
I glance once more at the empty street.
Wren Harper is going to destroy us.
And God help me, I can’t wait.
Chapter 7: Wren
The Uber pulls away from the arena, and for the first time since I walked into the Boston Reapers’ locker room, I’m alone.
No crashing bodies
No shouting players
No dangerous, unreadable looks from Kael
No flirtatious smiles from Finn
No burning, silent intensity from Atlas
Just the hum of the car heater and the city lights smearing across the windows.
My hands shake in my lap.
I keep them tucked under the sleeves of Kael’s hoodie—not because of the cold, but because the lingering heat from Atlas’s proximity and Finn’s softness and Kael’s intensity still hasn’t left my skin.
I shouldn’t feel like this after one day.
But something about those men feels like... gravity.
Pulling me in three different directions.
At once.
Stronger every time I try to breathe.
The car rolls to a stop in front of my apartment building—a narrow, old brick structure wedged between a laundromat and a bakery that opens at 4 a.m. The windows glow faintly with warm light. A comfort I desperately need.
“Have a good night,” the driver says.
“You too,” I murmur.
I climb the steps two at a time and unlock the front door, breathing in the familiar scent of old wood and vanilla plug-ins I bought in bulk. Inside, the hallway is quiet. My boots echo lightly on the floor as I approach my door.
Apartment 3B.
Home.
Safe.
A place where the past can’t reach me and the present hasn’t fully caught up.
I unlock the door.
Step inside.
Lock it again—out of habit, not fear.
My apartment is small but warm—soft lighting, thrifted furniture, a stack of medical textbooks on the counter, and a skating poster I keep telling myself to take down but can never quite bring myself to.
