Chapter 1
I have never inhaled this much testosterone in my life.
Not in a gym. Not in a boy’s locker room. Not even during that one horrifying week I sat through my cousin’s all-male wrestling camp.
But here?
Here, in the back hallways of Frostgate Arena, the air was so thick with sweaty ambition and pre-game rage, I was half-expecting someone to headbutt a vending machine just for blinking too loudly. The floor vibrated with heavy footsteps, deep grunts echoed off the walls like mating calls.
My skin tingled — not with excitement, no — but because the static in the air was genuinely making my hair stand on end. I wasn’t even sure if I was aroused, alarmed, or slowly mutating into a linebacker.
It’s not like this is the first hockey game I’ve ever attended. For sure, it is the first official one. And I lost touch with sports a long time ago—back in high school, actually. Still, I never expected such a complete exclusion of women in a sport this huge.
I get it—it’s a male ice hockey team, so I didn’t expect any women out on the rink. But not even one among the staff or anywhere? That was insane.
This is a national-level sport. One of the elitest, they said. The pride of the country. That’s what they told me when they rushed to bring me in—when the previous physiotherapist suffered a heart attack just before the season began. They said they needed the best. And apparently, that was me.
But the truth is, I don’t know a damn thing about hockey. Not the rules. Not the players. Nothing.
All I remember is sitting in the crowd years ago, his hoodie drowning my frame, paying no attention to the game—only to him. Just him....
God, what am I even thinking? I need to stop.
Angela, stop being so desperate.
All this testosterone in the air—and whatever hormones I’ve got left—are messing with my head. Snap out of it.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead, even though the temperature is in single digits. Why the hell am I sweating? Something’s clearly off with me.
But I can't afford to be off. I have to be professional. I have a job to do.
The pay for this? It’s far from ordinary. Honestly, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse—even if I never imagined I’d end up as someone’s private doctor. I always thought I’d serve in clinics like I did, maybe open one of my own someday. Heal people, not chase paychecks.
But when money talks, everyone listens.
And so did I.
I try to pull myself together as we approach the Northcrest Knights’ locker room. Ha! The dream of so many girls, I think dryly.
The room is already buzzing with energy—players halfway into their gear, voices echoing, nerves barely hidden behind cocky grins. The game’s just minutes away.
And here I am. Meeting the team for the very first time… as their new physiotherapist. On game day. Minutes before their season opener.
Wow. What perfect timing.
We enter the locker room as a faint roar of the crowd from the arena reached us.
“This is Angela Winters,” the coach announced, his voice loud, firm, and commanding. “She’ll be your physiotherapist for the season.”
At once, every head in the room turned.
It was almost synchronized—the sound of gear shifting, skates scraping slightly on the flooring, the rustle of movement. The boys who’d had their backs to me moments ago now stood or sat facing forward, attention locked on the coach… and me.
And just like that, their faces came into full view. One by one. Line after line.
Until my gaze landed on him.
Azrael.
My entire body went still.
He was seated casually between two teammates, a roll of tape in his hand, half-dressed in gear. His brow furrowed at first, like he was still processing what was happening—until his eyes found mine.
And the tape dropped from his fingers.
He froze. So did I.
For a second, neither of us blinked. Neither of us breathed.
It was him. Here. In this room. On this team.
His face hadn’t changed much since high school. Sharper, maybe. More defined. But still the same piercing eyes I’d memorized from the stands, the same presence that had once made a stadium feel like a schoolyard—small, familiar, his.
I felt my stomach twist.
I hadn’t seen him in years. Not since I swore I never would again.
But there he was.
And now?
He was looking at me like he’d just seen a ghost.
My brain couldn’t process what was happening.
He’s on the National Hockey Team?
Azrael?
How did I not know this? How could I be so unbelievably foolish—not even realizing that he had… he had achieved his dream?
My breath quickened. My chest tightened.
All this time, I thought I’d moved on. That I’d buried everything neatly in the past. But clearly, my heart didn’t get the memo.
I was spiraling when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Angela, are you okay?”
I blinked.
The coach. His brows furrowed. “I’ve called your name five times.”
Reality hit me like a slap. I straightened immediately, my face burning.
“Oh! I—I’m so sorry,” I stammered, forcing a smile. “I was just… thinking about some medical records. Just mentally running through the routine checkups I need to do once we begin. Making sure I’m ready.”
He gave me a look—half skeptical, half understanding—but nodded. “Alright. Would you like to introduce yourself to the team?”
“Yes, of course.” I turned to face the players again, this time forcing my feet to stay planted and my voice to sound steady.
“Hi everyone, I’m Angela Winters, as Coach already mentioned. I’ll be your physiotherapist for the rest of the season. I’m deeply sorry about what happened to your previous physiotherapist—it’s a terrible loss, and I understand this transition might not be easy. But I promise to give you my best, and I hope I can earn your trust and respect through the work I do.”
Polite claps followed. Some warm nods.
The guys—surprisingly—seemed genuinely welcoming. Not the cold, suspicious stares I had braced for. They offered small smiles, muttered friendly “hellos” and even shifted to make space for me in the room’s dynamic.
I hadn’t expected this warmth. I’d expected tension, distance, maybe even a little resistance. But instead, I felt… acknowledged.
Almost comfortable.
Except—I wasn’t.
Because even as I smiled and responded, even as I thanked the boys for their kindness—his gaze didn’t leave me.
Azrael.
He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t blinked.
His eyes—wide and unrelenting—were fixed on me, like he was trying to confirm that I was really here. Like I was some kind of illusion he couldn’t look away from.
And no matter how hard I tried… I couldn’t stop glancing back.
"I’m Valerian Rivera, Captain of the Northcrest Knights. You can call me Val if you like."
The voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling my attention away from Azrael.
The guy in front of me stands tall—ridiculously tall—with a tanned complexion and a smile so bright it feels like it belongs in a recruitment poster. He holds out a hand, and there’s something about the way he does it. Confident. Effortless. Like he knows exactly who he is and what kind of effect he has on people.
The aura around him is unmistakable. This guy doesn’t need to say he’s a captain—his posture already says it for him. Shoulders back, chin up, presence loud without even speaking.
And did I mention the height? He’s towering over me. No joke, the guy has to be at least 6'5"—or maybe more. I don’t even know anymore.
Honestly, the one thing I’ve hated about this place ever since I walked in? Everyone here is built like a damn tree. I used to feel good about my height. Proud, even.
But here?
Here, I feel like a dwarf.
I shook his hand firmly, offering the politest smile I could manage.
"I’m Zach."
"I’m Victor."
"Simon."
The names of the other players followed, one after the other, as they introduced themselves. Surprisingly, they were all respectful—more polite than I expected. I had braced myself for something worse, honestly. The way people had been eyeing me since morning, like I was some misplaced puzzle piece, I figured I’d be walking into cold shoulders and side-eyes.
But instead? Respect. Maybe even warmth.
"Alright, boys," the coach's voice cut through the introductions like a switch being flipped. "We can do the meet-and-greet later. She’ll be with us all season—and maybe even longer, if things go... right. If the lady here decides to stay on for future seasons, that is.
The game’s about to start in a few minutes. I want you all on the rink. Now. Let’s go."
Instantly, the attention shifted. Half the team had managed to introduce themselves, the other half hadn’t. But I got it. We’d only just met, and there would be time for pleasantries later. Right now, the game was the priority. It was what I was here for, too.
The coach turned on his heel and left the room.
"Let’s go, boys! We’ve got this!" Valerian’s voice rang out as he took charge like second nature.
The team responded in a loud, unified roar of "YES!" before they rushed out behind him.
I waited a moment, letting them all file out first.
And then, it hit me—I was the last one left in the room.
Except I wasn’t entirely alone.
Azrael was still there.
And the last thing I wanted right now… was to talk to him.
But fate clearly had a twisted sense of humor.
The room felt too quiet, like the silence itself had teeth. I could hear the faint pounding of blood in my ears. The others were gone, but I hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. My back was stiff, shoulders drawn tight with everything I refused to feel.
Azrael still hadn’t said a word.
But I could feel him watching me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him stand—slowly, with that same commanding stillness he used to have. The one that always made me come undone. His footsteps were quiet, deliberate. The kind that echo even without sound.
And when I finally looked up—
His eyes were the same.
But not the same.
There was anger in them. Bitterness, unresolved. But beneath it—buried just deep enough to make me question my sanity—was that look. That look. The one he used to give me right before he kissed me like the world was ending. The look that used to melt every inch of me. The one that made me scream his name into the dark like I was falling apart just to be made whole again.
And for a moment, just one reckless heartbeat, I swore I saw it return.
His gaze flicked to my mouth.
Mine to his.
The air stretched tight between us, charged like lightning building without a strike. My breath hitched. His jaw clenched. My fists curled at my sides because every part of me wanted to slap him—or grab him by the collar and pull his mouth to mine.
Even after everything.
Even after the way we ended.
Even after the wreckage and the silence and the grief.
I hated that I could still feel this.
And gods, I hated him more for still being able to ignite it in me.
I wanted to kiss him.
Hard.
Like we were still made of fire and fury.
Not that I ever would. Not even if I was dying.
He opened his mouth—finally, about to speak.
But before a single word could be said—
“Azrael! Five minutes, dude—let’s go!”
Valerian’s voice sliced through the air like a blade, crashing the moment into shards.
“You skipping the match or planning a dramatic entrance?”
Azrael didn’t even flinch. His eyes lingered on me for a second longer, then that cool, unreadable mask slid back into place.
He turned and walked out the door without a word.
And only then—only then—did I realize I’d been holding my breath.
I exhaled hard, my lungs burning. My skin flushed with heat, as if I’d stood too close to a flame and barely survived it. My pulse was chaotic, my body confused. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t hate. It was something far worse.
Desire wrapped in history.
A craving I would never admit.
Not to him.
Not even to myself.
