Chapter 4 Off-Limits Behind Closed Doors

~Ava's POV~

"Sit down before you fall down, Reed. Because right now, you look like you got hit by a truck."

Dominic's voice was flat, almost bored, but I could see the tightness in his shoulders that gave him away as he closed his office door behind the three of us. Liam dropped into the chair close to the desk without a word, still holding his jaw where it had connected with the glass, glaring at the floor like it had personally wronged him.

I stayed standing by the door, arms crossed, waiting to see which version of Dominic was about to show up.

"You want to tell me what that was out there?" Dominic asked, looking at Liam now, voice climbing just slightly.

"I was running the drill, Coach."

"You were running your mouth before the whistle even blew, and then you tried to put a walk-on through the boards to make a point. That's not a drill, Reed, that's a tantrum with a stick in your hand."

Liam's head snapped up. "She put me into the glass."

"Because you gave her the chance to. You telegraphed that hit from center ice. Any first-year with decent vision would've seen it coming." Dominic's tone hadn't risen much, but there was something underneath it now, something sharper. "You're the captain of this team. Act like it. Next time you want to send a message, send it with your stick, not your shoulder. Are we clear?"

Liam's jaw worked for a second like he wanted to argue, but instead, he swallowed it down. "Crystal."

"Get some ice on that face. We're done here."

Liam pushed himself up out of the chair, and on his way past me toward the door, his eyes flicked over, unreadable, somewhere between annoyed and something else I couldn't name. He didn't say anything. He just left, and the door clicked shut behind him.

For one second, the office was completely silent.

Then Dominic turned around, and every trace of the calm, controlled coach vanished off his face like someone had wiped it clean.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Ava." He crossed the room in three long strides, close enough that I had to tip my head back to keep looking at him, close enough that my back pressed against the edge of his desk before I even realized I'd been backing up. "You let a two-hundred-and-ten-pound defenseman line you up for a full-contact hit on your first day. Do you understand what could have happened if you'd read that wrong?"

"But I didn't read it wrong."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point exactly, Dominic?" I shot back, pushing off the desk so I was standing straight again, refusing to let him loom over me like that. "Because from where I'm standing, I just proved I belong on this ice, and you're standing here yelling at me like I did something wrong."

"You could have gotten seriously hurt."

"And why did that matter to you? I've been getting hurt since I was seven years old! You think this is the first time some boy twice my size has tried to put me through the boards? I've broken two fingers, torn a ligament in my ankle, and cracked a rib, all before I turned sixteen. I know exactly what this sport costs, so don't stand there and act like I don't understand the risk."

Something flickered in his face, something that looked almost like it hurt him to hear, but his jaw stayed locked tight.

"This is D1 men's hockey, Ava. It's not the same as some pond league or juniors. These guys are well trained, bigger, faster, meaner, and most of them would rather hurt you than lose to you."

"Good. Then they'll actually have to try." I took a step closer, close enough that I could see the storm still moving behind his grey eyes. "I have fifteen years in this sport, Dominic. Fifteen years of my mom working doubles at that diner so I could afford ice time, fifteen years of scouts watching my name, and I am not giving that up because my new stepbrother got promoted to head coach and decided he needed to protect me."

"It's not about being your stepbrother right now."

"Then what is it about?"

He didn't answer right away. He just stared at me, and for a second the anger in his face cracked just slightly, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like fear dressed up as fury. It made my chest tighten in a way I didn't have time to think about.

"Fine," he said finally, voice lower now, rougher. "You want a fair shot. You'll get one. But there are conditions."

"I'm listening."

"Nobody finds out we live together. Nobody finds out we're related. Not one person on this team, not one person in this athletic department. If it gets out that the head coach's stepsister is on his roster, they will crucify both of us. You'll be labeled a nepotism case even if you outscore every guy on this ice, and I'll lose my job before the season even starts."

"Fine. What else?"

"Zero favoritism. On the ice, I am your coach and nothing else. I will not go easy on you, I will not protect you from hard drills, and if you can't keep up physically, you're cut like anybody else would be. No exceptions."

"Fine."

"And professional distance. Always. At the rink, in front of the team, you don't know me beyond Coach Carter. Whatever this is…" he gestured vaguely between us, like even though he didn't have a name for it, "...stays completely separate from that ice."

I held his gaze, feeling my heartbeat pick up in a way that had nothing to do with the drill I'd just survived. "Deal."

"Say it back to me. All three."

"Total secrecy. Zero favoritism. Professional distance." I lifted my chin. "Are we done, Coach?"

Something shifted in his expression, just barely, the ghost of the man who'd been standing over black coffee in our kitchen that morning peeking through the mask for half a second before he buried it again.

"We're done," he said. "Go get changed. Roster goes up in an hour."

---

The hallway outside the locker room felt colder than the ice had, and I stood there with the rest of the guys, all of us crowded around the corkboard where Dominic had just pinned a single sheet of paper.

Nobody moved for a second. Then somebody up front called out a name, and the crowd surged forward, elbows and shoulders pushing to get a look, guys either grinning or cursing under their breath depending on what they found.

I hung back until the crowd thinned enough for me to get close, my heart beating so fast that I could barely breathe.

I found my name near the top of the sheet, and for one dizzying second I couldn't process what I was actually reading.

#21 Ava Hale, Right Wing First Line.

I read it again, just to be sure I wasn't imagining it, and then I saw the name printed directly beside mine on that very same line, and every ounce of air left my lungs at once.

#7 Liam Reed, Center.

He'd put me on the first line. Right next to Liam. The two of us, skating together, every single shift, every single game, for the rest of the season.

My stomach dropped immediately, and behind me, I heard Liam's voice go dead quiet as he read the exact same sheet over my shoulder.

"No," he said, low, disbelieving. "No way in hell."