03 The Worst New Intern

Harper

Hunter looked worse than his three broken ribs.

When I pushed open the door to his hospital room, he was already sitting up, his left arm still strapped across his chest, his right hand clenched around his phone.

Mason stood by the window. The moment he saw me, his face took on the expression of someone plotting an escape.

I shut the door behind me.

"If you called me here to talk about that photo, I can explain."

"Cade Blackwood forced a kiss on you?"

My idiot brother was probably the only person at the entire school who could look at that picture and still believe I was the victim.

I thought back to Cade's brief return of the kiss. "Something like that."

Hunter drew in a deep breath, then winced as the movement tugged at his injuries.

I stepped forward on instinct.

"Don't move."

"I'm fine."

"You broke three ribs."

"The second I can get out of this bed, I'm going to kill that bastard."

"Hunter, I kissed him first."

He froze.

He stared at me for several seconds, as if silently begging the Moon Goddess to confirm this was just a hallucination brought on by his concussion.

Finally, he spoke.

"Did you lift so much iron that you squeezed out all your brain cells?"

"At least nobody's beaten my brain into a concussion."

Hunter braced himself against the mattress and sat up straighter. "Whatever you're planning, stop. Stay away from Cade."

"Why? Afraid I'll steal your nemesis?"

Mason let out a snort he couldn't quite hold back.

Hunter shot him a glare, and he immediately dropped his head, pretending to be deeply absorbed in his own shoelaces.

"Whatever's between me and Cade, we'll settle it ourselves," Hunter said. "I don't need you getting involved."

That was so like him.

Hunter and Cade had been at each other's throats on the ice since high school. Goals scored, starting positions, team rankings—even who landed a clean hat trick first—everything became grounds for competition.

To Hunter, Cade wasn't just some ordinary enemy. He was his enemy, and his alone.

If someone else got their revenge in first, it would wound what little Alpha pride he had left.

"Fine," I said, nodding.

Hunter eyed me with suspicion.

"You're giving in that easily?"

"Of course. I won't get involved in whatever's between the two of you," I said.

As for making Cade fall in love with me and then dumping him cruelly—

That was between me and Cade.

Strictly speaking, it didn't count as getting involved.

Hunter's tone hardened all at once. "Harper, listen to me. You need to stay far away from this."

Hunter had protected me plenty of times before, but he rarely spoke to me in a voice that came so close to a command.

I stared at him. "Why?"

He looked away.

Mason stopped fiddling with his shoelaces too, his expression clearly tense now.

They both knew something. And neither of them was going to tell me.

"Cade was there last night, yes," Hunter finally admitted. "But it's not as simple as you think."

"What isn't simple about it?"

"I can't tell you right now."

"All right." I nodded. "Since you won't tell me, I'll find out myself."

"Harper—"

"And stop blaming Mason for everything. At least he knew to call me."

Mason threw me a grateful look.

Hunter looked like he wanted to leap out of the hospital bed and toss us both out the door.

---

The next morning, I finally learned just how many ways a single photo could be interpreted.

Some people thought I'd attacked Cade in the locker room.

Others said I'd finally found my prey.

The rink was close to the dorms—normally an eight-minute walk. Today it took me fifteen, because at least twelve people stared at me along the way, and three of them hurriedly hid their phones as I passed.

When I walked into the women's hockey locker room, the lively chatter cut off for a beat.

Zoey was lacing up her skates. The instant she saw me, she held up her phone.

"Latest update."

"If it's that photo again, I've already seen it."

"Not the photo. A poll."

She turned the screen toward me. The campus gossip account had launched a survey:

Why did Harper Reed kiss Cade Blackwood?

A. She's finally lost her mind.

B. She mistook him for someone else.

C. Cade lost a bet.

D. She's planning to eat him alive.

D was winning by a landslide.

"How creative," I said, pushing the phone back.

Zoey lowered her voice. "What did Hunter say?"

"Told me to stay out of things between him and Cade."

"And you agreed?"

"Of course."

"So what about your revenge plan?"

I opened my locker.

"That's between me and Cade."

"Look, I know you're furious on Hunter's behalf. But you should at least figure out whether Cade was actually the one who hurt him."

"I'll look into it."

"While you're chasing after him?"

"One thing doesn't get in the way of the other."

Zoey studied me for a few seconds.

"Sometimes I'm genuinely impressed by how you rationalize your own rules."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment." She pressed on. "But what if you find out he's innocent?"

I paused. Hunter's words from the night before surfaced in my mind again.

It's not as simple as you think.

"If he's innocent, I'll stop," I said.

I finished gearing up and headed onto the ice with my teammates.

Coach Miller was already standing at the edge of the rink. Our captain, Brooke, was talking to her, and neither of them looked particularly relaxed.

The moment I stepped onto the ice, Brooke skated over to me.

"Coach wants to see you."

"About the photo?"

"About last week's penalty."

"I only got four minutes."

"You knocked an opposing player into the scorer's table."

"She had the puck."

"She'd already passed it off."

"The gap was less than a second."

Brooke looked at me, expressionless.

"Two seconds?" I ventured.

"If you get penalized for another unnecessary check this week, Coach is pulling you from the starting lineup. We need your strength—but we don't need you proving how far you can throw someone every single game."

She turned and skated off. I stayed where I was, gripping my stick.

They always needed my strength, and always disliked me for having it.

A whistle blew from the sideline.

"Bring it in!" Coach Miller called.

I skated toward the group. Only then did I notice someone standing beside her.

Black training gear, right shoulder held a little stiffly, a clipboard in hand.

It was Cade Blackwood.

My blade gouged a hard streak across the ice.

Why was he here?

Cade saw me too.

Those blue eyes swept across my face without lingering, as if the man I'd kissed yesterday had been someone else entirely.

Coach Miller waited for everyone to settle.

"Introductions—this is Cade Blackwood. Starting today, he's joining us as a sports medicine intern. He'll be handling daily assessments, injury logs, and recovery training."

For the next hour, Cade didn't say a single word to me on his own.

He recorded everyone's stats, checked the werewolves' regulation bands, and occasionally exchanged low words with Coach. Even though the whole team knew we'd kissed the day before, he didn't spare me so much as a glance.

That was more infuriating than being rejected in front of everyone.

When practice ended, I called out to Cade, and a low murmur immediately rippled through the team.

He'd clearly heard me, yet he didn't even lift his head. So I skated straight up to him, stopping short so hard that the spray of ice shavings scattered across the leg of his pants.

Cade only looked down and wrote something on his clipboard.

"What are you writing?" I asked.

"Preliminary risk assessment."

"And the verdict?"

He raised his head to meet my eyes again.

"Lacks self-control. Prone to impulsiveness. Requires close observation."

My fingers tightened around my stick, inch by inch. Cade's gaze dropped to my hand.

"Looks like the assessment's pretty accurate."

Good.

I'd only meant to avenge Hunter.

Now, this was about more than just Hunter.

This was personal.