My Alpha Hockey Captain Denied Our Bond—Then Lost the Only Girl Who Could Touch Him

At six the next morning, Blackridge’s sports medicine room smelled like disinfectant, coffee, and bad decisions.

Jace arrived three minutes late.

I knew because I was watching the clock.

He came through the double doors in gray sweatpants and a black training shirt, his left arm held close to his ribs. The bruising had spread overnight. Even through the shirt, I could see how carefully he moved.

He looked around the room.

“Where’s Lauren?”

“Not here.”

His attention landed on me.

I held up his chart.

“She set the protocol. I run the morning session. Shirt off. Face down.”

Jace stayed by the door.

“I just need tape.”

“No.”

“I have a lift at seven.”

“You have a rehab appointment at six.”

His eyes narrowed.

I pointed to the table.

“If you skip the session, I document it. Lauren sees the note. Coach sees the note. Then they decide whether you dress Friday.”

“You enjoy this way too much.”

“I enjoy being right.”

That almost made him smile.

Almost.

He caught the hem of his shirt with his good hand and pulled it over his head. The movement dragged across his injured side, and he sucked in a breath.

The bruise along his collarbone was ugly. Purple and blue, with a swollen ridge over the AC joint.

I pointed again.

“Table.”

He climbed up and lay on his stomach.

“Pain level?”

“Three.”

I set the clipboard down.

“Try again.”

“Three.”

I pressed one thumb into the tight muscle beside his shoulder blade.

His entire body locked.

A hiss escaped him.

His right hand grabbed the edge of the table.

“Six?” I asked.

He turned his head enough to glare at me.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I needed an honest answer.”

“You could ask like a normal person.”

“I did.”

He muttered something I chose not to hear.

I worked along the muscle carefully, checking where the tension started and where it referred pain into the joint. Jace had torn through rehab too quickly the year before. The joint itself had healed. The support around it had not.

“You rushed this last season,” I said.

“I played the tournament.”

“You won the tournament and kept a weak shoulder.”

“We still won.”

“And now one clean hit put you on the ice.”

He started to push himself up.

I put a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Stay down.”

“Don’t order me around.”

“Lauren’s restriction stands. No contact drills. No upper-body lifting. If you ignore it, I write it down.”

Jace went still beneath my palm.

Not because he had decided to cooperate.

Because I was touching him.

The change was immediate.

The tension in his back eased. His breathing slowed. A quiet rumble vibrated through his chest, more content than threatening.

Then came the scent.

Pine. Frost. Clean winter air.

His wolf settled under my hands as if it had been waiting all night for me to show up.

My own wolf answered with a warm, embarrassing pull low in my chest.

I ignored both of them.

“Relax your right shoulder too,” I said.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re gripping the table like you want to tear it off the floor.”

He loosened his hand.

“Better?”

“Marginally.”

The clinic door opened.

“There you are.”

Madison Vale walked in carrying two iced coffees.

Of course she did.

At six-thirty in the morning, her blonde hair was smooth, her sweater probably cost more than my monthly food budget, and she looked as if she had been awake for hours preparing to be photographed.

She did not ask whether she could enter the treatment area.

She walked straight to Jace’s table.

His muscles tightened under my hands.

Madison set one coffee on the rolling tray, directly over the corner of his chart.

“You left your phone in my car.”

She held it up.

Jace lifted his head.

“Thanks.”

“Your mother moved dinner to seven. She wants us at the estate early because the alumni gala list still isn’t final.”

Us.

Not you.

Us.

Madison picked up Jace’s discarded shirt and folded it over one arm without hesitation. Then she touched his good shoulder with the casual familiarity of someone who had done it a thousand times.

I took my hands off him.

Jace’s scent sharpened at once.

His wolf noticed the loss.

He did too.

He glanced at me.

I stepped back and reached for the chart.

Something in me settled as I watched Madison stand beside him.

She was not a random girl I needed to compete with.

She was part of a plan.

She knew his schedule. Had his phone. Ate dinner with his parents. Helped his mother organize pack events. She fit into the Callahan future like a piece of furniture chosen years ago.

I had no interest in fighting her for the privilege of joining that house.

Especially not for a boy who had denied me in front of the entire school less than twenty-four hours ago.

I finished the note, tore off the printed schedule, and held it toward Jace.

“Six every morning. Five every afternoon.”

He sat up slowly.

“Every day?”

“Unless Lauren changes it.”

Madison looked between us.

I kept my voice calm.

“And so we are clear: in this room, you are an athlete. I am a student trainer working under Lauren’s plan. That is the only relationship we have.”

Jace reached for the paper.

His fingers brushed mine.

A jolt went straight up my arm.

The bond tightened.

I let go.

He did not.

His hand closed over the edge of the sheet, keeping it between us.

“And outside this room?” he asked.

Madison stopped moving.

So did I.

Jace’s eyes stayed on mine.

The question was quiet.

The room was not.

His wolf was listening.

Madison was listening.

And for one reckless second, I wanted to know what answer he thought he had earned.

Then I pulled the schedule out of his hand.

“Outside this room,” I said, “you’re the guy who said there was no bond.”

I set the paper on his knee.

“Start with living up to your own announcement.”