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Olivia's Pov

The noise inside Phantom Ice Arena was deafening. Forty thousand fans stood on their feet, chanting, stomping, screaming, all of it vibrating through the floor and up my legs. My hands were already sweaty, gripping my medical kit even before the puck dropped. Nights like this were why I loved my job… and why I hated it.

Because out there, flying across the ice, was my son.

And right beside him was the man who would complicate my life in ways I never wanted to admit out loud.

“Ethan Carter,” the announcer’s voice boomed, “and Captain Alexander Hayes!”

The crowd erupted as the two of them took center ice. Ethan’s strides were sharp and fearless, his jaw set the way it always was before a big game. He was twenty-two, still a kid in my eyes, but already carving out his place as one of the best young players in the league.

Then there was Xander.

Alexander Hayes. Twenty-eight. Cocky. Reckless. Too damn charismatic for his own good. His smile could light up the arena, and his glare could freeze it. And I hated how my pulse always betrayed me when I looked at him too long.

The puck dropped.

Chaos exploded instantly — sticks clashing, blades carving the ice, bodies slamming against glass. Ethan and Xander moved like one, passing the puck between them with an ease that came from years of playing side by side. I should have been watching as a professional, analyzing for potential injuries. But instead, my chest swelled with pride, with terror, with something else I couldn’t afford to name.

“Shoot it!” Ethan shouted, his voice carrying across the rink.

Xander raised his stick, wound up—

Then the hit came.

A defenseman plowed into him from behind, a brutal collision that made the boards shudder. Xander’s head snapped back, his legs twisted under him, and then he was down.

The entire arena gasped in one violent sound.

I was on the ice before I even realized I’d moved, sprinting with the medical team at my heels. My kit slammed against my thigh as my skates tore across the frozen surface.

“Move!” I barked at the referees. “Clear the space!”

The players hovered, Ethan’s voice panicked as he called out: “Xander! Xander, get up!”

I dropped to my knees beside him. My hands pressed to his chest, searching for breath.

“Alexander, can you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then locking onto mine. For a second, the roar of the crowd vanished. It was just him and me, his chest rising shallow beneath my palms.

Then, with a voice low and hoarse but still smug, he whispered:

“Never thought you’d be on your knees for me, Doc.”

Heat shot through me, completely inappropriate and utterly unwanted. My throat closed, and I snapped, “This is not the time, Hayes.”

He gave the faintest smirk, wincing as pain spread across his face. “You say that like there’ll ever be a right time.”

I ignored the flush climbing my neck and glanced at my team. “Neck brace, now. Possible concussion. Get me stabilization.”

“Got it,” one medic said, crouching beside me.

I held Xander’s head steady. “Don’t move. Do you understand?”

“I hear you.” His breath hitched when I pressed down his shoulder. “Damn… feels like my leg’s on fire.”

“Probably because you’ve destroyed it,” I muttered.

“You wound me,” he whispered, smirk still clinging to his lips despite the sweat beading his forehead.

“You’ve managed that all on your own,” I shot back, tightening the brace.

Another medic leaned in. “Doc, should we stretcher him?”

“Yes. He doesn’t walk out of here.”

“Like hell I don’t,” Xander groaned, his hand twitching against mine. “You’re not carting me out like some rookie. I’ll skate off.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” My voice cracked sharp. “You’re injured, Xander. Don’t make this harder.”

His eyes found mine again, softer this time. “Relax, Doc. You’ve got me.”

I froze for half a second before forcing myself back into clinical mode. My fingers slid along his thigh, testing pressure. He hissed, biting back a curse.

“Stop touching me like that or—” he started, but another wince cut him off.

“Like what?” I snapped.

“Like you care.”

I glared at him, furious at the way my chest tightened. “Shut up and let me work.”

One of the trainers crouched closer. “Vitals holding steady, Doc. He’s lucid enough, though way too talkative.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, adjusting the straps.

Xander chuckled weakly. “What can I say? You make me chatty.”

“Chatty is fine. Suicidal isn’t.” I shot a look to my assistant. “Strap his leg tight.”

“On it.”

Xander hissed as the brace closed around his knee. “Damn, Doc, buy me dinner before you tie me up.”

“Alexander!” My cheeks burned, but I didn’t let go.

Even in pain, his grin widened. “There’s that blush I like.”

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Do you want me to sedate you?”

He smirked through the pain. “Depends. Do I get to wake up in your office?”

“Unbelievable.” I shook my head, motioning for the stretcher.

As we lifted him carefully, his hand shot out and gripped my wrist. His voice dropped, no teasing this time. “Don’t let go, Olivia.”

Something in me faltered. I swallowed hard. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The arena was still buzzing, fans chanting his name, the weight of thousands of eyes pressing down on us. My chest ached with the wrongness of all of it — his words, my reaction, the way my body betrayed me under the cold lights.

And then, like a knife cutting through the tension, I heard the one voice that could shatter me.

“Mom!”

I turned, my stomach flipping. Ethan skated hard toward us, panic etched across his face. He dropped his stick, his eyes wild.

“Mom, what happened? Is he okay? Tell me he's okay!”

I froze, trapped between my son’s terror, Xander’s burning eyes, and the truth I couldn’t let anyone see.