LOGINWhen her hockey star husband demands an open marriage with another team manager and then fires and publicly humiliates her, pregnant Helena Callahan loses her job, home, and unborn child in one brutal night. Waking in the hospital, she finds her estranged first love and former neighbor, bad-boy enforcer Jarrett Brooks, at her bedside. He offers her a position as his team’s new manager and insists she also become his girlfriend. Still haunted by how he once shattered her heart and the tragedy that followed, Helena wants revenge, not romance. But saying no isn’t an option.
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My jaw should have snapped shut by now. But it didn’t. “A–Are you certain?” I whispered, voice cracking as my fingers trembled around the pregnancy test. Three years. Three years of sterile rooms, hormone shots, and silent nights crying in the shower while Brent grew more distant. Three years of hoping a baby might pull us back together. The doctor nodded, her eyes warm. “Positive, Ms. Vale. Congratulations.” A raw, disbelieving laugh tore from my throat, quickly dissolving into hot tears that streamed down my cheeks. I pressed my free hand to my stomach—still flat, still miraculous. There’s a life in here and it was ours. Joy crashed over me, bright and desperate, so fierce it hurt. Brent would lose his mind. He’d scoop me up and spin me around like he used to, back when his eyes still lit up at the sight of me. But the joy curdled almost instantly. He hadn’t looked at me that way in months. No kisses before practice. No random “I miss you” calls. No reaching for me in bed. I missed him so badly it ached, even as doubt whispered that maybe he didn’t miss me at all. I shrugged it off just as I hissed out in pain. Turning my wrists and inspecting it. The scar on my wrist ignited. My heart thrummed loudly in my ears. Brows raised in fright and confusion. A vicious burn sliced through the old bite mark, forcing a hiss from my lips. The pale ridge hadn’t hurt like this since the night wolves tore my family apart—monsters that left me orphaned and broken. Lately, the scar had been acting strangely. Burning and tingling. Sometimes it felt almost alive beneath my skin but I told myself it was stress. Nothing more. I rubbed at the mark to soothe it but my mind was somewhere else. Worry coursed through my veins. My hand rested on my stomach. What if this baby carried something of that nightmare? What if the pregnancy was awakening the consequences of that night? I shoved the fear down. My therapists had told me I had hallucinated that night and that my parents had died in a crash but I knew wolves were real. The mark on my wrist was proof enough. I refused to give in to my dark thoughts. Today was the day everything was going to come together for me and the team. I had already asked Victor days ago to quietly watch certain accounts because sponsorship money had felt off for weeks. My instincts, sharper lately, had been screaming that something was coming and they were always right. I needed Brent now more than ever, especially with this news. I grabbed my phone off of the desk but my hands shook as I typed: [Hey. Are you busy? Call me when you’re out of practice. Please. I need you.] Hope flared in my chest as typing bubbles appeared but my chest tightened when they vanished. His status flipped offline. Again. Pain twisted sharp in my chest. As majority owner and CEO of the Bullhorns, I had poured everything into this team—my legacy, my fight to build something strong after losing my parents eight years ago and tonight’s closed Sponsor & Investor Preview Event was critical. I’d invited major backers to watch a private practice session and mingle with the players before tomorrow’s huge home game. Everything had to be perfect. Brent knew it—he was supposed to be on the ice right now, not anywhere near the event hall until it was time to play. I sighed exhaustively, pocketing my phone in my pocket. It was obvious Brent was busy. A nurse came to my room with the paperwork and with a determined scrawl, scheduled the scans. I only had to wait for a few hours more to tell brent the amazing news. A smile ignited on my face when I realized, it would be a double celebration. Him winning the tournament and finding out he was going to be a father. But as I drove straight to the arena an unease knotted tightly in my gut. The scar still throbbed and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt wrong. My phone rang as I pulled into the private lot. One glance and I frowned. “Helena, where are you?” He sounded breathless. I grabbed the phone and the test result together. “Pulling up now. I told you I was coming early to check on the event. What’s going on?” I tried to even my voice but my heart was already racing. “You need to see this. The setup—it’s all wrong. Documents with Brent’s signature—” “I’m inside,” I snapped, storming through the side entrance, heart hammering with fury and dread. “Meet me in the main hall.” The moment I stepped into the glittering space, my stomach plummeted. Wrong banners. Corporate sponsors replaced by unfamiliar, watchful faces. The seating chart gutted. Victor rushed over. I grabbed his sleeve and yanked him aside, voice low and shaking. “Where the hell is Vanessa? I left her handling logistics.” “She’s… not responding.” He looked miserable. “Helena, there’s more. Financial documents are missing and the ones present have Brent’s name over it.” I was taken aback. Why would Brent’s name be on financial records? My pulse raced and tipped my chin, refusing to show weakness in front of my team manager. “Start a full audit tonight,” I ordered, forcing steel into my voice even as tears stung my eyes. “Pull security footage quietly. Log every stranger here. This event continues on my terms. When Brent hits the ice, we can have a closed door meeting,” Immediately I noticed victor’s eye dart nervously towards the stairs. Something inside my chest tightened. I didn’t wait for Victor to say anymore. I walked away. Pain clawed around my heart at Brent’s lack of respect for me. He wasn’t even bothering to hide it anymore. He’d break rules, skip hockey press tours or just come back earlier than necessary without telling me. And now he was appearing on financial records? I pushed through the growing crowd anyway, nodding stiffly at the few loyal sponsors still present, my mind reeling. How long has this been happening? How blind have I been? Halfway across the room my dress snagged. I spun—and the world tilted violently. A wild scent hit me first: pine, moonlight, and raw danger. My scar exploded with heat, fire racing up my arm and into my chest. My pulse stuttered. Something deep inside me pulled hard—instinctive, terrifying, like a part of me I’d buried for years was suddenly waking up and reaching toward a force... And that’s when I saw him. “No…” I whispered. “Helena,” his voice sounded urgent and alive. His emerald tailored suit matched his deep green eyes. The boy who once promised me forever, now a grown man. His hand reached out for me and the wrist with the scar burned. I flinched, moving back violently with my hand protecting my stomach. The room had grown cold and Whispers rippled. I couldn’t speak. I backed away, my throat closed and my breathing erratic. “You’re not real,” I breathed, voice breaking as I fled upstairs, chest heaving, tears blurring everything. Jarrett brooks was dead. I was told, six months ago that he had died! I tried to draw in air into my lungs but it became a nightmare. I needed answers. Everything was happening too fast. I needed my husband. Brent was supposed to be preparing for tomorrow’s game and if he was anywhere in the building, he’d be in the owner’s suite. I shoved open the door to the owner’s suite and the floor vanished beneath me. Brent’s wedding ring glinted on the nightstand. Vanessa bent over the desk, skirt around her waist, moaning as Brent thrust into her from behind. My breath caught and pain unimaginable ripped through me, raw and vicious. Brent must have heard my strangled gasp because he stopped and turned towards me and three years of marriage flashed before my eyes as he barely paused before stepping away from Vanessa and zipping up. A fresh hickey marked his neck. Vanessa straightened with infuriating calm, looking at me like I was the intruder in my own life. My vision tunneled. My hands had grown moist, the pregnancy test was still in my hand. “You’re home,” he said, unremorseful as he walked to the other side of the desk, grabbed a thick envelope from the side table and tossed it down. “Think of it, like an open marriage,” he smiled gesturing to the document just as Vanessa touched his arm possessively. I looked at the man I had once loved more than anything and felt the last pieces of my heart shatter My vision, blurry landed on the words— CONDITIONS FOR NON-DISCLOSURE AND DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE “Don’t be difficult,” Brent suddenly warned and my palms turned to fists. Suddenly, Vanessa and Brent shared a look. A glint of misunderstanding passed through their eyes. “And there’s something else you should know,” Brent announced. Vanessa smiled. My fingers tightened around the pregnancy test. Whatever they thought was about to happen next, they were wrong.Jarrett's pov I woke up to her ring on my chest.Not Helena. Just the ring. She must have taken it off in the night and set it on my sternum, like she was marking territory.That was very Helena.I could smell coffee and pine and her shampoo on the pillow next to me. The lake outside was that cold, blue morning color that made you want to stay in bed. Or, in my case, get up before she did something crazy like propose back with a Zamboni.She was on the porch in my hoodie, knees tucked up, mug in both hands, watching the fog lift off the water. She turned when she heard the screen door, and her smile hit differently then. Not just soft. Settled."Morning, husband-to-be," she said."Morning, owner." I sat down and stole her coffee. "Did you sleep?""No. I kept waiting to wake up from it. Kept thinking I'd imagined you kneeling on that dock.""You didn't imagine the knee pain, I can promise you that." I winced. "I'm gonna need ice and an apology from this house."She laughed and then di
Jarrett's pov The lake doesn't give a damn who we are.That's why I love it.Three weeks ago I couldn't hear myself think. Sirens, confetti cannons, Helena on my shoulders in the middle of downtown with ten thousand people chanting her name, then mine, then ours. RI-OT. HE-LE-NA. The parade float ran out of champagne twice. The Commissioner shook my hand like he hadn't tried to fine me into retirement last season.And now? Now it's just water lapping against the dock, pine trees breathing in the wind, and Helena barefoot in the kitchen of a house that doesn't have a single TV in it. On purpose.We told everyone we were going off-grid for "recovery." No press. No league politics. No agents. Just the two of us and this A-frame lake house her family built in the mountains before the Ironheads were even a sketch on a napkin. The deed still has her grandfather's handwriting on it.She's humming. She never hums unless she thinks no one can hear her."You're burning the steaks, Crown," I ca
Helena's pov By 5:00 PM, the sports world had completely exploded.Global news tickers, sports networks, and phone screens across the country broadcast the same breaking headline: 'International Ice Hockey Commission Leader Arrested in Federal Raid.' The news cycle detailed the full dismantling of the syndicate, bringing an end to the dark shadow of corruption that had hovered over the sport for years. The air was cleared. The game was restored.And three hours later, twenty thousand fans jammed into our home arena, creating a deafening wave of gold and blue noise that shook the very foundation of the building.Standing in the tunnel beside the glass as the team skated out for Game 6, I felt the sheer electricity of the arena hum through my boots. There were no tainted hydration packs, no tampered ice systems, no corrupt refereeing rotations, and no syndicate shadows lurking in the penthouse suites. This was pure, unadulterated hockey.From the opening puck drop, the game was a brea
Jarrett's pov The tether between us screamed.It wasn't a whisper or a distant hum. It was a violent, sharp pulse in the center of my skull that tore me straight out of my pre-game rest. Helena was in the penthouse level of the arena, and the sudden wave of cold, calculated danger radiating across our bond told me everything I needed to know.I didn't wait for elevators or security clearances. I sprinted out of the away locker room, threw open the heavy emergency door, and took the concrete stairwell three steps at a time. My hyper-tuned lungs burned, my heart beating like a war drum in my chest.When I burst through the door to the executive suite corridor on the top floor, four heavy-set men in dark, unmarked tactical suits immediately moved to block the hallway. They weren't arena staff, and they certainly weren't federal marshals. They were private syndicate mercs—Marcus Vance's personal clean-up crew."Hold it right there, Brooks—" one started, reaching inside his jacket.I didn






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