The Playbook for Heartbreak

The Boston Blizzard locker room smelled exactly like what it was: a high-testosterone breeding ground for sweat, expensive cologne, and bruised egos.

Eve Brooks gripped her tablet tighter, her heels clicking sharply against the polished concrete floor. She ignored the lingering stares from a few rookies sitting on the benches in various states of undress. She wasn't here to admire the view. She was here to fix a multi-million dollar disaster.

"He's in the coach's office," the PR director, Marcus, whispered, looking like he was about to vomit his morning espresso. "Be careful, Eve. He’s a ticking time bomb today."

"He’s an asset with declining efficiency metrics," Eve corrected, her voice cool and level. "And right now, his behavior is costing us wins."

She didn't wait for Marcus to open the door. She pushed it open herself.

Inside, the air was thick.

Standing by the window, half-shrouded in the morning light, was Terry Wilde. The undisputed, ruthless captain of the Blizzard. He wore nothing but his hockey pants and a tight, grey compression shirt that clung to the absurdly broad expanse of his shoulders. His knuckles were wrapped in white athletic tape, fresh blood leaking through the fabric.

"I don't give a shit about the sponsors, Coach," Terry snarled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated through the small room. He didn't even look toward the door. "The guy touched my goalie. You touch my goalie, you get your face put through the glass. End of story."

"The story," Eve interrupted, stepping fully into the room, "is that your little display of toxic masculinity cost this team a five-minute major, a fifty-thousand-dollar league fine, and a three-game suspension for our star defenseman who joined the brawl."

Terry froze.

Slowly, he turned around.

Up close, Terry Wilde was intimidating. He stood at six-foot-three, a wall of muscle and athletic aggression. His jaw was sharp, covered in a dark shadow of stubble, and a fresh cut split his bottom lip. But it was his eyes that caught her—an intense, stormy grey that narrowed the moment they landed on her.

"Who the hell let the intern in?" Terry growled, crossing his massive arms over his chest. The movement flexed his biceps, the veins prominent under his tanned skin.

"I'm not the intern, Captain Wilde," Eve said, refusing to take a step back. She tapped her digital stylus against her tablet. "I am Eve Brooks. The new Head of Player Analytics. Which means, as of eight o'clock this morning, your on-ice performance belongs to me."

Terry let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He took a predatory step forward, invading her personal space until she had to tilt her chin up just to keep eye contact. He smelled like ice and raw adrenaline.

"Analytics?" Terry sneered, looking down at her with pure disdain. "You're the new nerd they hired to tell me how to play hockey with a spreadsheet?"

"I'm the person who is going to tell the front office that your aggressive playing style is a statistical liability," Eve countered, her voice dropping an octave, matching his intensity. "You drop your gloves too much. Your penalty minutes are up thirty percent from last season. You're predictable, Terry. And right now, you're costing us the playoffs."

Terry’s eyes flashed with genuine fury. He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Most women in Boston would be melting under the gaze of the NHL's most eligible bad boy.

Eve didn't blink. She felt absolutely nothing. No flutter in her stomach, no blush on her cheeks.

Nothing.

Because Terry Wilde was a man, and Eve was very, very gay.

"Listen to me, Eve," Terry whispered, his tone dangerously soft as he leaned down, his face inches from hers. "I don't care about your numbers. I play with blood, sweat, and instinct. You want to fix this team? Stay out of my way."

Before she could respond, the heavy oak door clicked open again. Marcus, the PR director, slid back into the room, his face completely pale as he looked at his phone.

"We have a massive problem," Marcus choked out. "The footage of Terry’s locker-room fight from last night just leaked on TikTok. The league commissioner is on line one. He's talking about a full-season suspension."