Page 1 of Fractured Faceoff

Chapter 1

Isla

The fluorescent lights buzzed above me as I sat in my office, tapping my pen against the desk. The clock on the wall read 6:10 PM. Jared Crowder was late for his session.

Again.

I let out a sigh, glancing at my schedule for the day. Seven other hockey players had come and gone, all part of the evaluations before the season kicked off next month.

This would be Jared’s second meeting with me. My fingers itched to text Brody, ask him to order Chinese takeout so we could binge-watchStranger Thingslater.

But no, I had to deal with Jared first.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out under the desk. I thought I'd never have to see him again. He went to the NHL, and I…

Well, I wound up as a sports psychologist, thanks to my insane crush on Dan Ellis. But I never thought I'd wind up with the Serpents.

Or with Jared Crowder on the team I worked for.

Jared Crowder had always been an enigma. Iremembered when he first burst onto the scene, a scrappy kid from Alabama with more grit than most could muster. The media dubbed him theSouthern Serpentfor his ability to slip past defenders and strike when least expected. He wasn’t the biggest guy on the ice—far from it—but his speed and cunning made up for what he lacked in size.

In his mid-thirties now, he was nearing the age when most players started to slow down. Yet, he remained a force to be reckoned with. He had this uncanny knack for getting into opponents' heads, making them second-guess every move. It wasn’t just about physical agility; Jared played a psychological game that few could match.

I had seen countless clips of him weaving through defenders, leaving them flat-footed and bewildered. He was always a step ahead, reading plays before they unfolded. That was his real gift—the ability to anticipate and exploit weaknesses in real time. It made him dangerous, even as his body began to show signs of wear and tear.

His career had been a rollercoaster of highs and lows. There were seasons when he dominated the league, racking up points and leading his team deep into the playoffs. But there were also injuries—concussions, a torn ACL—that sidelined him for months at a time. Each time, though, he came back with that same fiery determination.

People often wondered how he did it, how he kept bouncing back when others would have thrown in the towel. Maybe it was his stubbornness or that Southern grit that wouldn’t let him quit. Or perhaps it was something deeper, something only Jared understood.

Despite his reputation on the ice, off it, Jared was still a mystery. Few really knew him; he kept his personal life guarded like a secret playbook. The media loved tospeculate—wild stories about his love life, rumors of rifts with teammates—but Jared never confirmed or denied any of it.

The only thing I knew for sure about Jared Crowder was what I'd overheard before he even got signed to the Serpents. Hazel, his sister, and Weston Cole had some kind of relationship that sent Jared into a tailspin. I didn't know the details—none of my business, really—but whatever happened led to an ugly scene last season. Jared and Weston clashed on the ice, fists flying before anyone could intervene. Jared ended up with a concussion, and Weston left with broken fingers, out for the rest of the season. That fight wasn’t just a brawl; it was a storm that had rippled through the entire team, shaking everyone up.

I glanced at my notes from our last session. Management had assigned Jared an evaluation partly because they needed to be sure he and Weston could coexist on the same team without turning every game into a grudge match. The room felt tense, like the calm before a thunderstorm. I could almost hear the echoes of their last altercation—helmets clashing, muffled curses through mouth guards.

Now, as I waited for him to show up for his session, I couldn’t help but wonder what went on in that mind of his. He was probably the smartest player out there, always three steps ahead of everyone. And his Southern charm was legendary. I had to be prepared this time.

The doorknob turned, and there he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, and every bit as infuriating as I remembered.

Jared Crowder stepped into my office, and for a moment, I couldn't help but take him in. He was like a force of nature contained within human skin. His eyes held a glint that was both dangerous and mesmerizing, like he could read your soul and then decide whether to save it or damn it. His jawline was sharp, shadowed with a day'sworth of stubble that added to his rugged appeal. He wore a worn leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, and his jeans were faded in that way that only came from years of use. Every inch of him screamed confidence, danger, and an underlying charm that could disarm you if you weren't careful. Jared had that kind of presence that filled the room, making everything else seem smaller by comparison.

“Hello, sweetie,” he greeted, eyes flicking around the room before settling on me. Like he still knew me. Like I was still the same girl he grew up with.

“You’re late,” I replied, keeping my voice even. "And don't call me that. I'm not some seven-year-old anymore."

He shrugged and sauntered over to the chair opposite my desk, dropping into it like he owned the place.

“No, you're not,” he offered nonchalantly. "And I do apologize about my tardiness. I'm still not used to city traffic."

I raised an eyebrow but decided against arguing. “Let’s get started then.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady on me. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

“Funny,” I muttered, flipping open his file. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Touché.”

I took a deep breath and leaned back in my chair, looking at Jared across the desk. “So, the preseason starts next week. How are you feeling about it?”

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