Page 17 of Unleashed

I’d heard plenty of Viggy tales from seasons gone by in my time embedded with the team. Of Viggy’s easygoing nature, his camaraderie with his teammates and staff. But this season, the man I’d met? He was different. Not just toward me, but toward the team, too. My camera crew had caught more than enough footage of players sending him baffled looks. Remote, gruff, distant. These were the hallmarks of Viggy’s last season.

I thought of Riley, the way the rookie trailed after him. Ever hopeful, determined to have Viggy’s attention.

Viggy’s gruffness hadn’t been about distance for its own sake. It was armor. An effort to make this final season bearable. Keep everyone at arm’s length, and maybe it would hurt less when the locker room, the routines, the bonds that built his adult life all disappeared when he hung up his skates for the last time.

But I’d seen glimpses of the vulnerable man beneath the gruff exterior tonight. This wasn’t just about a battered knee or even stepping down. This was about a man staring into the abyss of “what comes next?” and finding nothing but shadows.

Yeah, a bum knee would have been a headline. A captain stepping down at the pinnacle of his career, that was a story, too. But this—the story of a man losing his identity? Of facing an uncertain future with a mix of fear, defiance and questionable decisions?

I knew that terror. That suffocating panic when everything you’d built your life around gets ripped away. The way your mind spins in circles at 3 AM, trying to figure out who you are when the familiar rules don’t apply anymore.

That could be a story that resonated with people. The world was a scary place. People liked knowing they weren’t alone in the chaos.

Malone would scoff if I pitched this angle. “Too soft,” he’d say, probably while wearing those ridiculous Italian loafers that cost more than my rent. “Where’s the controversy? The drama?”

But I knew better. I knew in my bones this was the story that needed telling. Because somewhere out there, someone else was facing their own identity crisis, their own uncertain future. They needed to see they weren’t alone in that struggle.

It’d certainly resonated with me. I’d shared my feelings about what happened three years ago with exactly one person: Adele. But I’d beenthisclose to spilling my personal drama to Jack. To telling him about my own scars. About the betrayal that rocked my faith in people, shattered the ground beneath my feet, and sent me into hiding for years.

“Looks like the rain is really going tounleashany minute.”

I snorted. “Are you making a pun? Grouchy, grumpy Jack Vignier is making a pun?”

Wind whipped through the air, turning fat raindrops into stinging bullets against my cheeks, my bare arms and legs.

“You wanna call me names, or do you want to get out of this rain?”

Another fat drop splatted against my cheek. “I guess we better hurry.” Bright, tucked away in his pack and protected from the weather, let out a disgruntled meow as my gait jostled him. His whine cut through the rising wind. “You shush in there,” I said over my shoulder. “You’re not even getting wet. You aren’t allowed an opinion.”

Viggy’s chuckle curled through me, and we picked up the pace, heading for the entrance of my apartment building. I fumbled with my passcode at the lobby door even as the sky unleashed—har, har, pun intended. The downpour soaked me through in an instant. Despite the warm day, a chill swept over me.

Viggy hovered at my side, his body putting off a kind of heat that turned my thoughts to static. My fingers fumbled over the worn metal buttons.

“Hurry it up, Sutton.” His voice carried that gravelly edge that made my skin prickle. “Not getting any drier over here while you play around.”

I chewed my lower lip. “I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying.”

He shifted slightly, stepping close enough to make a tent with his hoodie over our heads, shielding me from the downpour. The gesture was so unexpectedly gentle it stole my breath. Rain drummed against the fabric, his chest a solid wall of warmth along my arm, my shoulder. My pulse thundered in my ears at the combination of his nearness within the intimate cocoon of the hoodie.

The harsh security lights above cut through the rain, casting long shadows as I punched the code in again. With each failure, he inched closer. His breath warmed my cheek. The rise and fall of his chest pressed into me. Too close. Too much.

“Fuck.” The word came out rough, barely audible over the storm. His hands flexed against the wall beside the key panel. “You’re shaking.”

I was—but not from the cold. Having him this close scattered my thoughts, made it impossible to focus on anything except the solid strength of him curved around me.

Bright yowled his protest from his backpack, reminding me I had one job—get us inside. I shook out my hands, willing them to cooperate. Just punch in four simple numbers. Don’t think about Jack’s chest barely brushing my side as he held the hoodie over me. Don’t think about how easy it would be to lean into that solid warmth. Don’t think about…

Oh hell, I was in so much trouble.

Jack chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated the air around us. “What’s his problem?”

I mangled the keycode again, groaned silently, and reached behind me to pat Bright’s pack. To reassure my cat or myself, I wasn’t sure. But my fingers swept over Jack’s belly instead of the backpack. He tensed at my touch, sucking in a sharp breath.

I jerked my hand back, clenched my fingers into a fist, my cheeks burning under the darkness of his hoodie shield. Finally, I punched in the right code, hyper-aware of his proximity, how his muscles tensed with each movement I made.

The lock clicked, and his exhale stirred my rain-dampened hair at my temple.Four hundredth time for the win.The little electronic buzz sounded and the door unlocked.

“Inside. Now.” The command held more growl than words, his hands settling on my hips under the backpack to guide me through the door. Even that brief touch felt charged, dangerous.

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