Chapter 2: Cracks in the ice
Anna
The first thing Anna Blaine noticed when she walked into the Barley Blades facility the next morning wasn’t the smell of liniment or the faint hum of fluorescent lights. It was Chris Neil.
Already there. Already waiting.
He was seated on the padded exam table in her office, like a patient might be. Like he belonged. His massive frame hunched slightly forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. No phone. No distractions. Just sitting there, staring at the wall like it owed him something.
She stopped in the doorway.
“I didn’t realize we had an appointment,” she said coolly.
Chris’s head snapped up. For a heartbeat, something passed across his face—surprise, maybe. Then he masked it in that lopsided smirk that made her want to throw something at the wall.
“You said nine,” he said. “I figured being early might make me look like I give a damn.”
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Just stepped inside and closed the door.
“And do you?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to hers, something dangerous glittering in the blue. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Anna crossed to her desk, slid into the chair, and opened her laptop. She knew better than to press too hard, too fast. With men like Chris, trust was currency, and she hadn’t earned a dime of it yet.
“I want to be clear about something,” she said, voice even. “This isn’t just about your image. It’s about your health—mental and emotional. You don’t have to like me, but you do have to show up. Physically and otherwise.”
“I’m here.”
“You are. But that doesn’t mean you’re present.”
Chris gave a small, humorless laugh. “You some kind of Zen doctor now?”
“I’m someone who’s not interested in wasting time. Yours or mine.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then, something shifted in his posture—barely perceptible, but real. His shoulders loosened, just slightly. His jaw unclenched. He looked away.
“Okay,” he muttered.
Anna tapped a pen against her notepad. “Tell me why you fought that guy.”
Chris didn’t answer right away. Then: “Because he said something about my brother.”
Silence. Not defensive. Not angry. Just… blunt.
Anna’s pen stopped tapping.
“I see,” she said softly.
He looked at her then. “No, you don’t.”
She wanted to say she did. That grief made people do reckless, ugly things. That losing someone you loved could hollow you out until you didn’t recognize yourself anymore. But that would be too much. Too soon.
So she nodded, just once. “Maybe not yet.”
Chris leaned back, resting his head against the wall behind him. “You’re not what I expected.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”
He didn’t smile this time. “No. Just not used to people looking at me like I’m not a lost cause.”
Something tight tugged in Anna’s chest. She ignored it.
“Well,” she said, standing, “get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”
---
Chris didn’t reply. He just watched her as she moved across the room to grab a folder. She felt the heat of his gaze—measuring, not flirtatious. He was trying to figure her out. Good. Let him.
She handed him a short intake form. “You’ll hate this,” she said.
He glanced at the questions. “Yeah, I already do.”
“I need to know your triggers, your coping mechanisms—or lack thereof—and any history that might be relevant. The more you give me, the more I can help you. If you stonewall me, we’ll go nowhere.”
He looked up at her, those sharp blue eyes narrowing. “You think you can help me?”
“I think you don’t believe anyone can. But we’re not playing that game here.”
There it was again—a flicker. Like he wasn’t used to people speaking to him without flinching. Like it caught him off guard every time someone didn’t walk on eggshells around him.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m not talking about my childhood or some Oedipus crap.”
“Noted,” Anna said dryly, sitting again. “Let’s start with last night. After the fight, after the call from Coach, what did you do?”
Chris scratched the back of his neck. “Went home. Didn’t sleep. Thought about punching a wall, but figured that wouldn’t help my case.”
“Progress,” she said, jotting that down. “What stopped you?”
He gave her a look. “What do you think?”
She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Guilt? Exhaustion? Fear?”
He shook his head. “My mom. She called me. Said she saw it on the news.”
Something cracked slightly in his voice, just enough for her to notice. Anna’s hand stilled above the page.
“She say anything specific?” she asked gently.
Chris exhaled, slow and bitter. “Yeah. She said I looked just like him.”
Anna didn’t have to ask who him was.
There it was again—the shadow of his brother. This wasn’t just grief; it was identity crisis. Chris wasn’t just mourning a sibling. He was terrified of becoming him.
“Do you think that’s true?” she asked, keeping her voice soft.
He looked her dead in the eye. “I think I’ve spent the last three years trying to prove her wrong. And failing.”
Anna swallowed. This was more than she’d expected on Day One. But she didn’t back away.
“Then maybe it’s time to stop proving anything to anyone and start figuring out who you are without him.”
Chris stared at her. Then, abruptly, he stood.
The tension in the room spiked, but she held her ground.
“I’m not bailing,” he said quickly, noticing the shift in her posture. “I just—need a second.”
“Take your time,” she said, and meant it.
He paced to the window and leaned against the frame. The morning light outlined the curve of his shoulders, the scars and bruises that marked years of collision—on and off the ice.
“I didn’t think I’d actually talk today,” he said quietly. “Thought I’d sit here, check the box, be done with it.”
Anna nodded. “But you didn’t.”
“No,” he said. “Guess that means you win.”
“I’m not playing a game, Chris.”
He turned back to her, and for the first time, he looked… not vulnerable, exactly, but stripped down. Honest.
“Maybe I am.”
She let that hang in the air. Let him feel the silence.
“You can win your game,” she said, voice steady. “Just stop trying to do it alone.”
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t argue either.
---
By the time Chris left, Anna had a headache blooming at the base of her skull and a strange, unsettled tightness in her chest.
She told herself it was just the emotional weight of the session. That was all. She'd dealt with athletes like him before—bruised on the outside, broken on the inside. She was trained to handle it. Compartmentalize. Protect herself. She’d learned the hard way what happened when she didn’t.
But as she sat at her desk, staring at the closed door Chris Neil had just walked through, the familiar armor she wore around her emotions didn’t feel quite as airtight as usual.
It was the way he said, “I think I’ve spent the last three years trying to prove her wrong.” Not with defiance. Not with pride. With ache.
She knew that ache.
She clicked her pen twice, then set it down.
Don’t get involved, she reminded herself. Don’t feel for him.
But of course she did. She wasn’t a robot.
Anna stood and crossed to the filing cabinet, pulling out a fresh patient intake folder to review. She needed something—anything—to reset her brain. To redirect.
It didn’t work.
Instead, her mind drifted. Back to that first year in residency. Back to Jonah.
She hadn’t thought about him in months—maybe longer. But now, with Chris’s voice echoing in her head, the memory surfaced like a bruise beneath the skin.
Jonah was her mistake. Her boundary-crossing, heart-blinding mistake. Not romantically—not quite. But emotionally? Absolutely. He’d been one of her first psych cases, a charming, volatile college swimmer with a history of manic episodes and a magnetic pull she hadn’t resisted fast enough.
She'd gotten too close. Tried to be too much. His lifeline, his stability, his safe place.
And when he spiraled—when he died—everyone looked to her.
They didn’t blame her directly, not in writing. But they didn’t have to. She’d blamed herself more thoroughly than any board or supervisor ever could.
Since then, she’d kept everything at arm’s length. No exceptions. No attachments. No investing beyond the professional.
Until Chris Neil.
She didn’t like the way he looked at her. Not because it was inappropriate—he hadn’t said a single flirtatious word—but because it was too real. Too curious. Like he saw past her lab coat and clipboard, and wanted to know the woman underneath.
Anna closed the file. Rubbed her temples. Took a deep breath.
She wasn’t here to be known.
She was here to help the team stay functional. Chris included.
That was it.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Coach Mallory.
> Coach M: Heard he showed up. Any chance of progress?
She stared at it a moment before replying.
> Anna: Showed up early. Talked more than I expected.
There’s something there. But it’s going to be slow.
He’s complicated.
A moment later:
> Coach M: Aren’t we all.
Anna smiled despite herself. Then stood, rolled her shoulders, and pulled her hair into a low knot.
There was a team meeting in twenty minutes. She needed to show up, do her job, and keep a clear head.
But as she left her office, one thought lingered stubbornly:
What happens when helping him starts to hurt her?
---