Chapter 2 Blood and Blades
Brennan POV
I slammed Brex into the boards, his shoulder striking the glass as blood spotted the ice and the whistle shrieked.
“Kessler! Box! Now!” Coach Callahan shouted. “It's a damn scrimmage!”
I wiped my split lip and skated toward the penalty box. Six years after one positive drug test cost me my scholarship, sponsors, and place in the national development program, people still called me tainted. The federation had closed my case without answering the questions that mattered.
After practice, Marcus Callahan, the team's general manager, tossed a blue folder onto the bench.
“Mandatory rehabilitation assignment. Four weeks. One more major penalty, and you're suspended for twenty games without pay.”
“I'm a hockey captain, not a babysitter.”
“You're also a certified conditioning specialist. The federation requested someone outside Victor Calder's management network. You're on the approved list.”
I opened the folder, and Nessa Calder stared back at me from the photograph.
“No.”
“You haven't even read the assignment.”
“I know who she is.”
“Then you know why the federation wants you. She injured her ankle yesterday. Victor tried to move her to a private clinic, but the medical board rejected his appeal.”
“Find someone else.”
“Refuse, and you'll explain to the board why our captain rejected a federation request. Keep collecting penalties, and you'll lose the C anyway.”
I picked up the folder. Six years of watching the Calder name remain untouchable had left me with little patience for that family.
“Tell the board I accept.”
“This isn't an opportunity to settle an old score,” Marcus warned.
“I know my job.”
“Then do it. Victor is already looking for a reason to get you removed.”
“Let him try.”
The next morning, I reviewed Nessa's medical file at the performance center. Her restrictions were clear: no impact work, no weight-bearing exercises on the injured side, and no return to the ice without medical clearance.
Nessa entered on crutches, a compression boot covering her right foot, and her raised chin made it clear she wasn't happy to be there.
“You're five minutes late, Calder.”
“My driver got stuck at the gate. You're Brennan Kessler.”
“Good. At least we agree on something.”
“I came here to recover my ankle, not listen to lectures about my family or your past. Give me the schedule.”
“After we review your restrictions.”
“I've already reviewed them.”
“Then you know you won't be jumping tomorrow.”
Her jaw tightened. “I know what the doctor said.”
I pointed toward the assessment bench. “Sit down. We'll review your symptoms and what you're allowed to do.”
“I can handle a few exercises.”
“I didn't ask what you can handle.”
She sat, glaring at me.
“Has the swelling changed?”
“No.”
“Pain at rest?”
“Manageable.”
“When you move the joint?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then we don't test it today. We'll start with seated upper-body work and controlled core exercises. Tell me immediately if anything causes ankle pain.”
“Is that an order?”
“It's a medical restriction. You can argue with me about everything else.”
“Your father must be proud.”
“My father doesn't decide what happens in this room.”
“Funny. That's exactly what mine told me.”
I stepped back. “Ignore the restrictions, and the session ends. I don't care how many medals you've won or how much money your father has.”
“And if I follow them, will you stop treating me like I'm responsible for what happened to you?”
Her question caught me off guard.
“Not until I know what you believe.”
We began with seated exercises. Nessa followed every instruction, but after the final set, her arms were shaking.
“Five minutes,” I said.
“I can continue.”
“Your arms are shaking.”
“I have forty-seven days until qualifiers.”
“Your ankle doesn't care about your calendar.”
“You don't understand what it means to lose your place.”
“Six years ago, I lost everything after a drug-test report your father helped bury.”
Her expression hardened. “He didn't ruin you. You failed a drug test.”
“I appealed the result, but the records I needed weren't available. My career ended before I could get answers.”
“What records?”
“The third page of my case file is missing. It should have contained the laboratory receipt. I don't know what it recorded or who removed it.”
“You expect me to believe you over my father?”
“No. Check the facts before deciding who's telling the truth.”
She stood too quickly and caught herself against the bench, protecting her injured foot.
“You don't know anything about my family.”
“I know what happened to my career.”
“And I won't let you use me to get revenge.”
“Then don't take my word for anything. Find out what happened yourself.”
Before she could answer, the doors opened.
“Get away from my daughter.”
Victor Calder strode inside, his gold-tipped cane in hand, followed by two security guards. His gaze shifted from Nessa to the medical folder.
“What exactly do you think you're doing, Kessler?”
“Following the rehabilitation plan.”
“I warned the federation about you. You're a violent thug with a grudge.”
“And yet the board approved me.”
Victor tightened his grip on the cane. “Nessa is leaving. I've arranged a private clinic in New York.”
“Her assignment is mandatory. Challenge it with the board, but you don't get to overrule her treating team.”
“I am protecting my daughter.”
“Then listen to her doctors.”
Victor turned toward Nessa. “Get your coat.”
She glanced at him, then at her crutches.
“No.”
His expression froze. “What did you say?”
“I'm staying. I can't return to the ice until I'm cleared, and leaving the program won't help me recover.”
“You have no idea what you're risking.”
“My career. I know exactly what I'm risking.”
“You're making a mistake.”
“Maybe. But it's my decision.”
Victor turned toward me. “You think this gives you leverage over my family?”
“I need you to stop interfering with her recovery.”
“You have no idea who you're dealing with.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
“This conversation isn't over,” Victor warned before marching out with his guards.
Nessa remained beside the bench, her face pale with anger.
“He'll retaliate,” she said.
“Probably.”
“You don't sound concerned.”
“I've spent six years dealing with the consequences of his decisions.”
She picked up her crutches. “What's next?”
“Tomorrow, we will continue the assessment. Your medical team determines what your ankle can handle.”
“And if I want to do more?”
“Learn that resting at the right time can be harder than pushing through pain.”
“Don't mistake following the rules for trusting you.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
She headed toward the doors, then stopped.
“If I prove your accusation against my father is false, will you admit you were wrong?”
“If you find evidence, I'll read it.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It's the only one you're getting today.”
She left without another word.
I looked down at the folder bearing the name that had haunted me for six years. Nessa had chosen to stay, but she still didn't trust me, and I wasn't sure I trusted her, either.
Tomorrow, we'd have to work together anyway.
