Chapter 2 Blood and Blades

Brennan POV

I slammed Brex into the boards, red splattering across the glass as whistles shrieked.

“Kessler! Box! Now!” Coach Callahan yelled. “It’s a damn scrimmage!”

I wiped blood from my lip and glided to the penalty box. Six years of people still calling me tainted. Scholarship gone. Sponsors gone. Victor Calder still sitting high while his daughter collected trophies.

After practice, GM Marcus Callahan tossed a thick blue file onto the bench.

“Mandatory rehab hours. One more major penalty and you’re suspended twenty games. No pay. No ice.”

“I’m a hockey captain, not a babysitter.”

“You don’t have a choice. Oversee an elite athlete’s recovery for four weeks, or I strip your C today.”

I flipped the folder open to find dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a tight bun.

Nessa Calder.

My blood ran cold, then boiled.

“She tore her ankle ligaments yesterday. Victor tried to block it. Federation overruled him. They want a trainer who won’t take his money.”

I slammed the file shut with a smile.

Six years of watching the Calder name stay golden while mine stayed dirty. If I had to babysit, I might as well look the monster’s daughter in the eye.

“Tell the board I accept.”

Callahan frowned. “Keep your temper. Her father is looking for an excuse.”

“I’ll take good care of her.”

Sun hadn’t risen when I pulled into the private performance center. I loaded a heavy bar and pressed it overhead, needing the burn before she arrived.

The double doors clicked, and rubber crutches scraped.

I set the bar down and turned.

Nessa Calder stood in black athletic pants and a fitted jacket, compression boot on her right foot, chin up, cold pride on her face.

“You’re five minutes late, Calder.”

“My driver got stuck at the gate. And you must be Brennan Kessler.”

“Your father’s money doesn’t run this room. Late again and I lock the doors.”

She didn’t back up. “I don’t need a lecture from a hockey player who lives in the penalty box.”

I laughed low. “Mouth on you. Good. You’ll need it.”

“I’m here to fix my ankle so I can get back on the ice. I don’t care about your past with my father. Just give me the schedule.”

I looked her over: tight jaw, slight tremor in her hands. Then I kicked the rubber tip of her left crutch.

She gasped. I caught her jacket and pulled her into my chest before she hit the floor. Her breath hitched against my neck.

“Rule number one. Don’t rely on crutches in front of an enemy.”

“Let go of me.”

I lifted her with one arm and set her on a high plyo box.

She scrambled back. “You’re insane.”

“I’m your trainer. Hold still.”

“Don’t touch me.” She kicked, her sneakers hitting my chest.

I caught her ankle. “You want the Olympics, or do you want to run home and tell Daddy the mean hockey player made you cry?”

Her jaw locked. “Touch my foot, and I’ll break your nose.”

“I’ve had it broken five times. Hit harder.”

I unbuckled the top strap of the boot. She went rigid but stayed quiet.

For the next hour, I put her through every non-weight-bearing drill I knew: planks, medicine-ball throws, hanging leg raises. She clenched her teeth and kept going. When her arms shook on the pull-up bar, she bit her lip and pulled up one more time.

Pure stubbornness.

“Take a break.” I threw a water bottle onto the mat.

She dropped down, hands shaking. “I don’t need a break.”

“Your muscles are tearing. Keep pushing, and you won’t walk to the car.”

“I have forty-seven days until qualifiers. I don’t have time to rest.”

“Your father put that clock in your head?”

Her head snapped up. “My father built my career. He knows what it takes to win.”

“Your father built an empire by stepping on people. Including you.”

She gripped the squat rack. “You don’t know anything about my father.”

“I know he paid a lab tech six years ago to ruin my life.”

“He didn’t ruin you! You failed a drug test!”

I moved fast, slamming my hands onto the bars on either side of her head.

“Is that what he told you? That I was a junkie?”

She stared straight back. “He showed me the report.”

“He showed you what he paid for.” My voice dropped. “Go look in your father’s private office. Ask him why page three of my case file is sitting in his personal safe.”

Her eyes flickered for just a second.

“Your dad is a coward. And you’re just his golden puppet.”

“I am not a puppet!” She shoved her palm against my chest.

I didn’t move. Her hand stayed pressed over my heart as she breathed fast, gold flecks burning in her eyes, a flush spreading across her cheeks, and her pulse racing in her throat.

Neither of us moved. Anger shifted into something heavier. My eyes dropped to her mouth. Her fingers twitched.

The double doors swept open.

“Get your hands off my daughter.”

I took my time straightening before I turned. Victor Calder stood five feet away in a tailored suit, gold-tipped cane in hand, two security guards flanking him.

Nessa pulled her hand back. “Dad. What are you doing here?”

Victor ignored her as his cold eyes locked on me.

“I warned the federation. I told them you were a violent street thug who didn’t belong here.”

“This facility belongs to the league. Your money doesn’t buy the guards. You’re trespassing.”

“I am protecting my investment.” He raised the cane. “Nessa is leaving with me. Private clinic in New York.”

“She leaves this room, and her clearance gets revoked. Mandate 408. I have sole authority over her schedule for four weeks. Pull her out, and she misses the qualifiers.”

Victor’s jaw tightened. He turned to Nessa. “Get your coat.”

Nessa gripped the squat rack and looked at her father, then at me.

“No.”

Victor froze. “What did you say?”

“I’m staying. If I leave this program, I get disqualified. I’m not risking my spot.”

“Nessa—”

“I can handle him, Dad. Go back to the office.”

Victor stared at her for three long seconds. Then he lowered the cane and looked at me with pure venom.

“You think you’ve won something, Kessler? You think holding my daughter gives you leverage?”

“I don’t need leverage. I’m going to push her until she sees exactly what kind of monster raised her.”

He sneered. “She is a Calder. She won’t break for a nobody like you.”

He marched out, the doors slamming behind him.

I turned back to Nessa. She leaned against the rack, breathing shallowly, still refusing to back down.

I tossed the crutches down.

“Pick them up. We have twenty minutes left.”

She looked at the crutches, then up at me, defiance sparking in her eyes. She bent, grabbed the handles, and pulled herself up.

“What’s next?”

I gave her a dark smile. “Next, we see how much pain it takes to make a Calder quit.”

And for the first time in six years, I wasn’t sure which of us was going to break first.