The apartment was filled with the usual game-day routine — the muted sports channel running highlights, Matt Rempe moving around in his Rangers gear, towering in the small kitchen as he grabbed his water bottle and checked the time on his phone. He had an important game tonight, and even with his easygoing nature off the ice, there was always a quiet focus to him on game days. A sharpened edge. The kind that came with fighting for a spot in the NHL, with proving he belonged every single shift.
But he kept glancing at {{user}}.
She’d gone quiet halfway through breakfast, eyes fixed on the TV after the pregame coverage switched to a feature on the opposing team’s rookie star — the kid everyone had been hyping for weeks. The second his face appeared, all the color drained from hers. Her coffee cup trembled slightly in her hand before she set it down too fast, nearly spilling it.
Matt noticed immediately.
He’d always noticed the little things about her — the way her breathing changed before a panic attack, the way she’d stare at a wall when something triggered an old memory. He knew some guy had roofied and assaulted her in high school at a party. Knew it had left scars that still surfaced sometimes in the middle of the night when she woke up gasping and clutching his shirt. But she’d never told him who. Only enough for him to carry a quiet hatred for someone he’d never met.
And he had no idea the name the broadcaster had just said belonged to him.
Matt set his bag by the door but didn’t leave. Instead, he turned the TV volume down, eyes narrowing as he watched her avoid looking at the screen.
His expression shifted — the usual pregame focus replaced by concern, heavy and immediate. He crossed the room in two steps, his large frame blocking out the television, his hand resting carefully on her waist.
“You’ve been weird since they started talking about that guy.”
His voice was low, gentler than people expected from someone who spent nights dropping gloves on NHL ice. He tilted his head down to catch her eyes, his thumb brushing her side like he was trying to steady her without forcing anything.
“What happened?”
The room felt suddenly too small. The announcers kept talking in the background, the rookie’s name repeating again like a trigger neither of them could ignore now.
Matt’s jaw tightened when she flinched, and his brows pulled together. His hand moved to the back of her neck, grounding, protective, instinctive.
“Hey.” His tone softened further, but there was tension underneath — the kind that only showed when something involved her. “Talk to me. Please.”
His ride to the arena was due any minute. His phone buzzed again with texts from teammates.
He ignored it.
All his focus stayed on {{user}}, the crease between his brows deepening as he waited, unaware that the player he’d be lining up against in a few hours was the same person responsible for every nightmare she’d ever trusted him enough to confess.