Kaelen's hand, still warm from our handshake, gestured towards a wide hallway. "Come, Lyra, I'll show you around."

My legs followed before my mind fully caught up. He walked with an effortless grace, his broad shoulders moving beneath taut skin. Each stride was a study in controlled power.

"My mother," he began, his voice soft, "she believed in this team. She wanted to breathe life back into it, to make us champions again. She spoke of rejuvenation, of a spark we'd lost." He paused at a wall covered in faded team photos, his gaze distant. "She wanted someone, someone unique, to be part of that. Someone to lead us where others had failed." He turned, his golden eyes meeting mine. "She wanted you."

A lump formed in my throat. He spoke of his mother, of hope, and all I could see was the curve of his lips as he formed each word.

"We face challenges," Kaelen continued, his voice deepening, "the pain of losing gnaws at us. Players leave the pack, seeking greener pastures, weaker fights. I'd do anything to stop it, to make this team a force again." His jaw tightened.

My eyes lingered there, then drifted to his mouth again. I wanted to trace the line of his lips, feel their warmth against mine.

He led me through the empty gym, past rows of dusty weights, and then to a grand staircase. The clubhouse was a mansion, I realized.

We ascended. He threw open a door, revealing a cavernous room with a glass wall overlooking an indoor pool.

"This," he announced, "this was my sanctuary as a kid. Hours melted away here. It still is." He moved to the edge.

Without a word, he began to strip. His t-shirt came off first, revealing a torso sculpted from hard rock, skin bronzed, scarred.

My eyes snagged on the prominent bulge in his boxers, a silent question screaming in my head: How old are you? And how the fuck did you get that size? A wave of heat washed over me.

He dove, a clean, silent entry into the water. His strokes were powerful, rhythmic, like a panther gliding through liquid.

Why should he make me watch him swim? Is he hitting on me? I thought.

I watched the play of muscles beneath the surface, the ripple of water around him. My body thrummed, a desperate hunger rising. I wanted to shed my clothes, join him in the cool embrace of the water. To feel the brush of his skin, the press of his body, the taste of his lips.

The door burst open. "Coach!" A chorus of voices. Three players stood there. "We're sorry, Coach Lyra. We shouldn't have laughed."

The spell broke. Kaelen surfaced, shaking water from his hair. I couldn't look much so as not to cause a scene. I had to lift my eyes from his sexiness after being wet.

“On behalf of Ironclaws, we're sorry, Coach Lyra,” Kaelen said.

The moment, potent and charged, evaporated. My face, I knew, was flushed. "Apology accepted," I managed. "I'll see you all at practice, next month," I turned and walked out, not looking back.

I left the clubhouse and left for my hometown. Through the journey, the image of Kaelen's wet form burned into my retinas. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The way his voice rumbled, the sharp line of his jaw, the sheer animal magnetism he exuded.

Forget him, my pride screamed. He's too young. You’re a hardened veteran of heartbreak.

A month later, the wedding invitation for Jax and Seraphina appeared in my mailbox. It suddenly reminded me of the public humiliation. I had no intention of going.

My phone buzzed. A message from Kaelen. "Jax Blackwood, the current best in the last league is getting wedded. Be there." Simple. Direct. My fingers hovered over the screen.

I replied. “I am not coming.”

Then a video call followed. His face filled the screen, those golden eyes, that impossibly sculpted mouth. "Please, Lyra," he said in a low plea, "I need you there."

My breath hitched. It wasn't his begging that swayed me. It was the sudden, undeniable desire to attend that wretched party with him, on his arm as his date. To show Jax exactly what he'd thrown away. "I'll be there," the words slipped out before I could second-guess myself.

***

I stood before the train station and then a flash of brilliant red caught my eye. Kaelen's car, a sleek, predatory sports model, pulled in beside me.

I wore a simple black dress, but a silk scarf, the color of a fresh wound draped around my neck. On my wrist, a delicate bracelet with tiny red stones glimmered.

He stepped out of his car, dressed in a dark suit, but a pocket square, the exact shade of my scarf, peeked from his breast pocket.

He got the door for me and drove into the heart of the city, where Jax’s wedding was taking place. The trip was filled with the dressing room improvement and new members and sponsorship deal. But my mind was conflicted.

We walked into the reception side by side.

The grand ballroom buzzed with hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses.

As the bridal party began their recessional down the aisle, Seraphina beamed, and Jax looked impossibly smug. A cold dread settled in my stomach. That should be me.

The humiliation, the betrayal, it all rushed back. My vision blurred. Tears stung my eyes, then spilled over, tracing hot paths down my cheeks.

Kaelen’s arm, strong and warm suddenly wrapped around my elbow. He pulled me, gently but firmly, towards a secluded alcove near a cascading fountain. "What's wrong, Lyra?"

I couldn't hold it back. The words tumbled out, raw and ragged. "Jax... he's my ex. He broke up with me... on the day he won the league. The day he got his awards." My voice cracked on the last word.

His thumb traced a line across my wet cheek. His touch sent shivers down my spine. "Jax isn't the man he pretends to be, Lyra." His gaze held mine. "He's been seen frequenting a strip club down in the city. More than once. I need to tell you this, you're lucky he dropped you and took someone else to suffer his infidelity. He's with Seraphina for her father's money. Her family’s influence. He needs that to build his 'empire'."

The words were a bitter balm, a twisted comfort. I stared at his lips again, wishing desperately that he would lean in, that he would kiss me, erase the bitterness with his sweetness. But he didn't. He simply held my gaze, his thumb still on my cheek.

“You lost nothing. He did lose you,” he added.

I nodded.

We walked back into the reception. A newfound resolve stiffened my spine. As Jax and Seraphina passed our table, heading for the dance floor, Jax paused. He smirked, his eyes raking over me, then Kaelen. "Well, well, Lyra. Moving on already? Guess some people just can't handle being champions." His tone dripped with contempt.

Kaelen moved then, a swift, decisive step that put him between Jax and me. His broad back shielded me. "Funny," Kaelen said. "Coming from someone whose only championship is a temporary loan."

Jax’s face hardened. His smirk vanished. "What did you say, pup?"

"You heard me," Kaelen challenged.

Suddenly, a phalanx of Jax's teammates, huge offensive linemen, converged behind him. They pillared Jax. "How about we do this on the pitch, then, Kaelen? Your Ironclaws against my Ravens. No rules. No score line. Just us."

Kaelen’s golden eyes sparked. He met Jax's challenge with a chilling calm. "Accepted."

"Seven days after my honeymoon, the best team with the best quarterback in the world will be back for your spine," Jax said. He turned to his pack, winked at me, and his pack mates mirrored his contempt, their eyes flicking to Kaelen and then to me.

Kaelen turned back to me. "Lyra," he said, "you're staying with me until the match. I need you."

I stared at him. Two years with Marc, and he never fought for me. A year with Albert, and he never lifted a finger. Seven months with Jax, and he never once stood up for me. A single day with Kaelen, and he had taken on a challenge for me.

Finally, I thought, as a desperate hope bloomed in my chest, he wants me. He wants to fight for me.

"I'll stay," I said, staring at his lips. I looked forward to kissing the young lad. Still wondering, though, how old he actually was.