Madison's POV

I scowl at my brother, Jaxon in distaste as he walks into our kitchen in nothing but briefs and scratching his balls.

A lovely sight really.

"Good morning," he says.

"It's 2pm," I argue. "Out late?"

"You know me after a win Madi," Jaxon says. He opens the fridge and gets out some grapes. "I celebrated hard."

My brother Jaxon plays hockey for the New York Reapers. They had a preseason match against Ottawa Kodiaks, but Jaxon sees a win as a win. Yeah, he was a big time NHL player. 1st line Right Winger actually.

I am a proud sister.

"I am sure Shayla will be dealing with the repercussions," I deadpan.

"I forget you two are friends," he says and takes a seat beside me on the other stool. "How did that come about again?"

There were six of us girls. I initiated starting a support group for all of us, after we were all raped by Jonathan.

Jonathan's lucky number was 12. It's why for some reason he assaulted twelve-year-old girls. Teagan remembers him telling her that.

He never assaulted more than once. But he left marks on all of us.

I was the last to be assaulted, because his son-in-law caught Jonathan on top of me and beat him to death.

Grant actually joins our meetings now because he went through a similar experience.

Jaxon may know about my rape, but Shayla is my friend, and she can tell people when she was ready. It was a huge coincidence that my brother played for the team she was the head HR rep at.

"Friend of a friend," I lie.

He hums. "How is the job search going?"

I moved in with Jaxon to be closer to him, but looking for a job was tough. Jaxon was four years older than me, but we were always super close, except for the seven years I was hiding the fact I was assaulted.

It fucking crushed him.

"Not so good," I murmur. "It's a tight market."

"I might have something for you," Jaxon says.

I perk up in my stool and smile sweetly at my brother. "Did I mention how much I love you?"

He chuckles. "Noted," he says. "One of my teammates needs a nanny."

"He can't look after himself?" I joke.

Jaxon rolls his eyes. "No for his son, Hamish."

"Who is it?" I ask. I know all of Jaxon's teammates and beside Malcolm I didn't know anyone else with kids.

"Look he will be mad I am saying anything, but at this point he is desperate," Jaxon says. "It's Luca."

I scowl at my brother. "No."

"Madi!" He whines.

"Luca is a jerk to me," I argue. "You have seen it with your own eyes."

"He has a hard time opening up," Jaxon says defensively. "Mads, I wouldn't be asking if this wasn't important." I stay silent and Jaxon takes that as a queue to continue. "He can never get a new nanny because anyone he hires just wants to fuck him," Jaxon explains. "You would be perfect because you hate his guts."

"I don't hate him," I mumble.

In fact, before Jaxon made it to the big time, Luca was my favourite player. He made it look so easy being on that ice and he never let anybody get to him.

The week Jaxon got drafted the team had a little get together for him and Jaxon invited me. He introduced me to everyone and then it got to Luca, and my mouth went dry.

Luca Moretti had this lethal mix of effortless danger and don’t-come-near-me quiet that made every sane person keep a solid ten-foot radius. And yet somehow, when he turned to face me that night at the get-together, I lost the ability to breathe like a normal human.

I remember it too well the moment I first saw him up close.

Luca stood beside the bar, leaning one shoulder against the wall like the world tired him. His black T-shirt clung to a chest sculpted by genetics and God’s favourite cheat codes. Dark jeans, worn leather jacket, silver chain resting against the hollow of his throat he looked like someone who’d been carved out of shadow and told to play hockey as a form of anger management.

His jet-black hair was slightly mussed, like he’d run his hands through it a million times out of irritation. His skin had that warm olive tone that made the gold in his chain glow. He had a strong, Roman-level nose and the faintest stubble that only added to the whole I don’t sleep, I brood aesthetic.

But his eyes…

God, his eyes.

Amber. Striking. Sharp.

The exact color of whiskey backlit by firelight.

They swept over me once quick, assessing, unreadable and I felt it all the way down my spine. Not flirtatious. Not impressed. Just… aware.

And then he spoke.

"Jaxon’s sister?" he rumbled, voice low.

I managed a nod. Barely.

His gaze lingered for a second longer not warm, not cold, just intense. Then he looked away, already done with the interaction. Already done with me.

I should’ve been offended. No, I was offended.

But instead of standing up to him, I stood there like an idiot, heart in my throat, wondering how someone could be both a complete jerk and the most magnetic person I’d ever seen.

To be fair though, when we met, I was only sixteen.

Every interaction was the same since. One word or a nod. What tipped me over the edge was last year.

I went to the stadium to surprise Jaxon with a homemade lunch and heard Luca talking to Ethan one of the defensemen.

"She has to stop being so needy," Luca grumbles. "Jaxon needs to concentrate on his game, not his weepy little sister."

I was not weepy.

I was a happy person and sure I have days where I sit in my bed and cry, but I don't go to Jaxon with that stuff.

I got Ben and Jerry's for that.

"Hamish is seven," Jaxon says. "He has selective mutism that the doctors can't tell Luca why."

"Jax-"

"You won't have to live with me anymore," Jaxon murmurs. "I know you hate how messy I am."

"I moved to be closer to you," I state.

"And we still can," Jaxon argues. "But Madi this is a bachelor pad, and I haven't done much bachelor things."

"Is Luca aware you're asking me?" I mumble.

"Well, no," Jaxon says. "But he can't really say no to me either. You two have that in common."

"I will think about it," I mutter.

"I will give Luca your number," Jaxon says, taking it as a yes.

I really can't say no to him.