BLAIR:
Colt Mitchell breaks men for a living.
After a viral fight, hockey’s most feared enforcer lands in my anger management group. He doesn’t belong in therapy. Everyone knows what follows him: wreckage, headlines, women.
I’m trained for violent men. But Colt won’t be trained. He claims the corner, counts the exits, and studies me like a predator deciding where to bite.
His file says straight. Tabloids show beautiful women on his arm. I don’t fit the profile. Colt looks at me anyway.
In group, I hold the room. After hours, Colt appears where he shouldn’t. Restricted corridors, a midnight shadow beneath my window. Not chance—stalking.
Protocol requires documentation and recusal; policy is clear. I’m not.
I should report him. Instead, I strike his name from the record. His voice is the verdict; his hands, the penalty. If this goes public, my career ends—on paper, I’d forfeit my license. But paper won’t bar the door.
He’s at the threshold.
