Chapter 21

Alex POV

She’s laughing hard now, practically doubled over on the couch with her hand covering her mouth, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It’s over something I said about my so-called friends, who, if I’m being honest, are some of the worst influences anyone could have. I mean, these idiots literally hired a woman to ambush me in my own hotel room for fun. Their idea of “team bonding.”

“I’ve had friends like that,” she manages between wheezes, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Wait,” I say, eyebrows raised. “Your friends hired some guy to hijack your hotel room too?”

She gives me a look and shakes her head, exasperated. “No. But the kind of stupid shit that ends with someone getting arrested? Yeah. That level.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “You? The same woman who dresses like she’s prepping for a snowstorm every day of the year? You got arrested?”

“Yes, me,” she says, crossing her arms.

I lean back and grin. “Alright, now I’ve gotta hear this. What happened?”

But the shift in her expression is immediate. The humor drains from her face. She stares at her hands for a long second like she’s thinking it through.

“It’s not really funny,” she says quietly.

That grabs my attention. I sit up, serious now. “That bad?”

She lets out a soft breath and shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that says she’s carrying a lot more than she’s letting on.

“I was dating this guy,” she begins. “We had the same friend group. His parents were… strict. Religious, I guess. No sex before marriage. That sort of thing.”

“Ah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “One of those.”

She nods faintly. “Our friends would taunt him, push him and try to get him to do it. We’d been dating for months. And yeah, we hadn’t slept together. I didn’t care. I figured he had his reasons, and I respected it.”

“Most guys wouldn’t wait months,” I mutter.

She gives a dry smile. “Yeah, well. That night a bunch of us were hanging out at mine. I didn’t know he had something planned. He seemed nervous, but I thought he just wanted to talk. He followed me upstairs. We ended up… you know.”

I nod slowly, not interrupting.

“Afterward, we were in the shower, and he just—snapped. Like a switch flipped. Started screaming at me, calling me the devil, a whore. He hit me. And then…” She swallows. “Then he started smashing his head against the glass. I didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late.”

Her voice shakes near the end, and I sit there, frozen, my glass forgotten in my hand.

“The glass shattered. A piece sliced through his throat,” she whispers.

I’m not even sure what to say. My throat goes dry. That’s not a story you expect to hear. That’s not something you can just brush past.

“The police thought I drugged him,” she adds bitterly. “Turns out, my so-called friends downstairs had been slipping something into his drink to ‘help him relax.’ He brought it upstairs, and then they all pretended they didn’t know anything.”

“Jesus,” I murmur.

Her expression is grim. “It looked like I did it. I was arrested. They held me for a week before they cleared me. Surveillance footage from our dorm showed me going upstairs long before he brought his drink up. But the damage was already done.”

Wait.

I lean forward. “Gavin, right? Gavin Spencer?”

She blinks at me, startled. “Yeah… How do you—”

“We went to school together,” I say. “I remember hearing about it in the news. At the time, all anyone knew was he was drugged and it made him go nuts. There weren’t many details.”

She nods slowly. “That’s because they kept most of it quiet after I was cleared. They didn’t want the college’s name attached to anything messy. No one ever found out who actually spiked his drink.”

“That’s insane. None of them confessed?”

“Nope. They all stuck to the same story. That they didn’t see anything. No one was charged.”

I shake my head. “So they let you take the fall until they had no choice but to let you go?”

“Basically.” She shrugs again, like it’s something she’s forced herself to carry for so long it’s just another scar now. “The media moved on. Everyone moved on. I just learned to live with it.”

And now it hits me, really hits me, why she stands so stiff when people look at her too long. Why she hesitates to talk about herself, why she doesn’t trust easily. This wasn’t just a bad breakup or shitty friends. This was something life-altering.

“That’s why you’re so cautious with people,” I say, not really meaning to voice it out loud.

She meets my gaze, and for once, there’s no sarcasm, no guarded mask. Just quiet honesty.

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Yeah. I would.

And suddenly, all those little things she’s done—the way she looks over her shoulder, the way she’s always ready to leave a room, the way she didn’t want to be seen shopping with me —make so much more sense.

“You didn’t have to tell me that,” I say finally.

“I know.”

“But I’m glad you did.” I sit forward, resting my arms on my knees. “For what it’s worth… I believe you. And anyone who knows you would never think you were capable of that.”

She lets out a soft, tired laugh. “Let’s hope you’re right.” She leans back into the couch, pulling her knees up slightly like she’s bracing herself for the next part. I wait, quietly, watching her stare into her glass like it might have the rest of the words she’s trying to piece together.

“After that, everything just… collapsed,” she says softly.

I don’t speak. She needs space, not prompting.

“My parents—” She exhales through her nose, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling like she’s trying not to cry. “They disowned me. Said it was my fault. That I corrupted him.”

I feel my spine stiffen, my hands curling slowly around the edge of the couch cushion.

“They said Gavin would never have done anything like that if it weren’t for me. That he’d never even drank before we started dating. Never gotten into trouble. That he was a good kid until me.”

She lets out a bitter laugh that doesn’t sound amused in the slightest.

“And the worst part?” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “They weren’t completely wrong.”

I blink. “Elsie—”

“No,” she says quickly, holding up a hand. “Let me say it. I need to say it.”

I shut up, watching her closely as she closes her eyes for a beat and breathes in.

“I didn’t know what was in the drink, but I knew he wasn’t himself. I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve realized something was wrong sooner. I was the one who let it keep going.”

“You were young. You didn’t drug him. You didn’t make him snap. And from what you said, he made his own choice to come upstairs.”

She shrugs again, smaller this time. “Still doesn’t stop people from whispering. Or looking at me like they know some secret about me. Or treating me like I’m toxic.”

I shake my head slowly. “They’re idiots.”

“I had to finish college with no friends. No family. No support. I was just… alone.” She looks at me then, eyes clear and steady despite the weight of what she’s sharing. “I couldn’t afford to move away. So I stayed in the same damn town. Changed colleges. Changed everything. And started over.”

Something tightens in my chest.

“You started over?” I echo, like I need the words to click twice in my head.

“Yeah.” She gives a small smile, this one more real. “Taught myself how to be invisible. How to blend in. Took jobs. Saved up. Did everything I could to become someone no one would look twice at again.”

The woman who now walks into VIP clubs in bodycon dresses. Who learned how to play every angle because she was tired of being ignored. The one who got glitter-bombed, hid me from a woman in her own hotel room, and took care of me when I was too drunk to think straight.

And I’m just sitting here, realizing I never had the faintest clue what kind of storm made her who she is now.

“You know what’s wild?” I say after a long pause. “If I went through even half of that, I’d probably be halfway to burning the world down.”

“You’d have the money and power to do it,” she replies wryly.

“Yeah,” I admit, and then I look at her, really look at her. “But you didn’t burn anything. You didn’t destroy anyone. You built a new life from rubble and kept going.”

Her gaze meets mine, unflinching.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she says.

“That’s what makes it impressive.”

She doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. The silence that fills the room now isn’t heavy. It’s… steady. Solid.

And it’s the first time I think I truly understand her. Not just the sharp-tongued, coat-wrapped, sarcastic woman who gave me hell from the moment we met. But the person underneath it.

She lost everything. And she still got up.

And I realize something else too.

I’m the one who should be learning from her.

Not the other way around.

Chapter 22

Elsie POV

I don’t know why I told him.

Alex is reckless. Cocky. Infuriating in a way that makes my skin crawl and my pulse race at the same time. But there’s something about him, something just under the surface. A heaviness in his eyes when he thinks no one’s watching. A silence that settles too quickly in his shoulders when the room goes still.

It’s that quiet, buried grief that made me speak. Like maybe he’s been through something too. Maybe not a boyfriend dying in a shower, or parents cutting you off like you never existed, but something. Enough to know what it feels like when your entire world tilts and never quite levels out again.

And now that I’ve said it—now that the words are out and hanging between us like fog—I regret it.

Not because it wasn’t true. But because I haven’t spoken about it out loud in years. Not to Sarah. Not even in therapy, the few times I bothered to go. It’s always lived just beneath the surface, smothered under sarcasm and oversized coats and my refusal to let anyone get close enough to ask about the cracks in my skin.

Until tonight.

Sighing, I lean back into the couch and let my head rest against the cushions. My chest aches in that slow, dull way that comes after you’ve let your armor slip too far for too long.

I wait for it—the look of pity, or disgust. The polite excuse to leave. A muttered “damn, that’s rough,” followed by a quick glance at the time and a fake reason to cut the night short.

Because let’s be honest. I’m not easy to handle.

I’m not fun, or flirty, or soft in the way people want. I’m complicated. I come with scars and headlines. With a past that can’t be scrubbed clean, no matter how many hours I spend rebranding myself into someone palatable.

And I’m not just baggage. I’m the whole damn claim line at the airport. Loud. Unwanted. Impossible to miss.

So I wait for Alex to flinch. To shift. To pull away.

Because I’ve seen that look before. From friends who didn’t want to be associated with me anymore. From strangers who read my name in the papers and decided I must’ve deserved it somehow. From my parents, when they stood in our living room and told me to get out.

But Alex doesn’t say anything.

Not right away.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just sits there, still as stone, staring at me like he’s trying to see past the words I just gave him and into whatever’s still hiding behind them.

And for some reason, that scares me more than anything else.

I hate that it makes me feel exposed the way he’s silent now. Like I’ve handed him something raw and real and he’s still trying to decide if it’s worth keeping or if he’s just going to drop it like everyone else has.

Shifting, I pretend to focus on the room. It’s too quiet. The music from outside the private lounge is just a low thump through the walls now. Dim lights overhead cast everything in gold and shadow. I should say something. I should change the subject, make a joke, take the weight out of the air. But I can’t. Not after that.

He doesn’t look away.

He doesn’t offer up some hollow version of sympathy just to fill the silence, and he doesn’t hit me with a joke to make it easier to digest.

He just looks at me.

His jaw tenses, the muscle there ticking once before he lets out a slow breath through his nose. He leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, fingers linked together like he needs something to do with his hands or he’ll snap.

“You know,” he says finally, voice low, “you’re a hell of a lot stronger than you act.”

I blink. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s supposed to be the truth.”

I snort quietly, because I don’t know what else to do. The heat that’s been gathering at the backs of my eyes is threatening to spill over, and I’ve cried in enough rooms for one lifetime. I won’t add Alex Wolfe’s VIP strip-club-adjacent lounge to that list.

“Most people wouldn’t have made it through that,” he says. “And even if they did, they sure as hell wouldn’t have stayed in the same city.”

My laugh is sharp and bitter. “Yeah, well, masochism’s always been a strength of mine.”

He doesn’t smile at that. He just watches me. Serious. Unmoving. Like he’s studying me all over again, now with this new filter.

“They should’ve stood by you. Your parents. Your friends.”

I don’t answer. Not out loud. Because there’s a part of me that still wonders if they were right. If losing them was the consequence of something I caused. Of being the girl upstairs when the boy she was supposed to trust lost his mind and died choking on his own screams.

But Alex doesn’t let the silence stay cold for long.

“They don’t get to define you. That shit? That’s not who you are, Elsie.”

My eyes flick to his, caught off guard by the way he says my name like it’s his. Like it’s not just something he’s saying, but something he’s claiming. Holding onto.

“And who am I, then?” I ask, voice quieter than I mean for it to be.

He leans back again, resting one arm over the back of the couch. His eyes roam over my face, but not in the way guys usually look at me—not the way they did when I showed up in heels and makeup and a push-up bra. No, Alex looks at me like he’s trying to figure out the ending to a story he’s only just started reading.

“You’re stubborn,” he says first, and I almost roll my eyes.

“You’re smarter than you let on. You don’t take shit from anyone, but you act like you have to prove you belong in every room you step into.”

He pauses, gaze softening, voice roughening just slightly. “And even when the world tried to tear you apart, you didn’t disappear. You stayed. You fought.”

Something catches in my throat.

“You’re not the girl they said you were,” he finishes.

I look down at my hands in my lap, too afraid to meet his eyes now. It’s stupid how much I needed to hear that. Even more stupid how much it hurts to hear it.

“Why’re you being nice to me?” I ask, not meaning for the question to come out so broken. “You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” he says. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you told me.”

My laugh is watery and embarrassed as I scrub a hand over my face. “Christ. I come in here thinking I’m gonna talk about interview questions and you’ve got me trauma dumping in a VIP lounge.”

“Could be worse,” he says, finally smiling. “You could be crying in a trench coat.”

I gasp in mock horror. “You take that back.”

He shakes his head. “I begged you not to buy one every again.”

“I never promised not to,” I mutter, but a real smile is tugging at the corners of my mouth now.

He watches it happen and leans in a little closer, nudging my foot with his. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I might’ve…” I pause, then grin. “Bought three online.”

Alex groans, dropping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “I give up. Your fashion sense is a war crime.”

“It’s called layers. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve probably got a closet full of shirts that cost more than my rent.”

“Yeah, well, at least they fit.”

We fall into that rhythm again, the one that always sneaks up on us when we’re not paying attention. Banter that cuts just deep enough to be interesting. Flirting that never quite crosses the line.

And when I glance over and see him looking at me again—really looking—I realise this whole night has shifted.

It’s not just about getting close to a source anymore. It’s not about outfits or interviews or story angles.

It’s about him.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, I feel like someone’s seeing me for who I really am.

Even if that someone is the one person I should be most afraid to trust.

Chapter 23

Alex POV

I don’t know what to say about her past. I’m still trying to process it. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize her when we first met, her face, her name, any of it. But it was years ago, and she’s changed. We both have.

“So,” she says, gesturing vaguely around the room, “do you come here often?”

I glance at the red velvet walls, the dim lighting, and the complete silence on the other side of the door. “Not for the obvious reason,” I reply. “It’s quiet. People assume these rooms are… occupied, so they don’t bother knocking. That makes it the one place I can breathe.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So this is your sanctuary?”

“More like a hiding spot,” I admit. “It keeps the noise out. People don’t come looking for answers or autographs in a place like this. They don’t even make eye contact if they see you coming down the hall. That’s the beauty of it.”

She snorts softly, but it’s not mocking. “Kind of genius, actually.”

I don’t come here to watch the dancers. That part never interested me. I come because no one follows. No texts, no agents, no reporters. Just silence. The only space in my life that still feels like mine.

I glance at her. I should probably let her go. Or send her home. But instead, I ask, “Want to come back to mine?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I almost regret it. Almost. But she just smiles and stands, grabbing her bag without hesitation.

“Sure.”

We leave together. I hold the door open for her and walk out into the cooler air of the parking lot. I don’t say anything as we climb into my car, and neither does she.

It’s comfortable, weirdly. For all the chaos we bring each other, sometimes being near her is the quietest part of my day.

Halfway through the drive, she glances over at me. “How’s hockey?”

I shrug, one hand on the wheel. “The usual.”

“You sound fed up,” she says, watching me too closely.

“Just tired,” I mutter.

“Is it the game or the stuff around it?”

That makes me pause. The game? I still love it. Every second on the ice still feels like freedom. But everything surrounding it? The backroom meetings, the deals, the pressure, the legacy—it’s poison. It’s not hockey that’s weighing me down. It’s the mess it comes wrapped in.

I don’t tell her that, though. Instead, I give her the easy excuse. “Family shit.”

She smiles a little. “Your sister?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Something else. Doesn’t matter. How long have you had your job?”

She watches me quietly. “How long do I have left to prove I’m worth keeping around, you mean?”

I nod. “Yeah. How long?”

“A month,” she says, softly. “If I don’t nail this assignment, it’s done. The contract ends and I’m out.”

I glance at her, studying the way she sits so casually in the passenger seat like she isn’t carrying the weight of her career on her shoulders.

“You could go private,” I offer. “Start your own site. Publish your own pieces. Build a portfolio your way.”

She barks a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a great idea if I want to eat air and live off validation from two subscribers.”

I chuckle. “Still more style than your coats.”

That earns me a scowl, but it’s half-hearted.

When we reach my place, we head inside, and I toss her a drink. She catches it with a grin, and we sink onto the couch.

“So,” I say, watching her over the rim of my glass, “what’s the backup plan? If journalism crashes and burns?”

She thinks about it, swirling her drink slowly. “I don’t know. Fashion, maybe. I always liked that world.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “You? Fashion?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Yes. Me.”

“Please don’t. I can’t handle the idea of more Elsie-styled disasters flooding the streets.”

She throws a cushion at me. “You asshole. My style is unique.”

“It’s Eskimo stranded in California.”

She gasps, mock offended. “Says the man who wears shirts so tight I can see his heartbeat.”

“Those shirts cost more than your entire trench coat collection.”

“That’s not the flex you think it is, Wolfe.”

I laugh, really laugh, for the first time all day. She’s impossible. Sharp, stubborn, wildly unpredictable. And for some reason, it’s exactly what I need.

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “Alright, smartass. If hockey wasn’t possible, what would you do?”

That catches me off guard. I blink, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

“I never had a backup,” I admit. “Hockey was always the plan. My dad made sure of it.”

“Nothing else you love?”

I think about it. About the quiet moments. The time I spent teaching kids in local programs. The way the world faded when I skated just for fun, not for scouts or endorsements. I think about how I loved drawing plays out on whiteboards like puzzles.

“I used to want to coach,” I say eventually.

Her face softens. “That actually makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re good at reading people,” she says, smiling faintly. “Even when you act like you’re not.”

I glance at her, and for a second the air shifts again. This isn’t just banter. It’s something else.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

She looks away like the moment was almost too much.

And for once, I don’t ruin it. I just sit with her in the quiet, letting the weight of the day fall off, bit by bit.

No chaos. No pressure. Just a moment that feels almost like normal.

“Your dad was pretty amazing,” she says softly, like it’s just a casual observation, like it’s not about to knock the breath out of me.

I turn my head toward her, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

“Your dad,” she repeats, a little more carefully now. “He was one of the players I had to study before coming out to report. He’s everywhere in the archives. Highlights, stats, old interviews…”

I snort before I can stop myself. “Yeah, well, he’s not as amazing as you think.”

She blinks at the bitterness in my voice. “But… he was always top of the league, right? One of the highest draft picks, and whatever team he played for seemed to dominate. I mean, that’s not nothing.”

I don’t say anything at first. Just stare down into my glass, watching the amber liquid shift.

“It’s what everyone says,” she adds after a pause, a little uncertain now. “Even in the interviews… I saw a clip of you, actually. You called him your hero.”

I grit my teeth. The word tastes rotten now. Hero. That’s what I used to believe, what I used to need to believe.

“He’s not my hero,” I mutter. “Not anymore.”

Her brow furrows, and I can feel her eyes on me, waiting. I sigh and shake my head, rubbing a hand down my jaw.

“But, the interviews with you in them.”

“He wasn’t half the man people thought he was. The whole thing… it was rigged,” I snap.

She stiffens beside me. “Wait. What do you mean ‘rigged’?”

I glance up at her, meeting her gaze squarely. “You really want to know?”

She nods slowly.

“Alright,” I say, leaning back and resting my arms across the top of the couch. “But if I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room.”

“You have my word,” she says, and for some reason, I believe her.

I stare past her for a moment, remembering. Piecing it together again.

“My dad… yeah, he could skate, shoot, win games. He had natural talent, no doubt. But what no one knew was that most of his career—his wins, his rankings, his record—was manipulated.”

Elsie goes quiet, her lips parting just slightly as she waits for me to go on.

“He was working with people,” I continue. “People who made sure certain games ended a certain way. Paid players, pressured refs, made trades that didn’t make sense on paper. All to keep him looking like the golden boy.”

“Shit,” she breathes.

I nod. “Exactly. He wasn’t just a player. He was a brand. And everyone around him, coaches, managers, teammates, they were either bought off or silenced.”

She sits forward, like she’s trying to make sense of it. “But… that’s massive. That’s not just ego, that’s an entire legacy built on a lie.”

“Tell me about it,” I say bitterly. “When I found out, everything shifted. All those years I spent idolizing him, trying to follow in his footsteps… it meant nothing. Every highlight I rewatched as a kid, every game I studied, none of it was real.”

Her voice softens. “Is that why you’re so protective of how you play now?”

I nod. “I don’t throw games. I don’t want to know who might be. I keep my head down and play clean. I don’t care if we win or lose, as long as I know it’s real.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“I get it now,” she says finally. “Why you snapped when I brought him up. That kind of betrayal… it stays with you.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “It does.”

“And no one knows?”

“Just Cal. And now you.” I pause, then add, “It ruined a lot of shit for me. But mostly? It ruined the idea of him. I don’t have family anymore. Not really.”

She reaches for her drink, but her eyes are still on me. “You ever think about telling the truth? Publicly?”

I shake my head. “And do what? Destroy myself in the process? There’s no proof anymore. Just stories. And no one wants to hear that their hero was a fraud.”

She swallows hard, like she’s chewing on the weight of it.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

I shrug. “You didn’t know.”

“I meant… I’m sorry you had to find out like that. That you had to carry it alone for so long.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say more. And for a moment, it’s just the two of us, sitting in the aftermath of truths that were never meant to be said aloud.

It’s weird, telling her feels good. Like the weight has gone that I’ve been carrying. I can’t tell her the deeper side, the risk is too much, but I’m glad I spoke.

She reaches over and nudges my arm. “Well, now you’ve officially out-trauma’d me.”

A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “That’s not a competition I want to win.”

She smiles, and it feels a little easier to breathe.

Maybe it doesn’t change anything. But it feels like she sees me differently now—not as someone under a spotlight, or a player with a famous name—but just as a guy trying to clean up the wreckage of a legacy he never asked for.

And weirdly, I don’t hate that.

Chapter 24

Elsie POV

I haven’t brought up his dad again. I can tell there’s more to it than what he told me, but it’s clearly still raw. The way he tensed, the way he shut down, it said more than his words did. So instead of pushing, I shift the conversation.

This time, I need his help for a completely different reason.

“So, I have a question,” I say, finishing my drink and holding out the glass as he refills it.

“Spill,” he mutters, leaning back against the couch with the kind of ease that says he’s either ready for chaos or expecting it.

“How the hell do I call Cal off?”

He nearly chokes on his drink. “Call him off? He’s not a dog.”

“Excuse me, but he kissed me. In public. Before he even realised I was a reporter.”

Alex leans further back, shaking his head. “Say you’re gay.”

“Are you serious?” I laugh, not sure if he’s joking.

“Hell yes… actually no. If you say that, he’ll probably take it as a challenge and try to turn you straight. Just tell him straight up that you’re not interested in dating him or sleeping with him. No tiptoeing around it.”

“Do you have his number?” I ask, already pulling out my phone.

“I do. But I’m not giving it to you.”

My head jerks toward him. “Are you serious? I could message him right now and end this, and call him off.”

He grins like I’m amusing him. “Stop saying ‘call him off.’ He’s not a damn golden retriever.”

Shrugging, I keep my phone in my hand and wait, giving him my best glare. “Come on. If I message him now, at least he gets the point.”

Alex shakes his head again. “Nope. If you message him, he’ll have your number. That’s not something I’m agreeing to.”

“You don’t have a choice,” I say through narrowed eyes. “Give me the number.”

“Say please.” He smirks, clearly enjoying himself.

“I’m not saying please. You owe me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve paid off that debt,” he says smugly. “I fixed your wardrobe and got the team to notice you. Too well apparently, since now they won’t shut up about wanting to sleep with you.”

My lip curls up into a smile before I can stop it.

“Don’t smile. That’s not something you should be proud of.”

“Isn’t it, though?” I tilt my head. “It means I got noticed.”

He groans and tosses his phone at me. “Fine. Take all their numbers if you want. Have fun.”

“I just need Cal’s.” I scroll quickly until I find the contact, then type his number into my phone.

I stare at the blank message box for a moment, trying to figure out how to say it without it sounding harsh.

“Be blunt,” Alex says, watching me like this is his personal entertainment.

Right. Blunt it is. No games. Just honesty. I type it all out.

Hi Cal, this is Elsie. I’m messaging to let you know I’m not interested in a relationship or a hookup. I’d rather keep things professional, and I won’t be mixing interviews with anything personal. Thanks for understanding.

I hit send, then toss Alex’s phone back at him.

“Why was that so hard?” I mumble, mostly to myself.

“Because you did it over text,” he says, laughing.

“How else was I supposed to do it? Wait until he sees me again and decides to kiss me a second time?”

“Well, in person might’ve been a little kinder,” he says between laughs.

“Ha. Ha.” I roll my eyes and pick up a cushion, chucking it at him.

It hits him square in the chest and knocks his drink out of his hand. Bourbon splashes all over him, and I lose it.

He glares at me like I’ve just committed treason. “This was decent bourbon. Just so you’re aware.”

He mutters under his breath as he yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He’s muttering something about women being unhinged and dangerous.

I’m still laughing too hard to care.

He looks up at me, shirtless and scowling, and I point at the spill. “You were asking for it.”

“I was sitting still,” he snaps.

“With a smirk. That’s enough.”

He huffs and reaches for another drink, shaking his head as he mutters, “Completely insane.”

I grin wider, tucking my legs under me on the couch. “Maybe. But I get shit done.”

“And ruin bourbon,” he mutters, but the edge is gone from his voice.

The mood’s light again. Which is exactly what I needed.

The knock at the door makes me freeze. My eyes snap to Alex, immediately suspicious.

“I swear to God, if you try to hide me in a cupboard again—”

“Relax,” he says, laughing as he heads to the door. “It’s just my sister, Leah.”

He swings the door open, and sure enough, she steps inside. Her eyes flick between us immediately, taking in the fact that Alex is shirtless and I’m curled up on his couch.

His phone starts to ring, but he ignores it, pulling her into a quick hug.

“Did I interrupt something?” she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“No,” he replies, already walking toward his phone like he’s trying to escape the room.

“Really?” She smirks and turns to me. “Because he’s half-naked. I’m Leah, his sister.”

“I remember,” I say with a small smile.

Alex points at me. “She threw a cushion at me and wasted my drink.”

“You were saying stupid shit,” I shrug.

He shoots me a glare but ends up laughing under his breath. “Yeah, well… maybe.”

The phone rings again, vibrating insistently on the counter.

“I need to take this,” he mutters, but his tone shifts. His voice is colder, flatter than it was just seconds ago.

Leah catches it too. She steps in front of him before he can disappear.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

“I’m fine,” he says too quickly, not meeting her eyes.

“Really?” she presses, arms folding across her chest.

He lets out a sigh. “I will be. Just let me handle this, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he slips out of the room with his phone in hand, his back stiff as he goes.

Leah watches the door for a moment, her brows knitting together in concern, then turns back and steps further into the room.

She drops onto the couch beside me and kicks off her boots like she’s done it a thousand times before. She spots the open bottle of bourbon still on the table and raises an eyebrow.

“He shared this with you? Voluntarily?”

I nod, amused. “I even spilled it on him.”

Leah bursts out laughing and leans over to pour herself a glass. “Well damn. That’s basically marriage by Alex’s standards.”

I laugh too and take another sip from my own glass. She’s easy to talk to, laid back in that way only siblings who’ve seen all the mess can be.

“So, what exactly did you do to get yourself on the couch drinking with the infamous Alex Wolfe?” she asks, eyeing me with curiosity that’s not entirely judgmental.

“Honestly? I’m still trying to figure that out,” I say, grinning into my glass. “I sort of crashed into his life… and now I think I’m just lingering.”

Leah chuckles. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t linger. They bounce off like rubber against concrete.”

“I think I just didn’t know better,” I admit.

“Or maybe you’re just the kind of person who doesn’t run when things get messy,” she replies, softer now. “Which… explains a lot.”

We sit there, sipping our drinks and laughing about Alex’s dramatic opinions on fashion, glitter, and his incredibly selective taste in friends. Every time I tell her something, she snorts like she’s not even surprised.

Eventually, she glances toward the hallway.

“He’s been gone a while.”

I nod. “Should we check?”

She shrugs, drains the rest of her drink, and stands. “Might as well. Be right back.”

She disappears down the hallway, and I hear the faint creak of a door. Then nothing.

A moment later, she returns, holding up her phone like it’s a trophy.

I lean forward to look.

It’s a photo of Alex, completely passed out on his bed, sprawled face-down, one arm hanging off the mattress and the other clutching his phone like he fell asleep mid-text.

His hair’s a mess, and he somehow managed to twist the blanket halfway off the bed. It’s the least composed I’ve ever seen him.

“He’s out cold,” she says, grinning. “Must’ve needed it.”

I shake my head with a smile, relaxing back into the couch.

Leah sits beside me again and pours another half-glass. This time, her expression is more thoughtful.

“You know… he’s not easy,” she says finally. “Getting close to him, I mean. His world’s… complicated. Messier than most people realize.”

I glance toward the hallway, my smile fading just a little. “Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”

She watches me for a moment, then nods like she’s satisfied with whatever she’s decided.

“He’ll push you away before he ever asks you to stay,” she says simply, “even when he wants you there more than anything.”

We sit in silence after that, just sipping and listening to the quiet of the apartment. The kind of quiet that means you’re both thinking about the same person but not saying a word more about it.

The silence between Leah and me stretches comfortably now, both of us softened by drinks and shared stories. She’s easier to talk to than I expected—sharp, honest, but without that edge Alex carries like a shield. She laughs loudly, listens carefully, and doesn’t tiptoe around anything.

I lean back, stretching out on the couch, letting the conversation drift for a moment before I speak.

“He told me a little about your dad,” I say quietly.

Leah’s entire posture shifts. The casual tilt of her body straightens slightly, and her smile slips away like I pulled a rug from under it. Her sigh fills the space between us before she answers.

“Yeah,” she mutters, rubbing a hand along her jaw. “That’s… a fucking mess.”

I nod slowly. “It sounded like it. He didn’t say much, just… enough to know he’s carrying it.”

Leah exhales, leaning forward to set her glass on the table, then turns back toward me, her face thoughtful now.

“If he’s even speaking to you about that,” she says, “that’s good. He doesn’t talk about it. He pretends it doesn’t eat at him, but it does.”

I don’t say anything. I let her keep going. There’s something about her tone now, calmer, heavier.

“He could’ve gotten over what our dad did,” she says. “The game-rigging, the match-fixing, manipulating entire seasons to make himself look untouchable. Alex hated it, sure, but he could’ve learned to live with it, moved on. It’s what came after that made it worse.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes meet mine, like she’s measuring whether I’m ready to hear what she’s about to say.

“Once a family’s tied to the mafia,” she says, her voice low and even, “you don’t just walk away. My dad made deals. Big ones. Fed them outcomes, injured players, and inside knowledge. Used it all to climb the ladder, to stay relevant after he should’ve faded out. And when he died, those ties didn’t vanish. They shifted.”

I freeze, completely still, as her words settle in my chest.

“They shifted to Alex.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“He refused to do what they wanted,” Leah continues, staring off into the space between us. “Wouldn’t throw games. Wouldn’t feed them fixed plays or scripted losses. Said he wasn’t his father and wouldn’t ever be.”

My throat is tight, but I force the words out. “So… what do they want from him now?”

Leah’s lips flatten into something that barely qualifies as a smile. “Information. That’s what matters to them. He doesn’t need to fix anything, just listen. If a player’s hurt? If someone’s head’s not in the game? If a team’s got internal drama that might tip a score one way or the other—they expect Alex to pass it on.”

“And he does?”

She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Just enough. Enough to keep them off his back, to make them think he’s still useful without screwing over the people he cares about. But it eats him alive, doing even that.”

I sit back slowly, letting it all process. I’d known something was weighing on him. I’d seen the cracks in his silence, the way his eyes dulled when certain topics came up. But I hadn’t known this.

Leah must notice my reaction, because she studies me, her head tilted.

“You didn’t know any of that?” she says gently.

“No,” I breathe. “He said his dad messed with the game, but… he never mentioned anything else.”

She leans back against the armrest, her voice quiet but firm. “He wouldn’t. The fewer people who know, the safer they are. If he’s letting you in even a little, that means something.”

I nod slowly, the weight of her words coiling around me. “He’s been helping me so much… pushing me forward, giving me advice, even helping with how I look. And all this time… I didn’t know what he was up against.”

Leah smiles faintly, but there’s sadness behind it. “It’s why he doesn’t get close to people. It’s why he says shit that makes you want to slap him, why he pushes you away right after pulling you in. He’s trying to keep people at arm’s length because he knows that one wrong move could get someone hurt.”

I don’t say anything. I just nod.

Because she’s right. He didn’t need to say it outright. I can feel it in the way he moves around me. The things he doesn’t say. The way he almost looks like he regrets getting involved even as he keeps showing up.

Now it makes sense.

He’s not just guarded. He’s trying to protect everyone from a game they don’t even know they’re playing.

And I’m already standing right in the middle of it.

Chapter 25

Alex POV

I step into the bedroom and close the door behind me. The moment it clicks shut, I hit the number and lift the phone to my ear.

“Yes?” My voice is sharp, colder than I mean it to be.

“I need to speak with you,” he says, calm but deliberate.

I rub a hand over my face. “Can’t this wait? I’ve got shit to deal with.”

There’s a pause. Long enough to be intentional. Then a sigh. That’s never a good sign.

“You were seen tonight,” he says. “Going into your place. With the reporter.”

I stiffen. Of course. Of fucking course.

“She’s a friend,” I snap back. “Nothing more.”

“Does she know?” he asks, like it’s a test I’m already failing.

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. “No. Do you think I’m that fucking stupid?”

There’s another pause. I can practically hear him calculating behind the silence.

“Look,” I say, forcing myself to sound composed. “She doesn’t know. She won’t know. I’m not going to tell her, and she’s not the type to dig.”

“She’s still a risk, Alex.”

“No, she isn’t,” I argue. “She’s not interested in this world. If she ever found out, she’d stay quiet. She’s not like that.”

“You’re so sure she wouldn’t say a word? Not even about your father?”

“She wouldn’t,” I say firmly. “Even if she knew about him. She still wouldn’t say anything.”

Silence again. Longer this time. My chest tightens with every second he doesn’t speak.

“Then prove it.”

I blink. “What?”

“If you’re so sure she won’t talk,” he says, “then throw tomorrow’s game.”

My heart drops. I actually laugh for a second—short, bitter. “What the hell does that prove?”

“It proves you’re confident she’s not a risk,” he says smoothly. “If she ever found out about you or your father, and if the media starts questioning your losses… you trust she won’t say a thing.”

“That makes no sense,” I say. “Throwing a game doesn’t prove anything.”

“It does to me. You’ve got two options, Alex. Either you play the game like normal and cut her off, or you take the hit and prove you believe she won’t ruin you.”

I can’t speak. I just stand there, gripping the edge of the dresser, knuckles turning white.

“You’ve got two hours,” he says. “Call me back with your answer.”

The line goes dead.

I stay frozen for a full minute before the panic sets in.

Throw a game?

I’ve never done that. I swore I never would. Not for anyone.

But cutting her off?

I know Elsie. I know who she is—how she thinks, what she’s like. She wouldn’t screw me over, not even with the shit she knows already. She listens. She watches. She’s careful. Too careful. Even when I told her about my dad… she didn’t run to her laptop. She sat beside me. Quiet. Loyal.

But they don’t know that.

And now they want me to prove it.

I start pacing. Back and forth. The floor creaks beneath me, but I don’t stop.

Because no matter which option I choose, something gets broken.

And I’m starting to wonder if it’s going to be me.

Moving across the room, I reach into the side table. The bottle’s already open. I don’t remember when I left it there—maybe after last week’s game when the pressure started building again—but right now, I need it.

I drop into the chair by the window and take a long pull. The whiskey burns, but not enough. My mind is spinning too fast for it to do anything but smoulder in the background.

Throw the game… or walk away from Elsie.

Neither option feels right. One makes me a liar to everything I’ve fought to rebuild since my dad’s mess. The other makes me a coward. And I don’t know which one I hate more.

My phone lies face-up on the table. I glance at it, watching the minutes tick away.

They’re testing me. Not just to see if I trust Elsie. They want to see if I’ll fold for her. If she’s enough to make me compromise the only rule I’ve never broken.

It’s a fucked-up power play, and they know it.

Two hours. That’s what they gave me.

Two hours to tear myself in half.

I finish the bottle. My fingers are tight around the glass neck like it might give me answers if I squeeze hard enough.

Elsie wouldn’t say anything. I know that. She’s not that type. Even when she’s angry, really angry, she doesn’t lash out like that. But that’s not how these guys think. They don’t see nuance. To them, a risk is a risk, and the only acceptable outcome is control.

And control, right now, means putting me on my knees in the one place I still have some damn pride.

I’m halfway to smashing the empty bottle when the phone buzzes.

The screen lights up with a number I’ve never saved but know too well.

I press answer and lift the phone to my ear.

“I’ll throw it,” I say quietly. No emotion. No hesitation. I’ve already made the deal in my head.

There’s a pause.

“Good. That proves you trust her.”

“I do,” I grit out. “And that should mean something. So now we change things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you back the fuck off. No more calls at midnight. No more showing up unannounced. No more sudden meetings that look like shakedowns. I’ve done what you wanted.”

“You’re not in charge, Wolfe.”

“No, but I’m your best asset.” I let the anger bleed through now. “You want intel? I’ve given you what I can. I’ve kept my head down. I’ve played the game. But I’m not your fucking puppet.”

A silence stretches. It’s the kind of silence where something is being weighed, something quiet and dangerous. My hand curls tighter around the phone.

“I want it back how it was,” I say, forcing calm into my tone. “Before Elsie. Before all of this. You kept your distance, and I gave you what I had. I want that again.”

Another pause.

“If you do this,” the voice says, low and measured, “then fine. We’ll step back. You’ll get your distance. For now.”

“For good,” I correct.

“For now,” he repeats. “Do your part tomorrow, Wolfe. That’s the only thing that matters.”

The line goes dead.

I sit there, breathing through clenched teeth, my head pounding.

I’ve never thrown a game. Never missed a shot on purpose. Never let my team down to protect myself.

But now I’m doing it for her.

For the woman who doesn’t even know she’s at the centre of this storm.

I stare at the phone, at the reflection of myself in the darkened screen.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like my father.

And I fucking hate it.

I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands over my face. I’m not proud of this—hell, I hate every part of it—but it’s the only option I’ve got. The only way to keep them from watching her. From digging into her life. From circling her like vultures.

She wouldn’t talk. I know she wouldn’t.

She’s been through that media storm before. She knows what it’s like to have your name dragged through the dirt for something that wasn’t your fault. She’s the last person who’d turn around and do it to someone else. Especially not to me. Not after everything.

Still. It’s not about what I believe. It’s about what they do.

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. One minute I’m lying there, eyes burning holes in the ceiling, replaying every scenario in my head. The next, I’m waking up with a dry mouth and a pounding skull.

The room’s still dark, faint grey light seeping through the cracks in the curtains. Too early to move. Too late to undo what I’ve already agreed to.

I drag myself out of bed, toss my clothes into the corner, and head for the shower. I let the water scald my skin until I feel halfway alive. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I walk back out, not expecting anything.

Then I stop.

Elsie’s asleep. Curled up in the chair by the window, her head tilted, arms tucked around herself like she’s trying to disappear into the cushions.

I don’t even remember saying she could stay.

She must’ve decided to though. Sat there in silence instead of waking me up. Probably waiting to talk or maybe just making sure I hadn’t drank myself into a coma.

That’s her, though. She does things quietly. No grand gestures, no yelling. Just… shows up.

I down a full glass of water in the kitchen before walking back toward her. There’s something deeply wrong about her sleeping in a chair while I hog the bed. Gently, I slide my arms under her and lift her. She doesn’t wake. Just sighs and shifts slightly, her head resting against my chest for a second before I lay her down in my bed.

I watch her for a beat longer than I should. Then I lie down beside her.

It’s just one game. One game to prove they’re wrong about her. One game so they back the hell off.

Eventually, I fall asleep again.

When I wake, the light’s stronger. Daylight now. Elsie’s curled against me, arms looped around my waist, one of her legs tangled with mine. She looks peaceful. I don’t want to disturb her, but I can’t stay here.

I slide out from her hold as gently as I can, padding across the room on bare feet. I grab her phone off the side table, swipe down to her alarms, and turn them all off.

She can’t come today. I can’t have her standing there, watching while I tank the game. Asking questions. Giving me that look that says she knows I’m lying.

She’ll know. She’s too smart not to.

And I don’t want to see that look.

I dress quickly, grabbing my bag and keys. Before I leave, I glance back at her one last time. Still asleep, still oblivious. That’s how it has to be.

I walk out and close the door behind me.

When I get to the rink, I say nothing. Not a word. I move through the motions like I’m on autopilot. Nods where needed. Grunts in place of conversation. I climb onto the team coach, plug in my headphones, and pull my hood down low over my head. I lean against the window and let the engine rumble beneath me, pretending I can’t feel the weight pressing down on my chest.

A few of the guys try to get my attention—Liam, Josh, maybe even Cal—but I don’t look up. I can’t. Not when I know what I’m about to do to them on the ice.

I’m about to fuck over my team. For her.

And even if she never knows, even if no one ever finds out—I’ll know.

And that might be the worst part of all.

Chapter 26

Elsie POV

I wake up to sunlight bleeding through the window, warm across my face. For a second, I don’t remember where I am. Then I feel the weight of the duvet, the smell of the room, clean, but still faintly masculine, and I know.

Alex’s apartment.

I turn over instinctively, expecting to find him still asleep beside me.

But the bed’s empty.

My stomach lurches. I sit up fast, eyes darting around the room. The space is quiet, undisturbed, and the sun is high enough in the sky to tell me I’ve messed up.

Shit.

I throw the blanket off and scramble for my phone. When I unlock the screen, my heart sinks. It’s late. So late. I’ve missed the start of the game, no, not just the start, I’ve missed the whole thing. There’s no way I’m getting to the stadium in time now. The post-game interviews, the team walkouts… all of it, gone.

I know I set my alarms. I remember doing it. Even half-tipsy with Leah last night, I know I checked them. More than once. So why…?

Did Alex turn them off?

A fresh wave of frustration hits me. Why the hell would he do that? Especially knowing how important this is to me.

Swearing under my breath, I rush around and throw on my clothes. I grab the first things I can find, tugging my hair into a loose ponytail before pouring coffee into his travel mug like some ridiculous form of spite.

If I can’t do the job I’m supposed to today, I might as well make use of his kitchen. It’s petty. I know that. But I’m furious—and maybe a little embarrassed.

I can’t believe I missed the game.

No—I can believe it. I just hate that it happened.

The second I’m ready, I call for a taxi. There’s no point in going to the stadium anymore. Even if I sprinted in heels and begged security to let me loiter in the hallway, it wouldn’t change the fact that I’ve missed the one thing that actually mattered today.

So I go to work instead.

The office is quieter than usual when I arrive. Most of the main staff are still at the game, or on post-match assignments. I head straight to my desk and boot up my laptop, not even bothering with my usual morning check-ins. No one stops me. No one asks why I’m late. I think they all just assume I’m buried in the story.

And I am.

Eventually.

It takes a minute, but once I start typing, I can’t stop. I’ve got two versions of the story saved—one simple, one deep—and I stare at them both, fingers hovering over the keys.

Then, without thinking, I start typing again. Words pour out faster than I can filter them.

It’s not a perfect article. It doesn’t read like the glossy, soulless player profiles that usually get greenlit. It’s something else. Something deeper. Personal.

Alex isn’t just another athlete.

He’s sharp-tongued and guarded. A bit reckless. Definitely a pain in the ass. But beneath all of that, there’s something solid. Something human. He’s misunderstood, not just by the public, but by everyone who meets him expecting the same smug celebrity attitude they’ve seen in headlines.

He’s careful with the people he lets in. He doesn’t trust easily. But when he does trust you, even a little, he gives more than he should. He tries. Even if it goes against everything he’s been taught.

And maybe I made it harder for him. I didn’t make it easy, that’s for sure. I threw attitude, suspicion, even some really bad outfits his way. But he didn’t walk off. He stuck around.

He helped me. When he didn’t have to. When no one else would.

I don’t know how long I’ve been typing, but when I finally stop, there’s a lump in my throat and my coffee’s gone cold. I scroll back through what I’ve written, eyes scanning the paragraphs. I’m not sure what this is yet. It’s not the article I planned to write. It’s not an exposé. It’s not a puff piece.

It’s something in between.

And it feels true.

The second version of the article? It’s everything a tabloid or mainstream outlet would drool over. It’s the kind of piece that gets you promoted, noticed, and offered better jobs in better cities. It lays everything out—the night I met Alex, the chaos that followed, the kiss, the drunken messages, hiding in a cupboard like an idiot. All of it. But this version goes deeper. It mentions his past, his relationship with his father, the pressure he’s under, and the shadow cast by the world he was born into. The one he never asked for.

It has all the right ingredients for a headline that would explode across every major site.

But it also has everything that would destroy him.

And no matter how many times I reread it, how tempting it is to click “send,” I can’t do it.

Any other reporter would. I know that. They wouldn’t hesitate. They wouldn’t care about the fallout, the broken trust, the way something like this could tear apart not just his life, but the fragile line he’s still walking every single day. They’d be proud to call it “an exclusive.”

But I’m not like them.

I close my eyes, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and take a deep breath.

Alex doesn’t deserve this.

Yes, he’s guarded, complicated, moody as hell, and occasionally an arrogant pain in the ass. But he’s also honest, in a way most people aren’t. He’s helped me without asking for anything back, pushed me to believe in myself, even when he could’ve walked away and left me flailing. He let me in more than anyone ever has. And maybe I didn’t ask for that responsibility, but now that I have it, I can’t just throw it away for the sake of a byline.

I open both drafts, side by side on the screen. The second version—the one my boss all but demanded—has it all. Power, scandal, raw confessions. It turns Alex Wolfe into a headline. Not a person. Not a man trying to survive in a world that’s cornered him. Just a name in bold font.

The first version?

It’s messier. Softer. Honest in a way that doesn’t burn him alive.

It talks about how he helped me understand what it takes to be seen. How he didn’t mock me for not fitting in, he taught me how to stand out. How he guided me through the world of pro hockey from the inside, not to benefit himself, but because he believed in me. It talks about the pressure he carries without diving into why. About the moments he let me see him, not as a celebrity or athlete, but as a man.

The kiss is in there. It’s brief. Just a mention. But it happened, and leaving it out would feel dishonest. It’s part of the truth. Part of what makes him different. Human.

I reread the first version once more. My chest feels tight. I know what I’m doing. I know what it means.

And I do it anyway.

I highlight the second version, the one filled with secrets that were never mine to tell, and press delete.

Just like that, it’s gone.

I sit there staring at the screen for a few seconds, hands trembling slightly. Then I open my email, attach the softer article, the one I believe in, and hit send.

Not even five seconds pass before I see my boss’s office door swing open and his hand wave me in.

Of course he was waiting.

I grab my notepad and try to steady my breathing. My fingers still shake as I stand. He’s already pissed, I can see it in the tight line of his mouth, the way he drums his fingers against the desk.

This is it. The beginning of the end.

But I don’t regret it. Not yet. And I don’t think I will.

Sitting across from my boss, I wait. His fingers drum on the desk as he stares at the screen, his face unreadable, but his jaw ticks, always the first sign he’s annoyed. He leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head.

“This is it?” he asks finally, his voice low and sharp.

I nod. “Yes.”

He blinks at me. “You were with him for weeks. You had full access. He trusted you. And this is all you have?”

I shift in my seat, but hold my ground. “This is the truth. He helped me, he guided me. That’s the story.”

He scoffs and leans forward again, eyes narrowing. “It reads like a soft piece. Like a human interest spotlight. You wrote about him fixing your fashion sense and showing you how to walk into a room like you belong there. This is not the kind of story I sent you out for.”

“There’s nothing else,” I say firmly, refusing to look away. “Beside hockey, his sister, and maybe one or two friends, Alex doesn’t have much of a life outside the rink. And he’s not the guy people think he is. He’s private, yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s hiding some massive scandal.”

His brow lifts. “Doesn’t mean he’s not either.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back the words I really want to say. That Alex is carrying more than he lets on. That the pressure on him could break someone else. That he’s still trying to be decent in a world that constantly claws at him. But saying that would be admitting I know more than I wrote, and I can’t.

He stares at the screen a little longer, then slowly turns his chair to face the window. Silence stretches between us.

“Go home, Elsie,” he says finally.

I hesitate. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t look back at me. “It means I have to consider whether you still have a place here. You were given a chance to prove yourself with a real story. Something bold. Something sharp. And you gave me a puff piece.”

I stiffen at the word, but I don’t argue. Not really. I just nod, even as my throat tightens. “Understood.”

Without waiting for a dismissal, I stand. I walk out of his office, across the quiet bullpen, and grab my bag off my desk. The office suddenly feels colder, like the weight of the silence is heavier than ever.

I don’t stop to say goodbye. I don’t even look back. I just walk out the door, the sound of it shutting behind me louder than anything else.

Alex was right. This story might not save me. But I still couldn’t hurt him just to save myself.

By the time I get home, I feel drained. The adrenaline from facing my boss has long since burned out, leaving a quiet hum of regret and stubborn defiance. I dropped the story he wanted, the one that would’ve guaranteed my job, probably earned me a promotion. Instead, I told the truth, or at least a softer version of it. One that wouldn’t put Alex on a slab for the world to pick apart.

Jenny is curled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and some crime documentary paused on the screen. Her head lifts the second I close the door behind me, and she sees my face.

“Uh-oh,” she says, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “You’ve got the ‘I might’ve just tanked my entire career for a guy’ face. Sit. Talk.”

I drop my bag with a heavy thud and collapse next to her. My head falls back against the cushion.

“I deleted the article.”

She blinks. “The article? As in… the article?”

“Yeah. The one with the truth. About Alex, his family, the connections, everything. I deleted it and sent in the fake one.”

“The fake one where he’s just misunderstood and helped you buy clothes and survive a glitter ambush?”

I nod.

“Holy shit.” Jenny stares at me. “So what happened with your boss?”

“He was furious. He said he’d consider if I still have a job and sent me home to think about my choices.”

“Well, you definitely made one.” She pauses, then cocks her head at me. “You sure this wasn’t about more than protecting him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, drawing out the words, “it sounds a hell of a lot like you caught feelings.”

I open my mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Instead, I reach for the throw pillow and hug it to my chest like it’ll shield me from how annoyingly perceptive she’s being.

Jenny’s lips twitch. “You totally did. You caught feelings for Alex Wolfe. The man who runs from reporters, hides in towels, and practically lives in a state of controlled emotional detachment.”

“Shut up,” I mutter into the pillow.

“Make me,” she fires back, grinning.

I don’t have the energy to fight her. Not tonight. I’m already questioning everything I did, and admitting she might be right only adds more weight to the mess in my chest. I don’t know if I caught feelings. I don’t know what I’m feeling.

All I know is that I couldn’t ruin him, not after everything.

My phone buzzes against the coffee table.

Jenny leans over and grabs it before I do. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

I snatch it from her and read the message. It’s short.

You busy? Can you come around?

Alex.

My pulse stutters, stupid and immediate. I hesitate only for a second before grabbing my coat.

Jenny doesn’t even try to stop me. She just smirks and says, “Tell him I said thanks for emotionally compromising my best friend.”

I flip her off over my shoulder and head for the door.

Chapter 27

Alex POV

The cold of the rink doesn’t bite like it used to. I can’t tell if I’ve grown used to it, or if the heat rolling through my body is masking it. My jaw’s tight beneath the cage, muscles wound so hard it hurts to breathe. Every scrape of skates on ice sounds too loud, every cheer from the crowd a blur of pressure on my eardrums.

I don’t want to be here. Not like this. Not with this weight.

But I am.

I shift on the bench, gloves creaking as I clench them. The first period didn’t matter. I skated like I always do, kept up appearances, kept my head down. But now… Now I have to make it count. Or rather, make it not count.

When Coach calls my line, I push up and hit the ice like it’s just another shift.

The puck drops.

I don’t even remember the first pass — that’s how deep the rhythm is ingrained in me — but I’m skating, I’ve got it, I’m moving forward.

And then I see it. The perfect opportunity. The net is open, my lane is clear, and all I have to do is shoot.

I lift my stick.

And I shoot wide.

Deliberate. Off-target. A rookie mistake from a player who doesn’t make mistakes like that.

It slams against the boards and ricochets so cleanly it lands right on the stick of a forward from the other team. He’s gone before I can turn. They get a shot off before our goalie can brace.

It misses, but the crowd still gasps. That play’s going to show up in every review.

I skate back, panting harder than I should be, stomach coiled in something hot and sour. My stick trembles in my grip.

This isn’t just a game. It’s a test. A message. A threat wrapped up in an order. And I’m the one they’ve got playing messenger.

I glance toward the bench. Coach is watching with that subtle frown that says he saw it. Cal’s on the edge, hands gripping his stick, reading me like a goddamn book.

We line up again. This time, I don’t just flinch at the last second. I take the puck. I make the pass. Only I don’t look. It goes wide again, straight to the other team. Again.

The whistles blow. We change lines. I skate off.

Cal grabs me before I’ve even touched the bench, yanking me by the sleeve and dragging me to the far end.

“What the fuck was that?” he growls, low enough no one else can hear.

I avoid his eyes. “Slipped.”

“Slipped? Twice?” He grips my shoulder hard. “What’s going on, Alex? You look like you’re about to be sick out there.”

I swallow hard, throat burning.

“Talk to me,” Cal says again. “Because right now? You look like you’re throwing this game. And that’s not you.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

He stares at me, eyes narrowing. “It better not be what I think it is.”

I turn away before I have to lie.

Because it is. It’s exactly that.

And if he knew… If any of them knew…

God help me.

Cal’s hand doesn’t let go. He steps in front of me again, forcing me to stop. We’re still tucked at the end of the bench, far from the coaches, but not far enough from the world.

“I said talk to me.” His voice is sharper now, low but urgent. “We had a deal. You told me you wouldn’t ever do this shit.”

I stare past him, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my teeth grind.

“I don’t have a choice,” I mutter.

“You always have a choice, Alex.” Cal steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “So what the hell changed? Why now?”

I look down at my gloves. I’ve ripped the tape near the wrist from clenching so hard.

“The person I met,” I finally say. “They’re not happy about it. Me being around her.”

Cal stiffens. “Her?”

I nod once. “They gave me an ultimatum. Cut her out. Or prove she won’t ever be a threat. Throw this game, and they’ll back off. Keep seeing her without throwing it… and they’ll tear everything apart.”

“Shit,” he breathes, stepping back. His skates scrape hard against the rubber as he runs a hand down his face. “You’re serious.”

I just nod again, throat too tight to speak.

Cal groans, pacing a few feet before swinging back around. “This is so far beyond what you agreed, Alex. This isn’t just feeding them harmless details. This is sabotage.”

“I know.”

“You’re really gonna do this?”

“What else can I do?” My voice cracks, just slightly. “They’ve been watching everything. The second they saw her—” I break off, jaw locking again. “It was either this or lose her.”

Cal’s silent for a beat. Then he lets out a long sigh and shakes his head.

“I’ll help,” he mutters.

I look up, startled. “What?”

“We’ll make it look like the team’s just having an off night. A few sloppy plays, bad passes, no connection. It won’t all land on you.” He steps closer again, dropping his voice. “But you owe me, Wolfe.”

“I know.”

“And this is it. One game.”

“One,” I promise. “Just one.”

He nods once, sharp and tight. Then Coach yells for us.

We hit the ice again.

The final period starts, and it’s like skating through concrete. The weight pressing on my chest is suffocating. I skate hard, but not sharp. My strides are too wide. I grip the stick, but I hesitate with every pass.

Cal and I fall into an ugly rhythm. I send him the puck just a step too fast, a little too wide. He shifts the wrong way at the last second, like he didn’t read it right. The result is a missed pass that looks like nothing more than poor communication.

We do it again. Again. And again.

The other team takes advantage of the openings. A clean breakaway. One goal.

Then another.

I press a glove to my helmet, breathing hard. From the outside, it looks like we’re crumbling. No chemistry. No energy.

From the inside?

It’s calculated.

Cal’s playing his role perfectly. I feel sick for making him.

When the final buzzer sounds, we’ve lost by three.

Not a blowout, but enough that it stings.

I skate off the ice with my head down, helmet still on. I don’t look at the crowd, or at my team, or at the scoreboard.

I did what they asked. I threw the game.

And I don’t even know if I’ll sleep tonight without wanting to put my fist through a wall.

Or worse.

---

The locker room is mostly quiet after the loss, the kind of silence that settles into your bones. No one talks. Sticks clatter to the floor, tape gets peeled from pads, water bottles are tossed into bags. I sit on the bench, elbows on my knees, watching the drops of sweat drip from my hair to the floor, still breathing hard.

Cal drops down beside me, still in his gear, but his shoulder bumps mine.

“You must really like this girl.”

I scoff, grabbing my jersey and wiping my face. “She’s a friend.”

He snorts. “Bullshit.”

“She is.”

“You just threw a game, Alex,” Cal says, voice low but sharp. “You and I both know you’d never have done that for a friend.”

I glare at the floor. I don’t answer, because the truth is, I don’t have one. He’s right. I wouldn’t have. Not for anyone. Not even for Cal. Not unless I owed them my life.

“I don’t know what this is,” I mutter finally. “I don’t even think she knows. But I couldn’t cut her off.”

Cal leans back against the locker, resting his head. “Then make sure it wasn’t for nothing. Because if you let her go after this? If you sit on your hands pretending you don’t give a shit, you just lost a game, a shot at playoffs, your damn pride, for nothing.”

I drag my fingers down my face.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then fix it,” he says. “Message her. Bring her tomorrow morning. We’re doing breakfast. Let the guys meet her.”

I glance over at him, frowning. “You don’t even know who it is.”

He shrugs. “Don’t need to. Just know you’re acting like a man who’s falling and doesn’t want to admit it.”

He has no idea, when he finds out who it is, he’s going to lose his fucking mind. I pull out my phone, staring at the screen for a second before my thumbs move on instinct.

You busy? Can you come around?

It sends, and I sit there like a jackass watching the screen.

“Tomorrow morning,” Cal says again. “Don’t back out. We’re all meeting at eleven. Don’t show up without her.”

I nod.

I’m tired of pretending. Tired of hiding what this is, or isn’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I know one thing.

I’m done saying she’s just a friend.

I don’t sit down when I get home. I can’t. My legs won’t let me. I pace the floor, circling the same spots, again and again, like a man trapped inside his own fucking skin. I keep glancing at the clock like that’s going to speed time up, like her face might appear just by me willing it.

I thought throwing the game would be the hardest part.

Turns out, it’s this. Waiting for her. Not knowing how to say it. Not knowing if I even should.

She doesn’t know what I did. But I know what it meant. That game? It was everything. It’s our season. It’s what the team bleeds for. And I gave it up, just to protect her from a world she doesn’t even know she’s already got a foot in.

My fingers twitch. My jaw clenches. Every thought spirals into the same place. What if she walks in and I can’t say it? What if she doesn’t want to hear it? What if all this was one-sided, and she doesn’t feel anything close to what I do?

No. No, I’ve seen the way she looks at me. The way her face softens when I let my guard slip, the way she always fucking notices when something’s off. She sees me in a way nobody else does.

And that’s the problem.

I’m used to being liked. I’m used to being wanted. I’m not used to being seen. Especially not by someone like her.

The sound of the elevator dings, and my whole body locks up.

Footsteps. A pause. Then a knock. Soft. Three taps.

She’s here.

I cross the floor before I can talk myself out of it. Before I can retreat behind that fake wall of indifference I always fucking hide behind. No more pretending. No more pretending I don’t care. That I don’t feel it in my bones when she’s near me.

I open the door.

She looks tired. Beautiful. Cautious. Her lips part slightly when she sees me, like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Her bag’s still slung over her shoulder, her hair messy like she didn’t stop moving once today. Like maybe she ran here.

I don’t give her the chance to say anything.

I step forward, grab her by the waist, and pull her against me. My arms wrap around her tight as I lift her up, her breath catching as I kiss her hard enough to make up for every second I’ve held back.

Her hands brace against my chest at first, like she’s startled. But she doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t stop me.

When I set her down, her eyes are wide, her lips parted, breath shallow as I rest my forehead against hers.

“I’m done pretending I don’t fucking want you.”

Her chest rises, and she blinks once, like she’s trying to process what I just said.

“Alex…”

“I mean it.” My voice is raw. “I’ve done everything I can to keep you out of this, to keep things neat. But I can’t anymore. I want more than just sneaking glances and pretending you’re just someone I’m helping.”

She doesn’t speak. Not right away. Her gaze flicks over my face like she’s looking for the lie.

But there isn’t one.

This is me. No filters. No careful distance. Just me.

Just a man who fell hard, and finally fucking admitted it.

Chapter 28

Elsie POV

I’m thrown, completely fucking disarmed, and I don’t even get the chance to catch my breath before Alex pulls me in again, his mouth crushing mine in a kiss that shatters whatever boundaries we’ve been pretending to keep. Everything inside me screams that I should push him away, that I should demand answers or at the very least ask why now. But none of that matters because I don’t move away. I lean in. I kiss him back like I’ve wanted to for weeks.

His arms tighten around me, and I gasp against his mouth as he lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries me through the apartment without breaking the kiss. The scent of him—clean, sharp, familiar—floods my senses, and I’m lost in the way his lips move against mine, demanding, desperate, but somehow still measured, like he’s trying not to lose control completely.

My fingers fumble at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. It peels away slowly, and I trail my hands along the curve of his shoulders, down his chest, my palms tracing every muscle like I’m trying to memorize them. His skin is warm beneath my touch, and when I drag my nails lightly down his sides, I feel the tremble in his breath.

He pushes open his bedroom door with a nudge of his foot, and it swings inward as he walks us in. The room is dim but not dark, just enough light to see him clearly. He lays me gently on the bed, but there’s nothing gentle about the way his hands move now—hooking under my dress and tugging it up, exposing skin inch by inch until I arch off the bed and help him pull it over my head.

The fabric hits the floor and I reach for him, fingers at the waistband of his jeans. He watches me, eyes dark and hungry, and when I pop the button and slide the zipper down, he lets out a rough breath that punches straight through me.

His hands move over my body like he’s been waiting for this, craving it. He peels away the lace bra I wore tonight, one of the ones he made me buy, and his eyes flare as it comes off. His mouth is on me instantly, tongue trailing fire down my throat, across my chest, until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, breath warm against my skin. “Tell me now, Elsie, or I’m not going to.”

“I’m not going to,” I whisper back, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him down again.

He groans, deep and low, before pulling me beneath him completely. Everything else fades away, the stress, the secrets, the lies. For now, there’s only this. Him and me. And the quiet understanding that no matter how messy it gets after this, neither of us can go back.

His skin is hot against mine, his weight familiar now as he settles between my legs, his breath feathering across my cheek as he leans in, his mouth brushing mine again, slower this time. There’s no rush now. No panic. Just the deep, aching need to feel him, to let him in.

Alex kisses me like he’s trying to make up for every moment we pretended not to want this. Every time we looked away. Every word we didn’t say.

I slide my hands down his back, nails tracing the line of muscle along his spine. He groans quietly, shifting just enough to press closer, our bodies perfectly aligned. The heat between us is unbearable, and when he tilts his hips, the hard length of him nudging against me, I break the kiss with a gasp.

His forehead rests against mine, and for a moment we just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. His hands are trembling slightly as they cup my face.

“You’re sure?” he whispers again, eyes searching mine.

“I’m sure,” I breathe, barely holding it together. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He leans down, kissing the corner of my mouth before guiding himself into me slowly, inch by inch. The stretch burns, but it’s not pain, it’s intensity. It’s heat. It’s him.

My hands tighten on his back, legs wrapping around him as I hold on, as he sinks deeper until there’s no space left between us. We stay like that, motionless, breathless, just feeling everything.

His face is buried in my neck, his voice low and broken. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

His hand tightens on my hip, anchoring me, and I feel him tremble with restraint above me. Alex is still, too still, as though he’s holding back the entire weight of everything he’s ever felt, ever wanted. I can feel it in his body, in the way his muscles are taut beneath my palms, in the way his breath shakes where it fans against my throat.

I lift my hand, press my fingers to the back of his neck, and pull him down until his mouth brushes mine again. “It’s okay,” I whisper, lips ghosting his. “I want this. I want you.”

He exhales hard, like that’s all he needed to hear, and then he moves.

Slowly, his hips roll forward, the smallest motion, and I feel him sink just a little deeper. My breath catches in my throat, and I cling to his shoulders, my legs tightening around his waist. Every inch of him feels impossibly deep, impossibly real, and my body has never felt so open, so full, so completely his.

He groans quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He pulls back an inch, then pushes forward again, and this time the motion steals the air from my lungs. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if memorizing how I feel wrapped around him, as if he’s afraid going too fast will ruin the way everything fits perfectly between us.

My hands drift down his back, sliding over the ripple of muscle, anchoring myself to the strength of him. I’m so aware of every part of him—his breath against my cheek, the way his chest brushes mine with every movement, the tremor in his arms as he supports his weight above me. He’s being careful, holding back, even though I can feel the tension in him coiling tighter with every slow thrust.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I’m not going to break.”

His eyes meet mine instantly, and whatever restraint he was clinging to frays just a little. He leans down and kisses me again, slower this time, deeper, his tongue sweeping into my mouth as he thrusts forward with more intent. The rhythm builds, a steady pressure that starts to unravel me piece by piece. Every motion leaves me gasping, aching, desperate for more.

He shifts slightly, adjusting his angle.

“Oh,” I breathe, my head tipping back as he hits something deep inside me that makes my entire body light up.

Alex groans against my neck. “There?”

“Yes—God—yes, there.”

He does it again, and again, and my fingers curl into his back, holding him to me like if I let go, I might fall apart. The pressure builds fast, white-hot and consuming, until every thrust, every kiss, every touch is dragging me closer to the edge. I can’t think, can’t speak, only feel him, the weight of him, the way he fills me so completely I don’t know where I end and he begins.

His hands slide down my body, cupping my hips, holding me steady as he begins to move harder, deeper. Still controlled, still careful, but with a purpose now. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Like he wants to see me come undone.

“Alex—” His name spills from my mouth, desperate and broken.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice raw. “You feel so fucking good, Elsie—Jesus, I can’t—”

He cuts himself off with another thrust, and I cry out, nails digging into his skin. The heat between us is unbearable now, molten and fast, and I can feel myself tightening around him, feel my body starting to shake with how close I am. His thumb finds my clit, and the jolt of pleasure is instant, a sharp contrast to the deep, steady drive of his hips.

“Oh my God—Alex—”

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

I do. With a broken cry, I unravel beneath him, every muscle seizing, every nerve alight. The orgasm tears through me in waves, raw and overwhelming, and I can feel myself pulsing around him, feel the way it drags a guttural moan from his throat.

He’s not far behind.

“Fuck… Elsie—” His rhythm stutters, hips jerking once, twice, before he buries himself deep and stills. I feel the tremor that runs through him, the way he gasps into my shoulder, the raw, unfiltered pleasure that breaks across his body.

For a long moment, neither of us move.

We stay tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, our breathing loud and uneven in the silence. His weight on top of me isn’t heavy—it’s grounding. Real. I run my fingers up his spine slowly, soothing the tremble I still feel there, and he turns his head to press a kiss to my collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.

I blink, dazed, my hand stilling in his hair. “Why?”

He lifts his head, just enough to look down at me, and there’s something raw in his expression. “Because I should’ve told you how I felt before this. I should’ve said it a long time ago.”

My heart stutters.

He shifts, rolling us slightly so he’s not crushing me, but keeps me pulled against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around me. I bury my face in his neck and breathe him in, trying to remember how to exist in a world where this just happened.

“Tell me now,” I whisper.

His arms tighten.

“I love you,” he says, voice rough, unflinching. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I was just too scared to say it.”

My throat tightens, and I pull back just enough to look at him. “I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I want to admit.”

His smile is soft. Crooked. Honest. “Then admit it.”

I kiss him instead. Slow. Full of every word I’m still too raw to say. When we part, he leans in again, brushing a hand down my side like he can’t stop touching me.

“You’re staying tonight,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes darken slightly, like he’s still reeling from the gravity of what just happened between us. But he only nods, pulling me tighter against him, his hand resting low on my hip.

“I don’t want this to be just once.”

“It won’t be,” I whisper, burying my face against his chest. “It can’t be.”

As the room falls quiet around us, warm and slow and full of things unsaid, I realize the truth curling up inside me like a second heartbeat, this was never just about sex. It was always about him. About us. And maybe, finally, we’re ready to stop pretending.

“That wasn’t just sex,” I say quietly, because I have to. Because if I pretend it was anything less, it’ll ruin me.

He nods, once. “No, it wasn’t.”

His fingers brush a strand of hair from my cheek, then drift down to trace my jaw. He leans in and kisses me again, slower now. Almost shy.

“I didn’t plan this,” he whispers. “I thought I could keep it casual. Professional. Safe.”

“I thought that too.”

He laughs softly, almost bitter. “We suck at casual.”

I smile faintly, my hand settling over his heart. It’s still beating fast. Like mine.

“Alex,” I whisper. “You don’t have to be perfect with me. You don’t have to hide.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. Vulnerability. Fear. Hope.

“I just don’t want to ruin this,” he admits. “Ruin you. You deserve better than everything that comes with me.”

I press my lips to his. Not to silence him. Just to answer.

“You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

He rests his forehead against mine again, like he did at the beginning. Only now, we’re different. We’re bare in every way that matters.

“You’re not scared?” he asks softly.

“I’m terrified,” I admit. “But I want this anyway.”

He exhales, long and heavy, and his arms tighten around me.

We stay there, wrapped around each other like we’re afraid the moment might disappear if we let go. And maybe it will. Maybe tomorrow the world crashes back in and all the fears, all the secrets, all the things we’ve both kept buried will pull us apart.

But right now, in this quiet, tangled, breathless moment, we’re not afraid.

We’re just us.

And for the first time, that’s enough.

Chapter 29

Alex POV

I’ve done it.

We’ve done it.

She’s falling asleep now, warm and tangled against me, her breath a soft rhythm against my chest. I know what I’ve just done, what I pulled her into, goes deeper than she can imagine. She has no idea that I threw the game today. No idea what that means or what it cost. No idea what kind of world she’s starting to touch just by being with me.

I stare at the ceiling, hand resting on the dip of her spine. My thumb strokes gently, slow and steady, and I try not to think too hard about what comes next. She’s already closer than she should be. I let her in, and now there’s no way to pull her back out without hurting her.

But I can’t tell her everything. Not tonight. Not yet.

Still, there’s one thing gnawing at the back of my mind. One thing I’ve been holding back since earlier. I shift slightly and lower my voice.

“Elsie?” I whisper.

She hums sleepily in response, her cheek brushing against my skin.

My fingers keep tracing the length of her spine. “You said… you slept with Gavin, right?”

She nods, faintly. Barely a movement.

“Really?” I ask again, quieter this time. “Did you?”

“Yeah. Why?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

I hesitate. I don’t even know why I asked. Maybe it’s selfish curiosity, or maybe it’s just this knot in my chest I can’t ignore.

“I just… I needed to be sure you weren’t a virgin. You were… tight,” I say, instantly regretting how it sounds.

Her body shifts closer, pressing against mine. “I haven’t slept with anyone since then,” she whispers, even softer.

I freeze, that was years ago.

Years.

“Why not?” I ask, voice low and hesitant. “You’ve dated, haven’t you?”

“I tried,” she breathes. “Every time I tried, I’d get flashbacks.”

Fuck.

Her words hit like a punch to the ribs. I tense, arms wrapping tighter around her instinctively.

Of course. Her first time, her only time until now, ended in trauma. She trusted someone, and he hurt her. Then he died, and she got blamed. It’s not just about fear. It’s about being haunted.

And yet… with me, she didn’t flinch.

She let me in. Trusted me enough to let me touch her, to hold her like this.

“It didn’t happen with you,” she murmurs, her voice fragile. “I didn’t even think about it. Not once.”

I press my lips to the top of her head, eyes closed, guilt and something heavier settling in my chest.

“You should’ve told me,” I say softly. Not angry. Just… wrecked. “I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have—”

She doesn’t answer.

When I glance down, her eyes are closed, her breathing slow and even. She’s asleep now, safe in my arms like none of it weighs on her the way it does on me.

And still, I hold her tighter.

Because now I know. I know what I’ve given her, and I know what she gave me in return.

Trust.

And I threw a game to keep her in my life.

If she ever finds out, about that, about everything, I don’t know if she’ll forgive me. But right now, she’s here. She’s still here.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

I close my eyes and let the weight of everything press down on me, her heartbeat steady against my chest, my arm wrapped around her like I’m afraid she’ll disappear. Because maybe I am.

But I also know this: I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe from this world.

Even if I have to burn mine to the ground.

The sound of running water pulls me from sleep, slow and disoriented. For a second, I reach out, half expecting to find her still curled beside me, but the sheets are warm and empty.

I sit up, running a hand over my face, and listen. The soft spray of the shower, the steam already filling the room, confirms she’s still here. Still in my place. My chest loosens a little, even if my mind is already tight with everything I need to say. What happened last night changed everything. Not just because we finally crossed that line, but because she trusted me in a way I’m not sure I deserved.

I rise, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the chair and tugging them on as I cross the room. The bathroom door’s cracked slightly, steam curling out into the hallway. For a moment, I hover there, hand on the doorframe, torn between wanting to be close to her and unsure if she wants that right now.

I step inside, slow, silent. She’s silhouetted behind the fogged glass, her back to me, water streaming down her body. I hesitate, standing just inside the room, eyes fixed on her.

Her voice carries over the sound of the shower. “You gonna just stand there all morning?”

A breath leaves me, one I didn’t know I was holding. I move toward her and slide the door open. She glances over her shoulder, meeting my eyes, and nods slightly. Removing my sweats, I step in.

My arms wrap around her from behind, carefully, gently. Her skin is warm, slick beneath my palms, and I hold her like she might vanish if I’m not careful.

“You don’t need to be cautious,” she says softly, tipping her head back against my shoulder.

“I do,” I whisper into her damp hair. “Your past… it isn’t something I take lightly.”

She turns in my arms then, chest pressed to mine, eyes steady. “I told you, it never comes back with you. Not once. You’re not him.”

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers. “Still. I can’t just forget it.”

“You’re not supposed to. But I’m telling you, I’m not broken.”

“I never said you were.”

She leans up, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Then stop treating me like I’ll fall apart.”

We shower together in quiet intimacy, no rush, no pressure. Just small touches and soft words. I towel off first, tugging on jeans and a shirt while she finishes. We’re quiet, not awkward, just comfortable.

When she walks out wrapped in one of my towels, I stop pretending not to watch her.

“We should tell them,” I say, as she pulls on her underwear. “The team.”

She lifts a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to hide it. They’ll find out anyway, and if we’re upfront, they’ll get over it faster.”

She doesn’t argue. Just gives me a small nod and starts dressing. I take that as her yes.

My phone’s dead. I grab a charger from the kitchen drawer and plug it in while she finishes getting ready. I watch the battery icon light up and set it down, breathing in slowly.

This morning already feels different. Not easier. Just… different. Lighter.

We leave together, stepping out into the crisp air. I drive us to the small café a few blocks from the rink where some of the guys said they’d be meeting for breakfast. Elsie’s quiet, sipping from her travel mug. I know she’s thinking about how this is going to go. So am I.

The place is packed as usual, but I spot them right away. Liam, Josh, Cal, Deano and some others are crammed into the corner booth. They’re already halfway through their plates, laughing about something.

The second I step into the café, the air shifts.

Cal’s eyes hit mine. Then Elsie’s. His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t speak.

Josh stares. Liam just blinks. Sam shoves a newspaper behind his back like a guilty kid trying to hide stolen candy, but I don’t react. My focus is on Cal, and the way the entire table’s gone silent.

Elsie slides into the booth next to me, and I can feel her hesitation, the way her shoulders shift as if she’s bracing for impact. She should. They’re not smiling. They’re not laughing. This isn’t the usual chaos that follows us everywhere. This is something else.

The tension practically hums between us.

“Morning,” I say flatly.

No one answers.

Josh finally mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “Didn’t see that coming.”

I lean forward, arms on the table, and look right at Cal.

“You said to bring her,” I say calmly. “So here she is.”

Cal doesn’t answer. He stares, and there’s something in his expression I don’t like. It’s not shock. It’s not amusement.

It’s disappointment.

“You’ve been seeing her?” Sam asks. “As in… her?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Her. Elsie.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that when she showed up to interview us?”

“Because it didn’t matter,” I reply, voice sharper now. “She didn’t want special treatment. She wanted to earn it.”

“Right,” Liam mutters. “Earn it. By sleeping with you?”

Elsie stiffens beside me, and I see red.

“Careful,” I say, eyes on Liam now.

“I’m just saying,” he shoots back, hands raised. “You’ve been hiding her, man. We thought she was just some reporter who got lucky being in the right place. Turns out she was in your bed the whole time.”

“I wasn’t.”

That comes from Elsie. Her voice is calm. Steady. But I feel the tremor just under it.

“I wasn’t in his bed the whole time. I worked for this. I earned every damn conversation I got from you lot.”

Silence again.

Cal looks away, like he’s trying not to lose it. He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and shakes his head once.

“So, what, it’s real now?” he finally asks, still not looking at me.

“It is,” I say. “It’s been real. We started as friends. I helped her with the job because I saw how good she is at it. The rest just happened.”

“No,” Cal says quietly. “The rest didn’t just happen, Alex. You let it happen. You knew we’d react like this.”

“Then that’s on you, not me,” I fire back.

Josh scrapes his spoon against his plate, clearly uncomfortable. Liam exhales hard and sits back, arms crossed. Sam mutters something under his breath, but no one asks what it is.

Elsie shifts beside me, and her hand brushes mine beneath the table. It’s subtle, light, but grounding. I grab her fingers and hold them.

Let them all see it.

Let them know this isn’t a fling.

I glance across the table again. Cal’s eyes are hard.

“I thought we didn’t lie to each other,” he says quietly.

“I never lied,” I reply. “I just didn’t tell you everything. Because this wasn’t about you.”

“No,” Cal says, pushing his plate away. “It’s about her. And how you threw away every rule we had to protect someone none of us knew.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “You do know her. You just didn’t know it yet.”

No one speaks and the tension doesn’t break.

But I don’t look away.

I don’t flinch.

Elsie is beside me, her fingers still in mine, and I’m not fucking hiding anymore.

Let them deal with it. Let them choke on it.

Because she’s not going anywhere.

“I get it. I should have made you aware, especially when I knew you liked her. But at that point, I wasn’t willing to do anything,” I say, holding Cal’s gaze, waiting for him to understand.

“I don’t give a shit about that, Alex,” he shouts, voice sharp enough to cut through the entire room.

“No? Then why are you acting like this? Why are you losing it like you’re jealous?” I snap, my frustration boiling over.

“Jealous? You think I’m jealous right now?” His eyes blaze, incredulous and furious.

What other reason is there? What else could explain this sudden, explosive reaction?

“Yes, I think you’re jealous. You were the one who told me to go for it. You said I should bring her, introduce her to everyone. You pushed me toward this. And now that you know it’s Elsie, someone you used to want, suddenly you’re acting like the ground’s been pulled out from under you. That’s jealousy, Cal, whether you admit it or not.”

He explodes, shoving past Sam without a second glance. His hand slams something down on the table. I look down, and my chest tightens the second I see what it is. A newspaper. Front page. Headline in bold.

Is Alex Wolfe working with the mafia to throw games like his father was?

“She was fucking you for a story!”

Everything inside me stills.

My head turns toward her, and my voice comes out quieter than I expect. “You wrote this?”

Her eyes drop to the floor before meeting mine again. “I…” She trails off.

That’s all I need to hear.

“You did. You actually fucking wrote it,” I say, the words breaking open as I push back from the table and stand. The blood rushes in my ears, and I can’t stop the fury from ripping through me. “Are you joking? Was all of this just for a fucking story?”

“I deleted it. I swear,” she says, voice rising, desperate.

“You still wrote it,” I shout, unable to believe the betrayal taking shape in front of me. “You sat there with me. You asked questions, acted like it meant something, and the entire time you were writing this.”

“It was never meant to be released,” she pleads, stepping toward me.

Cal glares at her, his voice like ice. “Bullshit. I read every word. It was finished. Don’t act like you weren’t ready to send it.”

She reaches for me, and I step back instinctively, forcing distance between us. “Don’t touch me. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you even understand the weight of this?”

My voice breaks as I turn toward the door. She follows, stumbling after me with the team right behind us. I can hear their footsteps, but all I see is her face, all I hear is the lie she never told until it was already too late.

“Alex, please. I never lied about how I felt. Please just listen,” she says, trying to hold onto my arm as I reach for the car door. I shove her off, and she stumbles again, grabbing at me.

“No? Then answer me one thing,” I say, yanking the car door open. “When were you told to do the story?”

She bites her lip hard. Her eyes fill with tears, but I need the truth now, not emotion.

“How long ago, Elsie?” I shout.

“After we met in the hotel,” she whispers.

It knocks the breath out of me.

“Everything was a lie,” I say, stunned. I feel sick, like the world just dropped out from under me.

“No. I swear it wasn’t. Not all of it. Please, Alex, listen to me,” she begs, grabbing at my hand.

I push her back harder than I mean to, and she falls, landing on the pavement with a quiet thud. For a moment, she just stares up at me, eyes wide and shining.

“Don’t. You lied from the start. Every word out of your mouth was a calculated choice. Was any of it true? Or did you drug Gavin too, just to make sure your story got some teeth?”

Her face crumples. Her mouth parts in disbelief, but I don’t wait for an answer.

I slam the door, shove the keys into the ignition, and pull away without looking back. The tires screech against the pavement, and my chest burns with everything I can’t scream out loud.

She’s safe now. Her name is out there, printed and published, so no one will touch her. Everyone knows who wrote it.

Me? I’m finished. I’m exposed. The wolves are already circling.

Chapter 30

Elsie POV

I can’t breathe.

The gravel digs into my palms where I caught myself, the cold of the pavement sinking into my knees. I sit there, stunned, barely upright, watching the back of his car disappear around the corner like it didn’t just take everything with it.

My mouth is open but no sound comes out.

I don’t even feel the tears until they’re already falling, hot and fast and unforgiving. I wipe at them with shaking hands, but they won’t stop. My chest is heaving, lungs refusing to cooperate, and for a moment I think I’m going to be sick right here on the sidewalk.

I don’t care that I’m in public. I don’t care that his teammates are still standing a few feet away, watching like I’m something broken on the side of the road.

Because maybe I am.

Maybe I broke myself.

I try to stand, but my knees buckle. My whole body is trembling, each breath a ragged sob clawing its way up through my throat. My hand hits the concrete again to brace myself. Blood smears across my palm from the scrapes.

I hear footsteps behind me. Cal. I know it’s him before I look.

“Cal—” My voice cracks, completely shredded. I force myself to meet his eyes. “Please. You have to believe me. I didn’t send it. I swear to God, I deleted it. I love him—”

“You used him,” he snaps, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it.

I flinch like he hit me.

“No,” I choke out. “It started like that, okay, but it changed. I didn’t expect it to, I didn’t mean for it to, but it did. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to do a goddamn thing,” he says, stepping closer. “You lied to all of us. You walked into our world like you belonged, and we trusted you. He trusted you.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he cuts in, voice rising. “You played us. You played him. You sat next to us, laughed with us, ate with us, and the whole time you were writing his names down like he was nothing more than content.”

“No,” I whisper, trying to reach for him, but he steps back. “I tried to do the right thing. I chose him over the article.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something now?” Cal laughs, bitter and sharp. “After everything you got out of him? After this?”

I wipe my sleeve across my face, trembling too hard to stop it. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. All I can see is the look on Alex’s face when he realized what I’d done. The betrayal in his voice. The way he shoved me like I was poison.

“I didn’t know it would leak,” I whisper. “I didn’t know anyone would see it—”

“Then you’re stupider than I thought,” Cal says, voice quiet now, but it cuts deeper than when he shouted. “You really thought you could write that and no one would ever find it? You think a soft rewrite makes up for what you had in your files?”

I shake my head, desperate. “It wasn’t meant for anyone. I swear, I was just trying to process. It was a draft. A mistake. I wasn’t going to hurt him.”

“Well,” he says, looking down at me like I’m not even worth the effort it takes to keep standing there, “you already did.”

The others don’t speak. They don’t move. They just follow when Cal turns and walks away, his back rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.

I sit there on the pavement, watching them go, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing louder than it should. People are staring. A woman pauses across the street. A kid tugs on his father’s hand. I don’t care.

My arms wrap around my knees, and I press my forehead down, letting the tears come faster now, harder, because there’s nothing left to hold onto. Nothing to save. Alex is gone. Cal hates me. The team will never look at me the same way again.

And it’s all my fault.

I stayed too long in a world I never belonged in, and now I’ve poisoned it.

If I’m going to drown in this, I want to do it on my feet.

My legs shake as I push myself up, every part of me aching. I wipe my face again, even though my cheeks are still soaked, and I inhale sharply. It does nothing to stop the tears, but it keeps me moving.

I grab my bag off the ground where it fell, brushing the dust from my knees. My phone is still in my coat pocket. I don’t look at it. I don’t need to. Whatever’s waiting there—calls, headlines, fallout—I’ll face it after I face the one person who gave me this job in the first place.

The one who demanded the story.

The one who set this fire and handed me the match.

I walk and don’t stop.

Not when my shoes bite into my heels, not when people glance at me like I’m unwell, not when the wind makes me shiver and I realize I’m still wearing the same clothes I threw on in his apartment. I just keep walking.

Toward the office.

Toward the person who made me choose between integrity and ambition.

Toward the person who sent me after Alex Wolfe in the first place.

I reach the building and step inside.

The office feels colder than usual.

Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting sterile shadows across the rows of desks. People glance up as I walk past, some wide-eyed, some whispering already, but I don’t stop. I don’t even blink. My feet carry me straight to the back corner, toward the glass office where my boss sits, smug and oblivious behind his screen.

He looks up as I storm in.

“Oh good,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s been expecting me. “I was wondering when you’d show.”

I slam the door shut behind me, hard enough to make the blinds rattle. “How the hell did that article get published?”

His smirk deepens. “What, no hello?”

“Cut the shit,” I snap, my voice sharp and rising. “I deleted it. That story, the second draft, was gone. I made sure of it. So how did you get it?”

He shrugs, entirely too casual. “You left it on your work laptop, Elsie. Deleted or not, it’s never really gone. I just checked the recovery folder. And guess what I found? The real story.”

“You went through my files?” I blink, shaking with fury. “You went through my laptop?”

He tilts his head like I’m being irrational. “It’s not your laptop. It’s the company’s. You don’t get privacy on hardware we own.”

“You had no right.” My voice cracks with rage. “You had no fucking right.”

He stands now, slow and deliberate, moving behind his desk like a king descending from a throne. “I had every right,” he says smoothly. “You work for me. That story was sitting there like a goddamn golden ticket. And you expected me not to touch it? You practically handed it to me.”

“I deleted it!” I scream. “It was never meant to be seen, never meant to go anywhere. I wrote it in a moment of… God, I don’t even know. But I chose not to send it. I chose to protect him.”

“Well, lucky for you,” he says, spreading his arms, “you don’t have to protect him anymore. Because you’ve got the job you always wanted. National syndication. Exclusive rights. Syndicate offers are already flooding in. That article? It’s everything. Raw, controversial, high-stakes. The fallout? The headlines? The way the media’s eating it up? That’s the story that puts you on the map.”

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “That’s the story that ruins him.”

“Collateral,” he says with a shrug. “You want to be respected in this industry? You think that comes from making friends with the talent? From soft pieces and hand-holding? No. It comes from writing the shit no one else has the guts to. And that’s what you did.”

“I didn’t do it,” I hiss. “You did. You stole it.”

His grin fades a little. “Careful, Elsie.”

“No. You don’t get to play innocent now. You violated my trust, you went through my work without consent, and you published something I never approved. You threw me under the bus to make yourself look good, and never gave me a fucking warning!”

He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re a big girl. You could’ve saved the file somewhere else. Password-protected it. Taken better precautions. You left it behind. I just finished what you were too afraid to.”

I stare at him for a long moment. My vision swims with fury, with betrayal, with the unbearable weight of everything I just lost.

“You’re disgusting,” I whisper.

He smirks. “No. I’m a realist. And you’ll thank me one day.”

“No. I won’t,” I say, stepping closer to his desk. “I quit. You can shove your promotion and your sick, twisted morals. I want nothing to do with you, this office, or any of the vultures who think destroying lives is good journalism.”

“You can’t just quit,” he says with a snort. “You’re under contract.”

“Watch me.”

I reach for the coffee cup on his desk—his stupid pretentious espresso mug—and hurl it straight at his laptop.

The splash is instant. Brown liquid sprays across the keyboard, dripping onto the desk and soaking into the edges of the paper he’d been so proudly reviewing.

“What the fuck!” he shouts, lunging forward. “Do you have any idea what you just—”

“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, reaching for tissues, already blotting at the dripping keyboard like it’ll undo what I just did.

I step forward, voice shaking with fury. “No,” I say, low and steady. “You’re the one who’s going to pay.”

He scoffs, still half-laughing as he wipes down the desk. “You think this is over? That laptop’s the least of your worries. You’re going to pay for this, Elsie.”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

Then I look past him, just over his shoulder, and I see it.

The cabinet, that fucking shrine.

A tall, gleaming trophy cabinet filled with signed memorabilia: pucks, jerseys, helmets, photos of him with athletes he never actually interviewed. And front and center, mounted on velvet, an engraved wooden bat with his name etched across the handle like he earned it.

I move fast.

He barely has time to realize what I’m doing before I storm out of the office and across the hallway.

“Elsie!” he bellows. “Don’t you fucking touch that!”

I don’t slow down, my elbow crashes through the glass.

The shatter is deafening.

Gasps erupt across the office and a scream followed by the sound of a coffee mug dropping. Every head turns as glass rains to the floor, glinting like confetti in a nightmare.

I don’t even flinch. I reach into the broken display, grip the bat, and drag it free.

He’s behind me now, his voice shrill and frantic. “Stop! You’re making a fucking scene!”

“Scene?” I laugh, unhinged. “This isn’t a scene.”

I raise the bat and I swing.

The first hit takes out the mounted jersey on the opposite wall, the bat slamming through the frame with a sickening crack. I swing again, tearing it loose from the hooks and sending it crashing to the ground.

“Elsie, stop!” he screams, running toward me. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

Then I turn and smash the edge of a nearby desk. The wood splits with a splintering snap. Pens scatter. Someone yells.

“You destroyed everything for me!” I scream, voice raw. “So why shouldn’t I destroy it for you?”

People are backing away now, retreating into corners. A few are filming. One woman gasps into her phone. The entire office is frozen, watching me like I’ve lost my mind.

Maybe I have.

I bring the bat down on the glass award shelf. It bursts apart with a cascade of shards. Plaques clatter to the floor. A heavy photo frame topples and crashes at my feet.

“Stop it!” he screams again. “Security!”

“I trusted you,” I shout, turning back toward him. “I believed in this job! And you used me. You lied to me. You STOLE from me!”

He’s shouting, flailing, trying to look like he still has control, but the damage is done.

Because now I’m swinging at the metal filing cabinets, denting them, cracking them open. Then the picture frames on the wall. The coffee machine. The laptops. Anything within reach.

I don’t stop until the security team barrels through the main doors, sprinting across the floor.

Two of them close in, voices raised, hands up like I’m a live wire.

“Miss! Put it down now!”

I stand there, the bat gripped tight in my hands, chest heaving, heart pounding in my ears.

I could keep going. I want to keep going. But my arms are shaking. My legs are weak. And something inside me finally breaks.

I drop the bat as my tears flow down my face.

The sound it makes as it hits the floor is nothing compared to the silence that follows.

“She’s completely out of control,” my boss barks, pointing at me. “Arrest her. She just vandalized private property. She’s unhinged.”

The guards move fast. One grabs my arms, the other secures my wrists behind me. Cold steel closes around them with a sharp snap.

I don’t resist.

They read me my rights as they pull me through the wreckage.

Glass crunches underfoot. People stare. One of them whispers my name like it’s already a headline.

I don’t say a word because they already know what I’ve done.

And if they don’t?

They will.

He wanted a story?

He just became it.