The word detonates, louder than the crowd, louder than the Garden. I’ve never heard it out of my own mouth before. The air itself recoils.
The finance bros freeze. One fumbles his phone, another has his camera up, recording. I don’t care. For once, I don’t care who hears.
Max stumbles, cursing, hands grabbing at my wrists. “Get this crazy bitch?—”
Arms tear me back. Nate. Always Nate. Dragging me away from the one man I want to bury.
“Don’t—” My voice splinters, but then Nate’s fist connects with Max’s jaw. The crack echoes, sick and final.
Max goes down. Nate doesn’t stop. He’s on him, fists flying, knuckles splitting. Blood spatters, wall shaking with each hit.
“Nate!” My scream doesn’t reach him. He’s gone, lost to rage. He looks as if he’s killing him for me, but it isn’t for me. It’s his guilt that he wasn’t there to protect me, his fury, his need to fix. My pain turned into spectacle, my truth buried under his fists.
Dmitri clamps his shoulders, Liam grabs his arm, Finn yanks at his jersey. It takes all three to rip him off. Nate thrashes against them, chest heaving, face twisted, blood smeared across his gloves.
“Russo!” Coach Novak’s roar slices through the tunnel, sharp as a stick crack. Authority. Command. “Stand the fuck down! That’s an order!”
For a heartbeat Nate freezes, eyes wild, breath tearing in and out. Coach steps in close, eyes blazing. “You think this helps her? You think this makes her whole? Get your head on straight before you cost us all.”
The words land. Not enough to calm the fury burning out of him, but enough to halt his fists. His chest still bucks,but Dmitri and Liam tighten their grips, Finn dragging him back another step.
Max slumps against the wall, ruined and leaking red. His buddies gape, phones still raised, feeding the fire.
And then Rowan is there. Calm. Sharp. Cutting through the chaos. “You’ve had your show, boys. And now it’s over. Delete every photo. Every video. Now.”
The finance bros hesitate, one opening his mouth to argue.
Rowan steps closer, heels biting the concrete, her smile thinner than glass. “Do you really want your firm’s clients seeing this?” She flicks a glance at Max, broken at their feet. “How do you think they’ll feel, knowing they’ve trusted their money to a company that employs,” she pauses, her gaze slicing them open, “rapists?”
The color drains from their faces. Max groans, spits blood.
Rowan leans in, silk over steel. “Delete it. All of it. Now. Because if even one image leaks?” She lets it hang, deadly quiet. “I’ll make sure your firm burns with your rapist.”
Phones lower. Screens dim. Fingers scramble.
And me, I can’t stop shaking. Not from fear anymore. From release. From the truth finally out in the air where I can’t bury it anymore.
The tunnel blurs. Shouts, cameras, skates clattering against cement. All of it muffled, like I’m underwater. My pulse is so loud, I barely hear Rowan’s last words.
Then a familiar voice cuts through. “Eden.”
Jessica. She’s there, coat half-zipped, her twins bundled in a stroller. They stir, tiny faces scrunching in the harsh light. She presses the stroller into Finn’s hands without ceremony.
“I had to wake them. Hopefully they’ll go back downeasy,” she says, voice low, controlled, though her eyes are fire.
Finn secures the twins, tucks a blanket edge, and signals Liam. Together they angle Nate toward the back hallway. Nate resists, breath tearing, gloves streaked with blood.
“Easy, big guy,” Liam mutters under his breath, steady hand on Nate’s arm. “You’re scaring the rookies.”
Finn huffs a short breath, adjusting the stroller as one twin lets out a soft whimper. “Don’t mind him, kiddos. Uncle Nate just had a bad shift.”
The words are quiet, half for the babies, half for all of us, and the tension eases just enough to keep the hallway from snapping in two.
Jessica stays with me. One hand on my arm, grounding me.
And then Joy is there too, breathless, eyes wide. “What—what happened?” Her gaze darts from me to Max slumped against the wall, then back. “Eden…”
I can’t answer. My tongue feels thick, useless.
