I finally break it. “Claire called?”
He nods. “Yeah. PR statement goes out tomorrow morning. They’re calling it ‘unprofessional conduct’ instead of ‘violence.’ Lucky me.”
My chest aches. “Three games isn’t the end of the world.”
His laugh is short, bitter. “Feels like it.”
“Leo—”
He cuts me off, leaning back, running both hands through his hair. “You ever get the feeling we’re just… stuck? No matter what we do, it’s wrong?”
My throat tightens. “Every day.”
He looks up then, eyes tired but sharp. “We’re both in the penalty box now, huh?”
The words sting, but there’s a faint, rueful smile behind them. He’s trying—his version of humor. I cross the room, kneeling in front of him. “Then we sit it out together.”
He exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“I don’t have a choice. Neither do you.” I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “So we make it mean something.”
His eyes meet mine, and something flickers there—a spark, small but stubborn. “Then we take it back,” he murmurs.
Before I can answer, his phone buzzes on the counter.
We both turn as it lights up, the name flashing across the screen.
Claire Han (Speaker): “You two need to see this—Grayson just went live.”
Chapter 28
Under the Lights
Leo
The glowfrom the TV paints the living room in shifting shades of blue and white. I stand behind the couch, jaw tight, as Grayson Locke leans toward the camera. The studio lights glare off his slicked-back hair, the faint buzz of equipment filling the air beneath the low murmur of the audience. His trademark smirk is there—polished, smug, like he’s auditioning for sainthood.
“No hard feelings,” he says, voice smooth as oil. “But some players forget hockey’s a team sport once the cameras find their new favorite angle.”
The studio audience chuckles, right on cue. My stomach turns.
Sage sits on the edge of the couch, both hands wrapped around a mug she hasn’t touched. Her fingers tremble slightly, the ceramic clicking against the saucer. I can’t take my eyes off the screen, even though every word feels like another hit I can’t dodge.
The host grins, feeding him lines. “You’re saying you think the fame’s gotten to certain players?”
Grayson shrugs, all casual confidence. “Hey, I’m not naming names. But when your focus shifts from the ice to what’s happening off it… well, it’s not just the player who pays the price. The whole team does.”
The crowd laughs again. He doesn’t say Sage’s name, but he doesn’t have to. Every word drips with implication. “Homemade dinners.” “Distractions.” “A chef who thinks she’s a coach.” It’s all there, veiled just enough to sound clever, sharp enough to draw blood.
Sage’s voice is quiet, but I hear the tremor in it. “He’s using me.”
I move closer, keeping my tone even. “He’s trying to useus.”
Grayson keeps talking, answering each question like he rehearsed the script weeks ago. The host leans forward, pretending surprise. “And what about the parking lot altercation?”
That smirk again. “You can’t blame him. Guess I still have a way of getting under people’s skin.”
My hands curl into fists before I even realize it. The leather of the couch creaks under my grip. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out the next line of laughter. I can see Sage flinch beside me, her shoulders drawing tight, like she’s bracing for impact.
