I ran a hand through my hair, already feeling the weight of it pressing down. “So, what do they want?”
“They want quiet. Stay away from the media. No social, no post-game interviews. No commentary. Just hockey.”
I stared at the floor, pulse ticking harder in my throat. “And Mina?”
There was a pause. Then, flatly: “They’ll be watching her too.”
Of course they would. They’d eat her alive if they got the chance.
“I’ll protect her,” I said immediately. “Whatever this turns into—I’m not letting them drag her through it.”
Coach’s voice was low but firm. “I know you mean that. But you need to think like a pro now, Volkov. Protect her, yes. But protect yourself too. Stay clean. Let us handle the fire.”
“Got it.”
I ended the call and sat there, staring at nothing for a beat too long.
Mina stirred beside me, letting out a little sigh in her sleep as she curled deeper into the space I’d left behind. I glanced down at her, heart still thudding, protective instinct flaring bright and hot in my chest.
I couldn’t undo last night. Couldn’t go back in time and stop Mikel from starting this mess. But I could choose what I did next.
And I’d choose her. Every damn time.
Every muscle in my body screamed to go back, to wake her gently, to pretend the world hadn’t just turned on its axis. But pretending wouldn’t help her. Wouldn’t protect her. And that was all I could think about now—how to shield Mina from the storm already building outside our quiet, borrowed peace.
I couldn’t fix the way people talked. Couldn’t stop headlines from twisting the truth until it looked nothing like her. But if I could carry the weight of it for her, I would. Every goddamn word of it.
I stepped into the kitchen and was hit with the stark contrast between the warmth of our bed and the sterile brightness of the morning. The coffee maker hummed like a heartbeat—steady, mechanical—completely indifferent to the way mine raced with unease. I poured a mug and leaned against the counter, steam curling around my face, not bothering to sip it yet. I stared at nothing.
Last night played on a loop behind my eyes—her fingers tangled in my hair, the way she whispered my name like it meant something. Like I meant something. For a little while, the world had fallen away, and it was just us—no press, no team, no past. Just her and me, breathing in the same space like it was the only thing keeping us alive.
Now all of that felt fragile. Breakable.
I wasn’t afraid of getting fined or benched. I wasn’t afraid of the league or the media circus. I was afraid of them tearing her down, making her feel small for something that had given me more clarity in a night than I’d felt in years. Mikel’s name burned through my thoughts like acid. I didn’t even need to hear the interview to know how he’d spin it. Cowardice always sounded bold when dressed up in a microphone and half-truths.
She walked in just then, hair tousled, wearing one of my shirts—looking like she belonged here. Like she belonged to me. My throat tightened at the sight of her.
She rubbed at her eyes. “What was that about?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced calm into my voice. “Coach,” I said simply.
She watched me like she already knew it wasn’t the whole truth. And maybe she did. But instead of pressing, she stepped closer. Just that. A silent decision to be near me.
Whatever came next—we’d face it. But God help anyone who tried to come for her again.
I poured another cup of coffee, but it tasted like nothing. Too bitter, too hot, too real for the quiet world I wanted to stay in with her. Mina leaned against the kitchen island, her hair a little wild, wearing my shirt like it belonged to her—because it did. Because she did.
I opened my mouth to say something—something light, maybe, something that could push back the storm I felt pressing in on us—but before I got the words out, her phone buzzed against the counter.
She glanced at it, brow furrowing slightly. “Just ignore it,” I offered, voice low. But the buzzing didn’t stop. It kept going. Once. Then again. And again. A sick rhythm, like the countdown before a fight.
Mina sighed, her shoulders sagging.
But it rang again.
This time, she didn’t ignore it. She picked it up and hit speaker. “Okay, okay,” she murmured, like she already regretted answering.
“Mina! Oh my God! Are you there?” Paige’s voice came through in a rush, breathless, panicked.
