My heart cracks a little more with each step.
The reporters descend before we even make it down the hallway. Their questions overlap, aggressive and hungry:
"Rylan, care to comment on rumors about your relationship with Pirelli?"
"Jamie, is this similar to situations in Florida?"
"How long has this been going on?"
"Sources suggest inappropriate conduct between teammates-"
My stomach churns, but I keep my media smile firmly in place. Next to me, Rylan is perfectly composed - every inch the responsible team captain.
"I appreciate everyone's interest," Rylan says smoothly, his voice carrying that easy authority that made me fall for him in the first place. "But these rumors are completely unfounded.Jamie is a talented linemate and a valued teammate. Nothing more."
The words hit like body checks.Nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more.
"But witnesses report seeing you two in compromising positions—"
"My relationship with Pirelli is purely professional." Rylan's tone could freeze hell. "Any suggestion otherwise is not only false but potentially damaging to team chemistry."
I force myself to nod, to look appropriately dismissive of the rumors. But inside I'm screaming. Because this isn't like what happened in Florida—this isn't malicious assholes spreading lies, just trying to hurt me. This isreal. This is everything I've wanted since I first saw him.
And he's standing there calling it "unfounded."
"Jamie?" A reporter thrusts a mic in my face. "Any comment on these allegations?"
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Because what can I say? That watching Rylan deny us is killing me? That I understand why he's doing it but it still feels like having my heart ripped out?
"I think we've addressed this sufficiently," Rylan cuts in, his captain's authority brooking no argument. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have team obligations."
As we turn to leave, I catch his expression cracking for just a fraction of a second. The pain in his eyes matches the ache in my chest.
But then his walls slam back up, and he's striding away, every movement precise and controlled. Like he didn't just deny everything we could have been.
Like he didn't just break both our hearts.
Chapter 36
RYLAN
My bedroom is too goddamn quiet. The digital clock glows 2:47 AM, its red numbers accusing. I can't stop seeing Jamie's face during that press conference - his expression carefully blank when I called us "nothing more than teammates." The flash of raw hurt in his eyes before he locked it away.
The same hurt I saw this morning when he offered to deny everything, to protect my careful walls even though it would kill him.
Sleep is impossible. Every time I close my eyes, I remember how he looked in this bed just twenty-four hours ago - golden and perfect in the morning light, telling me I didn't have to be alone anymore.
Except I made sure I was alone, didn't I? Did exactly what I always do - pushed away anything that threatened my control, my carefully constructed safety.
Fuck.
I throw off the covers and head into my great room. My perfectly organized apartment suddenly feels suffocating. Everyprecise angle, every carefully curated space feels like an artificial reflection of me. It's all fake, this perfect control. Under this calm surface I'm a fucking mess, a chaotic, ugly mess.
My keys are in my hand before I make a conscious decision. Greg, the night custodian at the practice rink, knows me. It won't be the first time I've taken refuge on the ice in the middle of the night, and it probably won't be the last.
The drive is automatic, muscle memory taking over while my mind spins. The look on Jamie's face keeps haunting me. The way he just stood there and let me deny everything we could have been because he knew that's what I needed.
The building is dark except for the security lights, but my access card still works. Once I get to the Sasquatch rink, the familiar smell of ice and rubber flooring settles something in my chest. This, at least, makes sense. This I understand.
