“Talia? What the hell is going on?”
The voice cuts through the tunnel like a whistle.
My father.
Coach Addison is standing at the doorway that leads back to the home locker room. Face flushed from the game, but eyes sharp, locked on me. On us.
“What was that?” he demands, eyes flicking from me, to Declan, to the retreating Blackwood backs. “Who was that?”
Declan doesn’t let go of me. He straightens, pulling me into his side, turning us both to face my father. A massive, silent shield.
My dad’s gaze drops to the space between us. Jaw tightens.
“That was Mark Jensen,” I say, voice steady.
Something in his face changes. A flicker of recognition. “The forward? We tried to get him. Years ago. Why are you—”
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
His eyes search my face. Whatever he sees there makes the coach mask slip.
He looks past me to Declan. To the guys. To my friends.
“Everyone out,” he says, voice low.
The guys start to file out, one by one. Clara squeezes my arm. “We’re right outside.”
Declan hesitates last.
He looks down at me. Ignores my father. Ignores the hallway.
“I’m right here,” he says, voice a rough, quiet promise meant only for me. “I’m not going anywhere. You say the word, I’m back in that room. He doesn't breathe without your permission.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He holds my gaze for one second longer, then steps back into the hall, positioning himself right next to the door frame like a sentry.
I follow my father into his office.
The door shuts behind us with a soft click.
The room is familiar—brown leather couch, team photos. It smells like him.
He stands in front of his desk, arms crossed. “What happened?”
My heart is pounding, but the words don’t feel like shards anymore. They feel like a weight I’m finally ready to set down.
“Junior year,” I say. “That party on Fourth Street. The one everyone went to.”
His face goes still. He remembers. It was the season the program turned around. The season Mark Jensen was the prize recruit.
“Mark Jensen locked the door,” I say. “He put his hands on me. I told him no. I couldn’t get out. He didn’t listen.”
Every muscle in his body goes rigid.
“A friend found us,” I whisper. “He pulled him off me. But I… I couldn’t stay. That’s why I transferred. That’s why I left.”
My father’s face breaks.
