“Kyle,” I whisper, stepping forward just enoughthat the mic picks it up. I try for calm authority, but it comes out more like a plea. “That’s enough.”
He must not hear me, or maybe he does and doesn’t care.
“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Kyle fires back at the reporter. “Not when she’s the only one in this room doing her job.”
Oh, God.The words hit like a spark in a dry forest. Every camera blinks to life at once. The room erupts as the reporters talk over one another, their voices overlapping in a frenzy of clicks and questions.What did he mean by that? Is there anything going on between you and Ms. Torres? Are you defending her or confirming something?
“Kyle,” I say, firmer this time, trying to find his eyes, but he’s too far inside the adrenaline and the injustice to notice.
“Zero tolerance,” Cole says suddenly, his voice firm, echoing across the chaos. “You disrespect one of ours—player or staff—you won’t get another chance.”
The echo of his words hangs like the rumble before a storm. Cameras hesitate mid-click, and even the reporter who started this looks unsure now, eyes darting between Cole and Kyle.
The red lights above those cameras don’t blink. They burn steadily, glaring reminders that this isn’t just a press conference; it’s live. Every word and glare is being broadcast across every major sports network in real time. The realization hits like ice water down my spine. There will be clips before the hour’s over.Memes before dinner. And by morning, I’ll be the headline everyone’s dissecting.
Kyle’s chest heaves, his jaw flexing, and I can practically see the fight in him. The instinct to defend, to burn the world down if it means shielding me. Cole’s stance doesn’t waver; he’s not angry, exactly, but more like a wall between his brother and the fallout neither of them can stop. Something passes between the two of them, quick and wordless, and for one fragile heartbeat, it feels like that might be enough to hold the room together. But control is a fragile thing and never lasts long when the scent of scandal hits the air.
The hush breaks, first with a shuffle of papers, then the click of a camera, then a voice hungry for the next big scoop. “Wait… what did he mean by ‘one of ours’?”
And just like that, the noise explodes. Voices overlap as reporters surge forward. The quiet authority Cole brought to the room evaporates under the weight of speculation and snapping shutters. The chaos swallows everything, and for a full disorienting heartbeat, I just stand rooted in place and watch the fallout of what I should’ve seen coming. Something I should’ve been able to stop.
Move, Alycia.
It’s instinct that gets me moving. My PR autopilot kicks in where courage falters. My voice cuts through the noise before I even realize I’m speaking.
“All right, that’s enough,” I say, firm but even, raising my hand to signal the moderator. “Thankyou for your questions. Player availability will resume later this week. Let’s wrap it up.”
No one listens, but I’m not surprised now that they’ll smell blood.
“Kyle, care to elaborate on that comment?”
“Was that a defense or confirmation?”
“Are you and Ms. Torres?—”
“I said that’senough.” My voice sharpens, something I’ve perfected for rooms full of men who mistake politeness for permission. “This press conference is over.”
The room wavers just long enough for Cooper’s voice to slice through the noise like a blade. “You heard her.”
He doesn’t shout, doesn’t need to. The command in his tone settles everything as security moves. Kyle nudges the mic aside with the back of his hand, the stand scraping softly across the table. A final sound that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. Cole’s already guiding Kyle off the stage with one hand on his shoulder, Beau a silent wall behind them. He looks up just once, eyes finding mine through the glare of cameras, and the look nearly undoes me.
It’s not anger. It’s not even regret. It’s something rawer. Both protective and devastating at the same time. For a second, I want to thank him, but that’s not who I get to be here. Maybe not who I ever get to be, especially not with him.
I turn back toward the room, clipboard clutched against my chest like armor. My smile feels rehearsed,brittle around the edges, but it’s what I have left. “We appreciate your time. Follow-up questions can go through PR directly. Thank you.”
Flashes still pop as everyone keeps firing questions in our direction, but I don’t hear them. All I can hear is the echo of his voice from moments ago—you don’t get to talk about her like that—and the sound of my career splintering beneath it.
Cooper is already heading toward me, fury radiating in every clipped step. He doesn’t have to say a word because I know what’s coming. Then the door slams open, and Kyle bursts back into the room like he’s running purely on adrenaline and bad ideas. Cole trails him, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like“Don’t make me tackle you, idiot.”
“She did nothing wrong!” Kyle’s voice hits the room like a slap, slicing through the leftover noise of reporters packing up.
The flashbulbs start again instantly, like the cameras have been waiting for him to lose it.
Oh, God, no. No, no, no.
Kyle is breathing hard, chest rising and falling fast, but his eyes are locked on me. Not the reporters. Not Cooper. Me.
“If anyone’s getting called into an office, it’s me,” he fires, voice sharp and shaking. “She did nothing wrong.”
