“It’s not true.”
Cohen’s voice cuts the air—deep, rough.
He stands abruptly and does something that steals my breath:
He moves between me and my father.
Not aggressively—protectively.
As if shielding me from my own confession.
He doesn’t look at me.
He looks straight into Julian Heart’s eyes.
“Don’t listen to her, sir,” Cohen says, and for the first time I hear desperate respect in his tone.
“I’m the one who screwed up. This is all on me. Suspend me, punish me, whatever you want—but leave her out of this.”
Silence slams down.
Electric. Heavy.
I try to take the blame to save him.
He tries to take the blame to save me.
Dad stares at us—eyes bouncing between us, anger melting into… calculation.
“Um… sorry to interrupt this touching moment…” Nate’s shaky voice cuts in.
We turn.
He’s wiping sweat from his forehead, eyes gleaming with the particular frenzy of someone who just had a brilliant or insane idea.
“Maybe… maybe no one needs to be punished. Maybe we don’t deny anything.”
Dad folds his massive arms.
“What the hell are you talking about, Nathaniel?”
“Coach, hear me out. The damage is done. But look at these two.”
He gestures between me and Cohen.
“There’s a narrative.”
He stands, emboldened.
“Public opinion is obsessed. ‘Coach’s Daughter and the Bad Boy.’ It’s a cliché, sure, but one people LOVE. If we deny it, it looks like we’re hiding something. But if we lean into it?”
Dad glares.
Nate presses on.
“They join the reality show. Together. As a couple.”
“Absolutely not,” Dad thunders. He steps in front of me like a human shield. “I’m not feeding my daughter to the media wolves to save one of my players’ asses. Never.”
