I want to tell him I’m fine, to assure him that we’re going to be okay, but the words refuse to come. Instead, I feel that tight knot of anxiety building in my gut. “I just hope this was the right choice.”
The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken fears, yet somehow the tension dissolves into an understanding, binding us together in this fragile moment. We’ve crossed a threshold we can’t return from, and it terrifies me.
“Whatever happens, we’ll handle it together,” Leo reassures me, determination glinting in his eyes. There’s a fire in that gaze—an understanding that despite the darkness looming ahead, we’re not alone in this fight.
We share a fleeting smile, and for a brief moment, the storm of uncertainty quiets to a gentle swell, but I know it won’t last. The truth hangs uncomfortably between us—a shadow on the horizon—and deep down, I wonder if this decision is just the beginning of a far greater battle.
As we stand together in that charged silence, the reality settles in like a leaden weight, and I brace myself for what lies ahead, willing to confront the unfolding chaos if it means protecting what we’ve found together, however fragile it may be.
***
The rink feels colder today, the weight of expectations heavier than ever as I step inside, a shroud of anxiety settling over me like a second skin. With every breath, the tension tightens, squeezing the remnants of warmth from my heart as I catch sight of Leo, his brow furrowed, mirroring the thoughts swirling in my mind.
Three days have passed since we sent that money, a decision that clings to me like an unwelcome shadow, filling every practice with an unsettling undercurrent of dread. I wish I could shake off the growing fear, but it lingers in the air, suffocating any sense of normalcy. Today feels different; the atmosphere buzzes with uncertainty, and I can almost taste it as I lace up my skates.
As we take to the ice, the familiar sound of skates gliding against the surface should be comforting, yet every pass and shot carries a weight—the worry of what’s coming next threatens to unravel my focus. I glance over at Leo, who appears lost in thought, the flicker of concern evident in his eyes as we exchange a brief nod. That moment is steeped in shared anxiety, binding us together amidst the chaos we’ve stepped into.
Every drill unfolds with an electric tension, a reminder that we’re both trapped in a web we’ve spun ourselves. Every time I catch his gaze, I see a reflection of the same worry in his eyes, but the words we’ve left unspoken loom large, preventing us from confronting what’s really happening between us.
"Come on, Nash, focus!" a teammate shouts, the voice jolting me back to reality as I almost miss a shot that sails past me. The laughter that follows feels distant and muffled as I watch Leomake a beautiful save on the opposite end, every sharp glance I shoot his way filled with an unspoken understanding.
The pressure builds as the practice wears on, the din of laughter intertwining with whispers, and I can feel the growing scrutiny from our teammates. They sense something, I’m sure of it, though they don’t yet have the pieces of our puzzle to put together. Yet the tension in my chest persists, constricting tighter with every passing moment.
As the whistle blows, signaling a brief break, I lean against the boards, the air thickening with an urgency I can’t ignore. The phone in my pocket buzzes, jolting me, and I pull it out to see a message that sends chills racing down my spine. The sender is unknown, but the fear floods my senses as I see a familiar name flash on the screen—Venmo.
My heart drops as I read the words that accompany a new attachment: “$200,000 if you want to keep your secret safe. You think sending the first amount would make me disappear?”
Shock weaves through my body, and I shoot a glance toward Leo, who’s just reached my side, curiosity flaring in his expression. “What is it?” he asks, the urgency in his tone stark against the backdrop of uncertainty.
I hold out the phone, heart racing as I reveal the message. Leo’s expression shifts from curiosity to disbelief as he reads it, and for a moment, the world around us dims into the background. “They’re asking for more?” he questions incredulously, the gravity of our situation settling heavily between us.
“It didn’t solve anything, Leo,” I respond, feeling the dread twist in my gut, each word sharper than a dagger. “We’re trapped in this escalating cycle of extortion.”
Leo exhales sharply, the weight of the revelation evident on his face. “We need to confront this. We can’t let them keep us under their thumb.”
But deep down, I know that the decision is no longer ours to make, and I can feel the panic rise within me like a tidal wave, a storm of uncertainty threatening to break us apart. “What if we go public?” I suggest, desperation seeping into my voice. “What if we face this head-on?”
Leo shakes his head vigorously, eyes wide with disbelief. “You think that’s the answer? You think exposing everything will stop them?” The panic is etched in every line of his face, and I feel the knot of anxiety tightening once more.
“We have to try something! Paying won’t make them go away.” I grip his shoulder, urging him to see reason, to confront the fear that holds us captive.
Just then, Coach Reynolds calls us over, eyes scanning the ice, a hint of concern flickering in his gaze as he approaches. “What’s going on with you two? Your heads aren’t in the game today. You’ve both been off.”
I share a glance with Leo, the unspoken weight of our conversation pressing down as we prepare to deflect. “Just tiredfrom the travel,” Leo lies smoothly, but the worry lines on the coach’s face deepen with scrutiny.
“Don’t give me that. You both look like you’ve seen ghosts. Talk to me if something’s bothering you,” Coach urges, his tone laced with genuine concern.
With every word, the tension continues to spiral, an internal battle churning in my chest. How can we expose the reality when we’re on the brink of collapse? I can’t allow our world to break further. “It’s just some distractions from outside,” I say, my voice steadying as I try to reassure both Coach and Leo. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
The coach furrows his brows but seems to accept my words. “Fine, just remember the season’s counting on you both. Don’t let distractions derail your game.” With a stern look, he turns away, but I can feel his doubt linger in the air like a foreboding warning.
As practice resumes, the pressure mounts, intensifying the distractions whirling around us, every shot on goal feels heavier, and each decision is weighed down by the looming threat we’ve yet to confront. And when an opposing player scores against me, he skates by, taunting me with a sneer—a reminder of my growing insecurities.
In a surge of anger, Leo lunges toward the opposing player, eyes narrowed, frustration blazing in his gaze. The impact resonates in the air as he collides, drawing the ire of the referee, who swiftly sends him to the penalty box.
“Damn it, Leo!” I yell, anger surging as the realization sinks in. “You can’t let them get under your skin like that!”
Leo glares back at me from across the rink, the fire in his eyes battling against the frustration simmering within. “What do you want me to do, Nash? Just stand there and take it?”
