“You can start by telling me what Beckett Rylan was doing in our box yesterday.”
The smile didn’t move.
“That’s a front office matter,” he said smoothly. “Not your concern.”
I stepped forward slowly, keeping my voice level. “He’s a known locker room risk. He’s got a record with the league, and we’veallseen the way he acts around Wren.”
“Wren,” he repeated, tasting the name. “She’s on leave. Not really your concern either, is she?”
My jaw ticked. “I don’t give a damn about what’stechnicallymy concern. I’m the captain. I care about what affects the team.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know I’m doing my job — building the roster, exploring our options. That includes free agents.”
“That includes someone whopredatorily hoveredaround our PR manager while the press was in the building?”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “You’re making some heavy implications for a man with no proof.”
I took a breath.Control, Roan.
“I don’t need proof to know that if something happens to her, it won’t just be a PR problem. It’ll be aplayerproblem.”
His smile cracked then, just slightly, like he hadn’t expected me to go there.
Good.
“I’ve already spoken to my agent,” I continued. “About next year’s contract. About trade options. About locker room cohesion. You know, all the things a captain worries about.”
Marchand’s eyes narrowed. “You threatening me, Whitaker?”
“No,” I said, calm and clean. “I’mwarningyou. We’re heading into playoffs. The team’s holding on by a thread. If you’re bringing in Rylan to stir shit up and bait Wren into some kind of meltdown, you’re not just risking your PR. You’re risking theentire season.”
He didn’t answer right away.
So I dropped the last nail in.
“There are already whispers in the press. You might want to check your alerts.”
His phone lit up on the desk, vibrating once, then again.
I didn’t smile or react in any emotional way. The point of the play was to keep the puck on the move. Marchand seemed to have forgotten that I’d made my career on my instincts.
This right here would be the first ripple.
If Marchand thought he could play dirty, he was about to find out just how sharp my game could get. He stared at the vibrating phone on his desk, then flicked a finger to stop the second call from coming through. He didn’t check the screen. Didn’t pick it up.
He didn’t need to, because he knew exactly what it was.
“Leaks like that don’t stay whispers for long,” he said, voice colder now, quieter. “They have a way of mutating. Becoming something no one can control. Sponsors pull out. Fans riot. Players spiral.”
I didn’t blink. “Then it’s a good thing you’ve got someone like me holding the locker room together.”
“You’re our captain.” He smiled, all teeth and no feeling. “That used to mean something.”
“It still does,” I said, holding his stare. “Just not the same thing it used to.”
He leaned forward. “You planning to walk, Whitaker?”
“Depends.”
