I looked at Holly, searching for some sign that she understood. Her eyes softened. The tension between us eased, but only just.
“It’s not just about you two,” she said. “If the truth comes out, it affects the whole team. They don’t deserve to pay for what’s happened. I know it’s just a trophy, but it’s their trophy. Not just Theo’s.”
A spark of hope flared in my chest. I swallowed hard. “Then help us,” I said, urgency threading through every word. “I’ll do anything. I’ll help you spin the story. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this contained. Please, Holly. I’ll do anything.”
Her gaze flicked between Theo and me, then back to me. It held me in place, assessing, then finally landing somewhere between judgment and understanding.
“You really care about him,” she said quietly.
Her words struck me harder than anything this night had offered up so far. I’d never owned that feeling, not to anyone, not even Theo.
My throat tightened around the lump that formed, and my eyes stung hot with tears. I nodded. “I do.”
Theo’s fingers laced weakly through mine, and I pressed my lips to the top of his head, letting the tension seep out through contact, letting the world fall into quiet focus for a moment. He leaned into me, letting me hold him, and I felt the tremor of his pain through the thin barrier of my arms.
Holly’s lips pressed together as she nodded once. “I’ll talk to McAvoy,” she said. Her voice had the same edge it always did, but beneath it was an acknowledgment, a concession that this could be managed.
28
Theo
The knock rattled against Reese’s door like it carried every nerve in my body with it. I lingered a second, hand pressed to the wood, willing myself to do this right, to say the right thing, to not make it worse. The soreness in my shoulder reminded me of everything we’d come through. I knocked again, firmer.
“Go away, Theo,” her voice floated through the door.
“No.” It came out quieter than I expected, almost swallowed by the silence of the hallway.
I knew she wouldn’t want to see me. Not one day before the last game, and after she’d been suspended.
But I couldn’t walk away.
The door cracked open without me having to knock again, Reese’s sharp gaze cutting through the gap.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“We need to talk,” I said, stepping inside despite her glare. I was running clean—no tape or painkillers—and it showed in my tight posture. I caught her gaze lingering. Calculating.
But instead of saying anything, she just folded her arms across her chest, and I felt the weight of that silence pressing me into corners of guilt I couldn’t escape.
“I take it you heard I’m in the line-up for tomorrow’s game?”
Our eyes met, and so many things passed between us in that one look. Her guard faltered the tiniest fraction.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked, tilting her head. The question wasn’t just about hockey. It was everything.
“I want the last game I’ll ever play to end without me being carried off the ice.” I let out a lifeless laugh. “Luckily Coach gets it.”
“You don’t know it’ll be your last.”
I didn’t argue. I just looked at her, letting the truth land for what it was. “I’m done lying to myself and everyone else, Reese. That ended after Game 6. I know I’m not fine, and probably won’t be fine again. That’s okay. At least I have one more shot to make things right. It’s all I wanted.”
She gave in then, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll make coffee. Not fancy Ethiopian beans, or anything…”
It split the tension coiled inside me, and this time my half-hearted laugh held some weight. When she came back a few minutes later, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
“I swore I wouldn’t talk to you before the game,” she said, sinking into the couch beside me. “I don’t know why, but…”
I gripped the mug, letting the warmth seep into my hands, and decided I wasn’t gonna let her derail my reason for coming.
