“Until this blows over. Which could be a week, a month, or the rest of the season depending on how the media cycle plays out and whether anything else surfaces.” She looked at me. “And Grant, I need you to be especially careful about any perception of favoritism. Hartley's ice time needs to be justifiable. His role needs to make sense given his performance and health status. No special treatment.”
“I don't give him special treatment.”
“Then it won't be a problem.” But her tone said she wasn't convinced. “I'm trying to protect you both. But I can only do that if you're smart enough to protect yourselves. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes,” Hartley echoed.
“Good. Now get out of my office. And for god's sake, don't do anything stupid.”
We left without another word.
In the hallway, Hartley stopped and leaned against the wall. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“My place is out. Yours is too. Anywhere public is definitely out.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So where does that leave us?”
“It leaves us being careful,” I said. “Being smart. Not giving them anything else.”
“And us? Do we just... stop?”
I wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him that we'd find a way, that we'd be more careful, that I wasn't willing to give this up just because of some photos and a blog post.
But those photos had been a wake-up call. We'd thought we were being careful, and someone had still gotten close enough to capture us together. Had still found evidence of what we were trying to hide.
“We need to cool it,” I said, hating every word. “At least until this dies down. Until the media loses interest.”
“How long?”
“I don't know. A few weeks. Maybe longer.”
He looked miserable. “I hate this.”
“Me too. But June's right. If we get caught—if there's actual proof—we lose everything. Both of us.”
“I know.” He pushed off the wall. “I should go. Tess is waiting.”
“Jace—”
“It's fine. I get it.” But his voice said it wasn't fine. “We'll be careful. We'll be smart. We'll pretend there's nothing between us.”
He left without looking back.
CHAPTER 25
TRUTH
JACE
Rehab sucked.
Not the exercises themselves—those were fine, manageable, the kind of controlled pain that meant progress. What sucked was the endless fucking monotony of it. Resistance bands. Range of motion work. Ice. Heat. Massage. Repeat. Six hours a day of doing things that would've taken thirty seconds on the ice but now required detailed attention and careful monitoring.
Tess was thorough. Exactly the same as she'd been before the photos broke two days ago. If anything, she seemed more focused—like she'd decided the best way to deal with the media shitstorm was to ignore it completely and just do her job.
“How's that feel?” she asked, pressing on a trigger point that made me wince.
