“That's bullshit,” I said immediately. “He benched me because I was actually hurt. Because I hid injuries and played through shit I shouldn't have. It had nothing to do with our relationship.”
“We know that,” Tate said. “We were there. We saw you limping. Saw you compensating. But the media doesn't know that.”
“June's working on damage control,” I said weakly.
“That's different than telling the truth,” Rook said.
I looked at him. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to be honest with yourself about what this costs.” His voice was gentle but firm. “This isn't just about you and Coach anymore. This affects the whole team. The organization. Every time someone writes an article questioning whether you earned your spot, they're questioning all of us.”
Guilt twisted in my gut. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize,” Volkov rumbled. “Rook is just saying what needs to be said. This is complicated. But we deal with complicated.”
“Yeah, but how?” I looked around the room. “How do we deal with this?”
“Did you earn your ice time?” Tate asked bluntly. “Or did you sleep your way to the first line?”
“Fuck no.” Heat flared in my chest. “I earned every second. Grant's harder on me than anyone else. He benched me whenI needed to be benched. He's never once given me special treatment on the ice.”
“Then that's what we say,” Rook said. “When media asks—and they will—we tell them the truth. That Coach runs a fair system. That you're one of the hardest working players on this team.”
“You'd do that?” My voice cracked. “You'd defend us?”
“You're our teammate,” Mace said. “Of course we would.”
“Even when it's complicated?” I asked.
“Especially when it's complicated,” Volkov said.
Sato spoke quietly. “Everyone deserves to be happy. Even hockey players. Even if they have terrible taste and think their boyfriend is a nine when he's clearly a seven point five.”
I laughed despite the tears starting in my eyes. “He's a nine.”
“Sure, buddy.” Finn grinned. “Whatever you say.”
That broke something in me. I felt the tears come and couldn't stop them. Just sat there surrounded by jockstraps, shoulder aching, leg throbbing, and let myself cry in front of my teammates for the first time in my career.
Rook moved to sit beside me, hand on my good shoulder. Solid. Grounding.
“It's okay,” he said quietly. “We've got you.”
And somehow, that made it worse and better at the same time.
CHAPTER 26
FACE THE MUSIC
GRANT
Cameras lined the back wall, lenses pointed at us like weapons. Reporters packed the seats, notebooks ready, phones recording, hungry for blood.
I sat at the table with June on my left and Jace on my right. Paul stood off to the side near the wall, arms crossed, face carved from stone. He'd insisted Jace be present—“If he's got nothing to hide, he sits there and faces it”—and I'd hated him for it but couldn't argue. Keeping Jace hidden would've confirmed the narrative.
So here we were. Coach and player. Side by side. Pretending we were nothing more.
June leaned forward to the microphone, composed and deadly calm. “Good afternoon. We'll make a brief statement, then take a limited number of questions. Please keep them focused on hockey and the upcoming playoff qualifiers.”
