Reed: It’s Coach Dawson’s brother.
I stare at the screen.What?
He must realize I’m reading the message, as his replies continue.
Reed: The phone number that sent the photo traces back to him.
For a second, I just sit there, reading it again.
“Everything okay?” Coach asks, but there’s something measured in the way he says it.
I stand slowly. “I need to step out,” I say.
“We’re in the middle of something.”
“I know.”
“Sit down,” he orders, gritting his teeth.
I look at him. “It’s an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?”
I don’t answer. I’m already moving toward the door.
“Rowden,” he says, sharper this time. “If you walk out of my office…”
I stop with my hand on the door handle and turn to face him.
“You’ll do what? Bench me again and call it medical?” I quip. “Don’t talk to me about commitment.”
His expression tightens.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he says. “You let things outside of hockey control you.”
I study him for a second longer.
“Or maybe I’ve found what’s important outside of hockey,” I say.
I open the door before he can respond.
The hallway feels longer than it did before. I jog out of the building as I call Reed.
“You’re absolutely sure?” I ask when he answers.
“Yeah,” he says. “The account is tied to his brother. Same device history. He’s even connected to the same Wi-Fi. It’s not random.”
I stop near the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall.
“They sent that picture on purpose,” Reed continues. “They wanted you to think it was her.”
I close my eyes briefly. “I know.”
“And they timed it.”
My jaw tightens.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
