The words land hard because they’re true.
“I’m trying to fix it,” I snap. “She won’t talk to me.”
“And she won’t,” he says, lowering his voice as guys start filtering into the room, “until you tell her everything. Not just about last night. About the crash.”
My stomach drops like it does every time he says it.
“I will,” I mutter. “I just?—”
“When?” he cuts in. “Before she hears it from someone else?”
That fear crawls up my spine, cold and sharp. Because Talia didn’t come to my flat to negotiate. She came to remind me she still has leverage. And with playoffs week in full swing, the timing couldn’t be worse.
Practice is brutal. Coach runs us hard, drills sharp and unforgiving, like he’s trying to grind distractions out of us by force. I throw my body into every shift, every sprint, every hit, trying to bleed the turmoil out through exhaustion. It doesn’t work.
Every break, I check my phone. Nothing. I message again, several times, but she’s not responding to them. There’s no blue tick to show me she’s even looked at them, and my heart is doing that stupid clenching thing again. The pain sits low below my ribs and no amount of rubbing at it is helping. Neither is the amount of suicides Coach makes us do.
By the time we’re peeling off gear, sweat-soaked and aching, Lukas is waiting for me again.
“She’s going to leak it,” he almost whispers.
“I know.”
“And before she does,” he adds, “Rose needs to hear it from you first.”
I nod, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
I don’t get the chance.
The story breaks an hour later.
I’m halfway through a recovery session when my phone explodes with notifications. Messages stacking up so fast the screen can’t keep up. Group chats lighting up. Missed calls from numbers I recognise all too well.
PR.
My blood runs cold. I open the first link someone sends me.
STAR PLAYER CONNECTED TO HIT-AND-RUN INCIDENT—SOURCES CLAIM COVER-UP
The words blur for a second before sharpening into something lethal. They didn’t exaggerate it. Didn’t soften it. They laid it out exactly as it happened.
The red light.
The hesitation.
The choice to drive on.
The hospital visit the next day.
The woman I tracked down because I couldn’t live with not knowing if she was okay.
Rose.
My chest caves in and the rink erupts into madness. Phones go off everywhere. Voices raised. Coaches get pulled into offices. PR starts moving fast, ushering players away from cameras already circling like sharks.
The fan reaction is immediate and vicious.
Traitor.
