“Best news I’ve heard all day,” comes from Louis, and honestly, I have to agree.
It’s like I can breathe again. Like I’ve been given a new lease on life.
“In the meantime,” Coach Reed continues, “I’d suggest utilizing some of the resources the school provides for student athletes if you’re having issues with time management for studying. Or maybe look into a tutor if you’re struggling with the material for that specific class. Because make no mistake, you need to do well these next two weeks.”
My lips part, an objection already on my tongue, but he’s quick to cut it off by raising his palm. “They’re at your disposal for a reason, Steele, and we need you on the ice this season. No one wants to revisit this conversation at the end of the semester, which would have an entirely different outcome.”
He’s right, of course, which means there’s no point in arguing the matter. So I nod my head and mutter a soft “Yes, Coach” before making a mental note to schedule a session with a tutor when I get home.
“But on to the topic of the video,” Louis says, rerouting the conversation. “I’ve drafted a statement about the video on your behalf, Camden. We’ll frame it exactly as Trevor said: it was a private, consensual moment that was unfortunately leaked online. Hopefully that will put the matter to rest, but I need you to understand just how much these things matter to the NHL. It’s a business at the end of the day. These teams—theirowners and managers—don’t care how talented you are if you’re a PR disaster. You simply won’t be worth the energy or potential risks.”
My gaze drops back to my hands resting in my lap. “Yes, Louis. I’m sorry for…letting you down.”
“It’s yourself you’re letting down. Not me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I want this for you, yes. But it’s not my life, it’s yours. So you need to get it together. Focus on getting those grades up, and lie low while this thing blows over.”
Coach hums, clearly agreeing with this plan of action. “We’ll revisit getting you out in front of the press again; see if we can’t get them talking about your talent on the ice rather than…dancing in the nude.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” I agree, grimacing. At this point, I’ll do whatever they tell me to do for the sake of my future.
“If that’s all settled, you’re free to go. Unless there’s anything else, Louis?” Coach asks, to which my agent declines. “All right then. See you for practice tomorrow.”
Rising from my seat across from him, I shoulder my bag and head toward the door. The two of them have already moved to another topic when I pause and turn, feeling an immense amount of gratitude for what they’ve done to salvage this situation.
Coach notices me lingering, and arches a brow. “Need something else, Steele?”
“Uh, I just… Thanks. Both of you,” I say earnestly. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
The townhouse is eerily silent when I get home later that evening, which is the new normal since a few of Logan’s friends took over Holden’s, Phoenix’s, and Theo’s portions of the lease.Even when everyone is home, it’s like the place is deserted—a far cry from the house I’ve lived in the past three years.
Back then, it was always filled with people, parties, and laughter—the latter usually being aimed at me, but most of the time, I didn’t mind. At least I was on the ass-end of jokes from people who loved me. Cared about me. Now, with my roommates all being Logan and his friends, this place is just…really fucking lonely.
With the way today went—and having no one to talk to about it—I’m realizing that more than ever.
I drop down on my mattress after making it to my room and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. If Oakley were here, he’d be giving me some kind of pep talk right now, not letting me wallow in defeat. Holden, on the other hand, would be playing the bad cop, threatening to lock me in my room if I didn’t get my shit together.
And Theo? Well, after ribbing me about my grades, he’d probably be up my ass to make a tutoring appointment—if not taking on the job himself.
I fucking miss them.
Which is why I tap out a message to the old house chat from before Oakley moved out—minus Braxton’s douchey ass—and hit send before I can think better of it.
Me: SOS. Like for real for real.
It takes less than thirty seconds for a FaceTime notification to appear in the chat, and while I wasn’t expecting this to be the response, I answer anyway. Theo’s the one who appears on the other end, though I’m surprised to find him sitting in the driver’s seat of a vehicle. From the angle he has his phone propped up on the dashboard of the car, I can make out the corner of Madden’s face too, which sends a little pang of disappointment through me.
It’s not that I don’t like Madden; he’s actually a great guy.It’s just embarrassing enough to admit how poorly things are going here since they all left, heading off to their own post-graduate lives. Letting any of their significant others in on the sordid circumstance I’ve found myself in is just rubbing salt in the wound.
“Hey, T. Mads. Where ya going?”
“Heading to the airport. We’ve got a quick trip to Vermont,” he supplies, his eyes darting from me to the road and back again. “Which means you’ve got me for about fifteen minutes. Give me the short version of why you need us to save your soul.”
A grin pulls at my lips. “Ah. So you two are returning to the scene of the crime, huh?”
“Not on purpose,” Madden says, leaning into the frame a little more. “We’ve just got a wedding.”
“And you didn’t think to invite me? I thought I’d be your best man, T!”
“What? No.We’renot getting married,” Theo declares, a little mystified by my line of thinking.
