Jax watches the exchange with an expression I can't quite read. Something softer than his usual smirk. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then shuts it again.
Smart man.
I finally reach my locker and drop onto the bench, pulling my helmet off with more force than necessary. Sweat drips into my eyes. My hands shake—barely, but enough that I curl them into fists to steady them.
Brent appears like he materialized from the floor itself. My agent always has that talent—popping up exactly when I least want to see him.
His expression is grim, jaw clenched tight enough to rival mine.
"They've opened a formal inquiry."
No greeting. No easing in. Just the punch I'd been dreading.
"The league wants to review everything. They'll be monitoring your behavior closely for the next few weeks. Public appearances, social media, interviews—everything."
I sit down heavily, the pads on my shoulders suddenly twice as heavy. The air in the locker room feels too thick, too hot, pressing in from all sides.
"I didn't touch her," I say through gritted teeth. "Not once. Not ever."
"I know that." Brent crouches down so we're eye level, voice dropping lower. "But optics matter. And right now? Yours look terrible."
I scrub my hands over my face, fingers dragging through damp hair. The sting of injustice burns hotter than any workout ever could.
I worked my whole life to build something stable. Something solid. Somethingclean.
And with one lie—one calculated play by a woman who barely knew me—everything is sliding sideways.
And it's not just this woman and her fabricated lawsuit.
Every time this happens, every time someone twists the truth or manipulates my status for their own gain, it carves deeper, breaking my trust further.
Women use me.
Always have.
I have the scars to prove it.
My ex weaponized everything I gave her—every private moment, every vulnerable conversation—turned it into content for her followers and leverage for her career. She obsessed over celebrity culture, over fame, over everything I tried to avoid. And when I finally cut her off, she leaked our messages. Made me look controlling. Cold. Emotionally unavailable.
Maybe I am now.
But I wasn't always.
"What do they want from me?" My voice comes out rough, scraped raw. "A statement? An apology for something I didn't do?"
"They want stability." Brent straightens, pulling his phone from his pocket. "They want you to look grounded. Mature. Emotionally sound."
"Iamemotionally sound."
"Then prove it."
Brent clears his throat in a way that means bad news is about to get worse.
"They need something to counterbalance the narrative. We've been in contact with Elite Relationship Solutions."
I look up sharply, every muscle in my body going taut.
"The matchmaking company? No."
