Page 120 of Pucking Forbidden

I blink, totally confused. “What? Pictures? Who has them? I don’t understand?”

“The Ironclads,” Julian growls, raising his head again. There’s a spark of fury flashing through his eyes. “Williams is using them to blackmail me. He sent his assistant here, and he told me if I don't fly to Chicago tonight and sit at a press conference tomorrow at two o'clock to announce a mid-season transfer, he'll release the photos to the national media tomorrow.”

I stare at him, my mind racing, trying frantically to understand why this is so devastating to him. “So what? Let them release them. Julian, we aren't doing anything illegal. We’re both consenting adults, we aren't…”

“You don't understand how this works, Hadley!” he snaps, his voice rising, echoing off the empty stadium seats before he catches himself. “They aren't going to spin it like a romance. They’re going to frame it as a scandal. A twenty-seven-year-old veteran player using the head coach’s young granddaughter to get special treatment. A conflict of interest. They’ll drag the entire Night Hawks organization into the dirt. The sponsors will pull their endorsements. The media circus will destroy the team’s focus while we’re sitting at the top of the standings. All the guys will lose their season because of me. It won’t matter that it’s all lies. The media will latch onto the story for the mere entertainment of it.”

He shakes his head and stares at me. “And then there’s you... They will tear your reputation to shreds, Hadley. They’ll call you naive. A distraction. A puck-bunny looking to get her hooks in a player. I can’t let them do that to you, Hadley.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” I insist, my heart racing with desperation. I grab both of his hands, my fingers squeezing his calloused knuckles with everything I have. “We can fight this. We can go to my grandfather right now. We can tell the team. We can call their bluff, figure out a legal angle, find something else…”

“There is nothing else,” he chokes out, shaking his head again, his chest heaving beneath his sweatshirt. “The friends you want me to tell? They don’t even know the half of my history. And with Theo on the roster now. The front office brought him in because they knew my career was winding down anyway. The team will be fine if I leave, and if I stay, I risk everything they’ve built. I risk your future. I risk the money I need to take care of Mrs. Clay when I retire. Everyone loses, Hadley. Everything gets fucked up because of me.”

“That’s not going to happen!” I lean into his space, pressing my forehead to his. “My dad knows about us. Our friends know. You made a choice to stay here…with me. Now you’re just going to sit back and let them take you away? I don’t want any of this if you’re not with me.”

I can see the impact of my words in the way his shoulders shake. He lifts his head and looks at me, his gaze tracing every line of my face. I hold my breath as I wait for his response, praying he trusts in us. In me.

“I can’t,” he whispers, a single tear spilling over his dark lashes, tracking down his rough cheek and disappearing into his beard. “Nothing good ever lasts for me, Hadley. People always leave. My mother left. My brother left. My father spent his whole life reminding me I was nothing but a broken piece of trash. A part of me never believed I deserved you in the first place. If I stay, I drag you down into it with me.”

“No, you won’t!” I nearly sob, my voice breaking as I squeeze his hands tighter. “Julian, look at me! I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much. We can figure it out together. Please, don't do this. Don't walk away from me.”

But he’s already shaking his head, his face contorting into an expression of agony…and defeat.

He lets out a ragged, choked sob, his head dropping onto my shoulder as he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me so tightly my ribs ache.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps into my neck. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Leaving you is the last thing I want to do. It’s killing me, but I won't destroy your life just to keep you. I won't do it.”

He pulls back, his trembling hands coming up to cup my face. He leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead. His lips rest against my skin like he’s trying to memorize the exact texture of me before he goes.

Then, he stands up.

“Julian, please,” I whimper, my hand flying out to catch his wrist as he steps into the concrete aisle. The urge to tell him about the second letter presses against my throat, but I can’t get the words out.

He stops. He looks down at my fingers wrapped around him. For a fraction of a second, I see the hesitation flash through his eyes. Tell him! Tell him about the letter! But it’s as if the words are stuck. Fear of how he’ll react chokes me. Before I can say anything, he gently pulls his wrist from my grip. He turns his back on me and walks up the concrete stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the darkness until the exit doors slam shut behind him.

I’m left all alone, my body curling into a tight, defensive ball against the plastic seat as I begin to wail. My voice echoes off the glass, a miserable, broken sound that carries into the dark corners of the arena.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: BUILDING A FORTRESS

HADLEY

By the time the sun rises the next morning, casting a pale, cold gray light through the apartment windows, I’m still curled up on the living room couch.

I’m buried beneath a thick, navy knit blanket I don't even remember grabbing, my body shivering despite the warmth of the room. My chest aches so much with every inhalation that it feels like my lungs are lined with broken glass. Every single time I close my eyes, the loop restarts. I see Julian’s devastated expression. I hear his voice cracking as he tells me he loves me. I feel the brush of his lips against my forehead right before he turns his back and walks away from me.

At exactly 7 AM, a sharp, heavy knock echoes through the quiet apartment.

I flinch, my heart doing a painful spike against my ribs. I called Lainey in a hysterical panic at three in the morning when I finally made my way home. She didn’t answer, because obviously it was the middle of the night. I left her a voicemail, then turned my phone off and crawled into bed, sobbing. Who could be at my door now? Did Lainey somehow get a hold of Stacey or any of the other girls? I force myself to sit up. My hair is a tangled, messy nest around my face. My eyes are swollen nearly shut from hours of crying. I drag the blanket around my shoulders and trudge over to the front door, pulling it open.

The breath catches in my throat.

It isn't the girls.

My father is standing in the hallway. We haven’t spoken or seen each other since our fight.

He’s wearing a navy designer suit, his silk tie loosened slightly at his collar, his coat slung over his arm. There are dark shadows under his sharp eyes, and his posture is uncharacteristically slumped. He looks just as spent and beaten as I feel.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us says a word.