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“I’m trying to tell you,” she said, adding the mushrooms to the pan. The aroma made my stomach growl. “It’s my responsibility to inform you of a third option you never considered.”

My heart jolted, and I took a few more steps into the kitchen. “What is it? What haven’t I considered?”

She scoffed. The heat was turned down to a simmer, and Penny moved on to dicing some peppers. “You’re so blinded by your not-love feelings you can’t see how to blow the lid off Delaney’s operation without affecting Prescott at all.”

“How?” The single word was both hope and disbelief at the same time.

I’d spent weeks staring at the evidence until it burned into my retinas: Delaney’s offshore accounts, stadium kickbacks, all of it. In every version of the story I’d mapped out, the logic was a closed loop I couldn’t avoid. Delaney funded the boosters, the boosters funded the team, and Trace was the crown jewel of that investment.

I’d tried every angle. Sanitized the quotes, used pseudonyms, and even considered a complete pivot to a different department. But the Highlanders were the heartbeat of Frank Delaney’s ego. I’d resigned myself to the fact that the truth was a scorched-earth policy, and Trace was standing right at ground zero.

But Penny looked at me with the smug clarity of someone who wasn’t currently drowning in a sea of ethics and sweat-soaked memories. She saw a gap in the defense I’d completely missed.

My voice finally found its edge. “The team is the whole reason he’s in the game, Penny. Trace is Frank’s poster boy. You can’t dismantle the architect without the building falling down.”

She scraped the diced peppers off the cutting board and into the pan with a sharp clack of her knife. The sizzle intensified, a fresh, sweet scent cutting through the heavy aroma of the wine-soaked mushrooms.

“You’re thinking like an investigator,” she said, finally looking up from the stove. She grabbed her glass and took a pointed sip, swirling the liquid around before pointing the stem at me. “But you need to start writing like a defense attorney.”

I tried to keep up with her, but failed miserably. “A defense attorney?”

“Exactly.” She pulled a box of fettuccine from the pantry. “Right now, you’re trying to show Delaney’s influence—how he’s got his fingers in the school’s pockets, how he’s grooming the players. That’s the path that burns Trace. So, stop doing it.”

She dropped the pasta into a pot of boiling water, the steam curling around her face. “Go back further. Build the case against Frank’s history. Shell companies, old rumors, all the stuff that predates the team. Present the cold, hard facts of who he is, but don’t touch the Highlanders.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up a hand, moving back to the pan to give the veggies a vigorous toss.

“You’re questioning the man, Dakota, not the roster. Let the truth of his character be the story. People will start asking their own questions—they always do—but as long as you don’t provide the bridge to the locker room, it stays in the realm of conspiracy.”

She turned the heat back up and watched the bubbles go crazy.

“So… keep the scandal out of it.”

“Give the public the match,” she said with a nod, “and let them look for the gasoline. But you keep Trace’s name out of the spotlight.”

I took a long pull of my wine, the acidity sharp on my tongue. “An exposé, but one that doesn’t touch the team. It’s a character assassination instead of a play-by-play.”

“Assassination sounds so brutal,” Penny countered, her eyes dancing. “It’s… a biography with perfect timing.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they finally did, my heart flipped in my chest. I felt like such an idiot for not seeing it myself, but I wasn’t going to bitch about it. I was just happy to finally have a reasonable solution that would make Trace happy. Me too.

I leaped forward and gave Penny a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I grabbed my bag, the strap digging into my shoulder as I practically ran for the door. I had to get this to Trace. Now. He was still at the gym, probably grit-toothed and sweating through a rehab session with Tara, trying to fix a battered shoulder that had no business being back in the game just yet.

The gym was mostly empty, my footsteps echoing against the rubber floors as I spotted Trace. He was on the bench, his shoulder bound in a strategic web of K-tape that pulled at his skin with every movement. He and Tara were in the middle of an intense, quiet battle against his own body. He looked exhausted, broken but still trying, and it only made the secret in my pocket feel heavier.

“Sorry to interrupt you guys, but we really need to talk,” I said, rushing up to him.

“This is a closed session, Dakota,” Tara said. She lifted Trace’s arm into stilted rotations, and the pained grimace on his face damn near broke me.

“I know, but this is important.”

“Dakota—”

“Let her talk,” Trace grunted through clenched teeth. Part of me thought he only stood up for me because it would give him a break from Tara’s torture.

I was grateful anyway, and kneeled down beside them. “I’ve been thinking about ways to expose Delaney while keeping you safe, and after a talk with Penny, I think I’ve found a way.”