Page 150
"This is the internet, Larkin. It doesn't need you to confirm anything. It already decided." Dmitri, two stalls down, doesn't even look up from tying his skates. “People have apparently been suspicious for weeks.”
I look at him. “Suspicious of what?”
“You two.”
“How?”
Camden gives me a look that suggests the answer should be obvious.
Jordan snorts. “I thought we established you’re not subtle.”
“We have been extremely fucking subtle.”
“Sure.”
I hand his phone back and reach for mine. “This is exactly what we were trying to avoid.”
I’d been ready to tell Brennan.
I had it all planned out. I was going to ask him to talk after practice.
Now some asshole with a phone has done it for us.
“There are comments about Coach already,” Camden says.
That gets my attention. “What kind of comments?”
He hesitates, which is enough of an answer.
“Camden.”
He turns his screen toward me.
There are hundreds of them. Most are stupid. People speculating about how long Quinn and I have been together, whether Brennan knows, whether the whole team knows.
Then I see the others.
People asking whether dating the coach’s daughter explains my ice time.
Whether Brennan’s been giving me preferential treatment.
Someone has screenshots of game recaps lined up beside clips from the last few weeks, building an entire fucking timeline out of my season.
One comment calls me nepotism-adjacent.
“Jesus Christ.”
“This is the internet,” Dmitri says from two stalls down. “They don’t need facts. They need screenshots and too much free time.”
I barely hear him.
Because this isn’t just about me and Quinn anymore. It’s about Brennan. The team. My career.
Exactly the shit we knew could happen if this got out the wrong way.
And it just did.
“I need to talk to Coach.”
