Page 22 of Penalty for Boarding

But now, seeing our private moments splashed across the pages of some gossip rag, it all feels tainted. Dirty. The grainy images blur before my eyes, and suddenly all I can see is the reckless selfishness of my own actions. I was the one who pushed for more, who couldn't keep my hands to myself even in semi-public. And now Olivia's reputation, her career, is on the line because of my lack of control.

Self-recrimination sits heavy in my gut, even as white-hot rage courses through my veins at the thought of anyone daringto use our love against us. My fingers press into my thighs, every muscle rigid with the barely restrained urge to punch a hole through the wall. Or better yet, the photographing weasel's face.

Coach's voice cuts through the red haze of my fury, his tone low and grave. “Nobody's saying you did anything wrong, son. But you have to understand how this looks. The media is having a field day. Our sponsors are concerned. There's a lot of pressure coming down from the top to handle this, to make a clear statement that the Nighthawks don't condone fraternizing with the enemy.”

“The enemy?” I scoff. “Listen to yourself! This isn't some battleground. It's fucking hockey. And Olivia... She's not some spy. She's the woman I love.”

My words hang in the air, the truth of them resonating deep in my bones. I love her. She's the endgame, not my career.

Coach clears his throat, looking to his daughter for help as if I just spoke in some foreign language.

“No one's questioning your feelings, Calvin,” Sara says, her voice soft in her attempt to placate me. “But you have to understand the position this puts the team in. There are serious concerns about conflicts of interest, about confidentiality. There are consequences to consider. For you, for Olivia, for the integrity of the game.”

Consequences. The word tastes bitter on my tongue. All my life, I've played by the rules, given everything to this sport. It robbed me of my first marriage. And now, when I've finally found something real, something that makes me feel alive off the ice again, I'm being punished for it?

No. Fuck that.

“You know what? I'm done.”

“Done?” Coach repeats, his bushy eyebrows shooting up. “Calvin, let's not be hasty...”

But I'm already standing, resolve solidified. “I've given everything to this team, to the Nighthawks. If that's not enough, if I'm not allowed to have a life, to love who I want... Then I don't want to play the game anymore.”

Stunned silence follows my declaration. Coach opens his mouth, but no words come.

“Calvin…” Sara starts, but I hold up my hand to stop her.

“I'm sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “But I have to do what's right for me. Hockey's been my life, but Olivia... She's my future. I choose her.”

“But your career,” Coach quickly interjects.

“With all due respect, sir. Fuck my career. We all know I don’t have a lot of seasons left in me. But even if I had the chance of another decade in this game, I’d still choose her. She means everything to me.”

“Dad,” Sara gasps, looking straight at her father, who just stares at me wordlessly, his mouth flapping. I take it as my cue to turn and walk out, leaving behind a legacy, a team and the chance at making the playoffs one last time... But at least I’m taking my heart with me.

OLIVIA

My hands shake as I gather my things from my office, shoving files and personal items haphazardly into a cardboard box. Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The choice the GM laid out wasn't really a choice at all. My career or Calvin? How could I possibly decide between the two things that mean the most to me?

But in the end, it wasn't a choice at all. Because Calvin isn't just some passing fling or fleeting infatuation. He's the love of my life, my soulmate. And if the Fury can't see that, can't trust in my professionalism and integrity even in the face of tabloid gossip, then maybe this isn't where I belong anymore.

I pause in my packing, staring unseeingly at the framed photo in my hands. It's from my first day with the Fury, shaking hands with the GM, a bright smile on my face. So much hope, so many dreams. All turned to ash now.

Anger simmers under my skin, warring with the soul-deep ache in my chest. How dare they make me choose like this? How dare they question my character, my commitment, after everything I've given to this organization? The unfairness of it allmakes me want to scream, to rage, to march back into the GM's office and tell him exactly where he can shove his ultimatum.

But I don't. Instead, I place the photo in the box with shaking hands, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. Because even now, even in the midst of this crushing betrayal, I refuse to let them see me upset. I’ll be walking out of this place with my head held high, thank you very much.

I continue packing robotically, each item a piece of the life I'm being forced to leave behind. My prized med school diploma, the silly little succulent that's been my desk companion for years, the thank you cards from grateful players I've helped get back on the ice. All reduced to mere mementos now, reminders of a career cut brutally short.

By the time I've finished, my office is nothing but a shell. Empty shelves, bare walls, a yawning void where my purpose used to be. I take one last look around, throat tight with unshed tears, before I grab my pathetically small box and walk out.

I keep my eyes down as I navigate the familiar hallways for the last time, not wanting to see the curious stares, the pitying looks. Word travels fast in the arena, and I'm sure the news of my downfall has already made the rounds.

“Olivia? What's going on?”

I tense at the sound of Beck's voice, my steps faltering. The last thing I need is to face one of my patients—former patients—right now.

---