Page 97 of Captain's Claim

"Sophia." I step closer, lowering my voice. "What's wrong?"

"Really, it's-" She stops herself, forcing a bright smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "The kids were amazing today. You should be so proud. Let's head to Ridgeview for a drink after, what do you think?"

My jaw clenches. Something's off.

"Sure."

The same instinct that warns me of an incoming check on the ice screams that something's wrong. But before I can press further, Mikey skates up to the boards.

"Coach! Did you see my goal? Top bins! Just like you always say!"

I paste on a grin for him. "Sure did, kid. Beautiful shot."

Eventually, I step outside the rink after chatting with the parents for a few minutes and find Sophia's a few feet away from the entrance. She has her back to me, phone clutched in her hand.

She's doom-scrolling again, her shoulders tense.

Something'sstilloff.

"Enough." I snag her elbow, turning her to face me. "What's got you so rattled?"

She tries to pocket the phone but I catch her wrist. Our eyes lock in a silent battle before she finally relents, holding up the screen, shining it so bright in my eyes that I have to squint to make it out.

When I do, the headline hits me like a cross-check to the chest:

Blake Maddox's Off-Ice Distraction—Is Iron Ridge's Star Losing Focus?

Below it, photos of us. The kiss at the hotel in Chicago. Her at my games. Us at practice. There's even one of us the other morning when we went for a stroll up in the mountain trails.

And worse yet?

Each photo is twisted into something calculated and cold, used to serve the purpose of the story, not to paint the real picture.

"They're saying I'm..." Her voice cracks. "That I'm using you for publicity. That I'm the reason for your penalties last month. That the board hired me to-"

"Stop."

Ice floods my veins.

"Who wrote this?"

"Some sports blog picked it up first, but now it's everywhere." She scrolls through notifications. "Twitter, Instagram, major print outlets..."

My fingers curl into fists. We'd known the media attention would come, but this? This targeted hit piece? Right before we play the final regular season game on home ice? Right before we stake our claim to nab the last spot for playoffs?

"Blake, I swear I didn't-"

"Hey," I say, my voice softening. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm not blaming you."

She takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening. "It's just... all this work. Everything I've done. I wanted to protect the kids, the youth program. To protect you and everything you went through to get where you are."

Her voice wavers, and I feel it. Her pain.

It's raw, real, and it hits me right in the chest.

"But still... I'm not being taken seriously. I came here to make a change, to dive into my career and be that woman who changed the world. Just like mom did. And now...this."

I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

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