Page 53 of Off the Ice

Connor must’ve seen the storm brewing behind my eyes because he clapped a hand on my shoulder, grounding me for a second. “We’ll find him.”

I nodded tightly, but my hands were already curling into fists as I pushed the locker room doors open.

Silence. Then, the sound of guys shifting on the benches, murmurs cutting off mid-sentence as I stepped inside. Every pair of eyes turned to me, some unreadable, some accusatory, all waiting for me to say something.

Jaymie was the first to break the silence, his voice edged with tension. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know what you think it looks like.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nathan Kessler—veteran, asshole—leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe like someone in this room is responsible for this shitstorm.”

I turned my glare on him, barely reining in the urge to snap. “If you’re looking at me, you can cut that shit out right now.”

“Can I?” Kessler scoffed. “You’re the one who’s been real close with a journalist lately.”

I took a step forward, blood hot, fists already curling, and Connor was suddenly between us, a hand on my chest. “Not the time, Bennett,” he muttered under his breath.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing myself to step back. I wasn’t going to do this here. Not when the team was already splintering at the seams.

Coach walked in then, his expression like fucking stone. “Enough.” His voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Everyone, suit up. We have a game tomorrow, and I don’t give a shit about the media firestorm outside these doors. You play your game, you do your job, and you let management handle the rest.”

His gaze landed on me last. Cold. Unforgiving. “Bennett. My office. Now.”

I followed him out without a word, ignoring the way the team’s murmurs picked up the second the door shut behind me.

Coach rounded on me the second it clicked closed. “What thehellwere you thinking?”

“I didn’t—” I started, but he cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“You didn’twhat, Bennett? Think? Because that’s sure as shit what it looks like.” He stepped closer, voice low but lethal. “You’re on this team to play hockey. To lead. To be a goddamnprofessional. And instead, I’ve got every major sports outlet dragging the Hellblades through the mud and yourreporter girlfriend’sname stamped right on the story.”

I clenched my jaw, my fists aching.

“You wanna date someone in media? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face. You don’t get to have it both ways—pillow talk and plausible deniability.”

His stare sharpened, deadly. “You’re supposed to be a role model on this team. Act like it. Because if you keep putting yourself ahead of the room, ahead of the game, your ass is gonna be grass, just like hers.”

The silence that followed hit harder than the words.

“You’ve got one shot to clean this up,” he finished, voice quiet now, but no less dangerous. “Don’t waste it.”

***

I didn’t get a chance to breathe before the reporters swarmed the hallway after practice. Microphones, cameras, questions being thrown at me like fucking bullets. I ignored most of them, but one stuck.

“Logan, do you think Ava Carlisle had ulterior motives when she wrote the story? Some people are saying she used you for access.”

I stopped in my tracks. That anger I’d been trying to bury? It fucking exploded.

I turned, leveling a glare at the reporter who’d asked. “Don’t.” My voice was sharp, final. “Don’t stand here and act like you suddenly give a shit about integrity when you’re the ones twisting this story into whatever gets you the most clicks.” Before they could push further, I shoved past them, heading straight for my car. I needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to me.

Ava.

***

She was waiting when I got to her apartment.

Like she knew I’d come. Like she knew what I was going to say.

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