Page 66 of Off the Ice

Thirty Four

Logan

Ihadknownthiswas coming.

We’d prepared for it, talked through every worst-case scenario, but nothing—not the late-night strategy sessions, not the warnings from my lawyer, not even my own gut instincts—could have braced me for the bomb.

The broadcast hit like a nuclear war.

Chicago 7 News aired the exclusive at exactly 8:00 PM, and by 8:03, my phone was vibrating nonstop with texts, calls, and notifications. The speculation articles were one thing, but account numbers connected to names and games turned this into a whole different level. The interview played on every major network within the hour. By midnight, it was trending worldwide.

The media went into a full-blown frenzy.

Some headlines painted me as a hero. A whistleblower exposing the league’s dirty secrets. Others called me reckless. A troublemaker. An arrogant player who had thrown himself into something bigger than he understood.

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Fans were divided. Some were in my corner, flooding social media with support. Others? Not so much. I’d seen the wordstraitorandselloutmore times than I could count. Some people didn’t care if the allegations were true—they only cared that I had shattered the illusion of their perfect, untouchable sport. The league scrambled to contain the damage.

The NHL released an official statement within hours. They were “committed to the integrity of the game” and would be “launching a full investigation into the allegations.” Which was bullshit. They were only reacting now because they had no choice. Darren was placed under official protection. For now, his name wasn’t in the reports, redacted from anything public-facing, but that wouldn’t last forever. He was too deep in it. Eventually, the world would know what he had been forced to do to survive.

And then there were the arrests. First, it was small names, low-level bookies and intermediaries. But it didn’t take long for the FBI to dig deeper. Executives. Agents. Even former players. One by one, the names started to pile up, and the full extent of the betting ring began to unravel.

It was massive. So much bigger than we had even guessed. I should have felt some kind of vindication. Some sense of relief that the truth was finally out. That we had done the right thing. Instead, all I felt was the weight of what I had lost. Because the moment the Hellblades organization released their own statement, I knew my time with the team was over. They had to make an example out of me. I was too big of a name, too entangled in the mess. Less than twenty-four hours after the broadcast, they put me on indefinite suspension while they conducted their own internal investigation.

And just like that, I was no longer an active Hellblade.

No longer a player.

No longeranyone.

I sat on my couch, phone face-down on the table in front of me, watching the chaos unfold on the muted TV screen. My own face stared back at me from one of the broadcasts, an old game clip playing in slow motion. I looked untouchable in that clip. Powerful. Fast. A force on the ice. But that guy? That guy was gone.

My teammates had backed me when we made this decision, but even they were struggling to process the fallout. Some of them hadn’t texted me back since the news broke. Even the ones whodidweren’t sure what to say. I didn’t blame them. They had families, contracts, futures to think about.

I was a liability now.

Ava sat beside me, her knee touching mine, silent but steady. She had been with me all night, refusing to leave even when I told her she didn’t have to watch me fall apart in real time. I hadn’t responded to her, but she hadn’t left. Not when the Hellblades dropped their statement. Not when the first reports of my suspension started rolling in. Not even now, when I was sitting here, sinking into the brutal reality that I might never step on NHL ice again.

Ava’s phone rang.

She glanced at the screen before turning to me. “It’s Frank.”

I exhaled through my nose. I already knew how this was going to go. She hesitated, then answered, putting it on speaker.

Frank’s voice came through, dry and unimpressed. “Congratulations, Carlisle. You just blew up the league. Now what?”

Ava’s fingers curled into fists on her lap. “We exposed the truth. Thatwasthe goal, wasn’t it?”

Frank let out a slow chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t play dumb, Ava. You’ve been circling this story formonths. Don’t tell me you didn’t realize how deep it went.”

Ava blinked, her back going rigid. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I didn’t know something was off? I pointed you in the right directionon purpose,” Frank said smoothly. “I knew there was more to uncover. But evenIdidn’t expect you to go nuclear with it.”

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