Page 67 of Off the Ice

Ava’s grip on her phone tightened. “You knew. And you didn’t say anything.”

Frank sighed. “I didn’t have proof. Just whispers. Rumors. I neededyouto dig it up.” He paused, like he was giving her a moment to process that. “And now? The whole damn thing is on fire.”

I clenched my jaw. “So what, Frank? You just used Ava as your attack dog?”

Frank ignored me. “You’re in it now, Carlisle. You’re not just some journalist covering a story. Youarethe story.” His voice dropped lower. “And you better be ready for what comes next.”

Ava’s voice was icy. “You don’t think I knew what I was getting into?”

“Oh, I think you knew.” He chuckled again, this time almost approving. “But a green reporter never fully understands the cost, good luck being trusted in this town again.”

A beat of silence. Then, more serious: “They’re not going to let this go quietly. You both need to keep your eyes open.”

The call ended with a sharp click.

Ava set the phone down slowly, her shoulders tight. I could see it—the weight pressing down on her, the way she was holding it all in, trying to be strong for me.

I squeezed her hand, running my thumb along her knuckles. “You okay?”

She let out a short laugh. “I should be asking you that.”

I shook my head. “You are asking me that. I just need to hear you’re okay, too.”

She looked at me then, really looked, and whatever she saw in my face made some of the tension ease from her shoulders. “I have your back, Logan.”

Something in my chest tightened.

For so long, I had convinced myself I could survive anything as long as I had hockey. That I could take the hits, keep getting back up, as long as the game was still there waiting for me.

Now, I wasn’t sure if I would ever play again.

But sitting here, with Ava beside me, her fingers warm and steady in mine, I realized something.

I wasn’t alone.

Maybe I had lost my place in the league. Maybe I had lost my shot at history. But I hadn’t lost her.

And right now, that felt like the only thing keeping me upright.

I took a slow breath. “So what now?”

She squeezed my hand. “Now, we fight.”

And for the first time since this whole thing started, I knew with absolute certainty—

I wasn’t fighting alone.

Thirty Five

Logan

Ididn’tknowhowto stop.

For as long as I could remember, my entire life had been structured around hockey. Every second of my day, every decision I made, every sacrifice—it had always been for the game. Practices, road trips, workouts, film sessions, late nights at the gym. Even in the off-season, there were training camps, conditioning drills, routines designed to keep me at my peak.

Now, there was nothing.

No practices to show up for. No team meetings. No games. Everything suspened until further notice.

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