Page 48 of Unleashed

Meanwhile, Jack carried the weight of a franchise and the eyes of the hockey world like it was nothing. You could see the strain in his smile, the hesitation in his step if you knew where to look. They were already calling this playoff run “Viggy’s Last Dance.” His teammates had practically stamped the mantra on their foreheads.

Win it for Viggy.

And me? I’d already sold him out.

Without Malone breathing down my neck, I’d have crafted such a different story. Shown Jack pushing through not just for another Cup run, but for the dreams riding on his shoulders. His father’s expectations. His team’s desperate mission. The fans praying for a fairy tale ending.

Bile rose in my throat.

Hockey ran on heart and grit and brotherhood. Jack deserved his story told right. Deserved the world to see the raw power of his sacrifice, the quiet strength that made men follow him into battle night after night.

And what had I given him? Garbage. Sensationalized, ratings-grabbing garbage wrapped in a pretty bow for Malone’s approval. My stomach churned, bitter acid climbing up my throat as the truth sank bone-deep.

And Viggy wouldn’t forgive it. The unguarded moments caught on the crew’s cameras—him struggling through physio when he thought no one was watching, the quiet conversations in “empty” hallways about pain management, the mask slipping in the locker room after everyone else cleared out. Once I knew what to look for, finding the footage had been a breeze. He’d always known we were filming. Had signed the same release forms as everyone else.

But there’s a difference between knowing cameras exist and expecting someone to stitch together, every vulnerable moment into a highlight reel of your breaking points.

My hands shook as I remembered signing off on the final cut. The voiceover script that picked apart his injury history.

All for what? Raw, choking fear of never getting back what I’d lost. Of being stuck in career purgatory because I let my conscience get in the way of my comeback. Sydney taught me exactly what happened to people who chose principles over ambition in this industry.

I’d waited three years, made a contract with Mark Malone, despite knowing his reputation, because he was the only person willing to give me a chance. I’d admitted as much to Jack.AcesUnleashedwas a solid shot at redemption. All I had to do was sacrifice Jack’s trust.

My phone buzzed. Adele.

Whereeee u at?? Media’s set but u gotta see how the ep is turning out!! In the hideout editing if u need me!!

The truth hit me like a body check into the boards. I had to tell Jack about this week’s episode. He deserved to know what was coming.

Because Mark Malone might be one chromosome up from an amoeba, but he wasn’t wrong about this. The public loved Jack “Viggy” Vignier. They’d devour the episode like sharks scenting blood in the water.

The idea of telling Jack terrified me, the thought of facing those blue eyes, of watching his trust in me shatter… But he deserved to know before the episode aired. Deserved the chance to warn his team, call his dad, get ahead of the story before it exploded in the socials.

I pushed away from the press box window, legs shaky but holding. For the first time in days, my head cleared. I’d existed in a state of bliss between Jack’s apartment and my own, pretending the real world couldn’t intrude. The path ahead would hurt like hell, but better he heard it from me than watch the slaughter unfold on primetime.

In truth, I should have walked away. But I’d dragged Adele into my Malone shit show. After three years of scraping by on her charity, I owed her better than to abandon ship because Malone pulled my puppet strings to do exactly what he’d said he’d have me do when he hired me. I’d done this. I’d created this mess for myself, for Adele and worst of all, for Jack.

Time to face the music. I never should have spent a minute in his bed with this kind of secret. I’d abused his trust with every touch, every kiss. Every shared shower, every whispered pillow conversation, every breath between us had been another opportunity to confess. Come clean.

Instead, I’d delayed and procrastinated. Hoarding memories, convincing myself that there’d still be something between us after he saw the episode.

He’s going to hate me.

My heart pounding, I waved off Dave and left Mark and his insatiable need for drama, to his own devices and made my way through the corridors of the performance center. Staff rushed past me, and I nodded to the familiar faces I passed, my smile a little more brittle than usual, but heartfelt.

Jack would hit the Media Center after changing in the locker room. I’d catch him between—rip off the Band-Aid here and now, before the episode aired.

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. I’d stood in this spot a hundred times over the last eight months, but never with the weight of a confession burning me alive.

I leaned on one of the stools that gave me a perfect vantage point into the hallway outside the locker room. What would I say to Jack when I saw him? I needed to get my phrasing down, explain things so he remembered what I had at stake. But what were the right words? How could I explain without losing him? The thought of seeing his handsome face fill with disappointment, of a wall closing off the warmth of his eyes, made me sick.

“You waiting for someone in particular, Sutton?”

I jumped at the sound of Coach Mack’s voice. He stood in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow, his face ruddy and bright. He’d started his own celebrations, too.

“I was hoping to catch Jack before he did media.”

Coach nodded. “He’s still with the guys. Media’s gonna have to wait today.” He kicked his thumb over his shoulder toward the locker room. “Having you around all season, I forget you’re actually a rookie. Last practice before the playoffs—the boys get a little wild. Press folks know the drill, they won’t mind cooling their heels an extra few minutes.”

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