Page 45 of Gamechanger

"Please, Finn. Trust me on this."

A long pause, then a resigned sigh. "Okay. I trust you. But Moose?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. Whatever happens, remember that."

The lump in my throat threatened to choke me. "I love you too," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

The line went dead. I stared at the phone, stomach churning with a potent mix of love, fear, and guilt.

Another sharp knock on my door jolted me back to reality. "Come in," I called out.

When the door opened, Tasha from PR stood in the doorway, her usually immaculate hair frazzled.

"Emergency meeting. Now."

I nodded, hauling myself to my feet. My legs felt like lead as I followed her down the hallway. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed angrily, each step echoing like a countdown to disaster.

The conference room was a pressure cooker of tension. As I entered, the low murmur of voices abruptly ceased. Faces turned to me, and I saw a mix of disappointment and barely concealed anger. I slid into an empty chair, the leather squeaking in protest.

Mr. Fredericks, our GM, sat at the head of the table, his craggy face set in hard lines. On an ordinary day, I would feel proud that he had an interest in me.

To his right, Tasha perched on the edge of her seat, fingers flying over her tablet. The rest of the table was a who's who of team management—all people I'd joked with at the team Christmas party. Now they regarded me with a spectrum of emotions ranging from pity to disgust.

"Moretti," Fredericks growled, breaking the suffocating silence. "Care to explain this?" He slapped a printout of the damning photo on the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

I opened my mouth, but the words evaporated on my tongue. How could I explain something I was still grappling with myself?

"It's not what it looks like," I finally managed, the lie tasting bitter.

Fredericks's eyebrow arched. "Really? Because it looks like our marketing manager is a little too cozy with one of our rookies."

The room spun. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. "I was just—"

"Save it," Tasha cut in, her voice clipped. "We need to get ahead of this. We need you to draft a statement. Deny any inappropriate relationship. Chalk it up to a misleading angle, team camaraderie, whatever. Just make it convincing."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. Deny it. Lie. I remembered Axel's story of getting caught in a similar situation and how it destroyed a relationship. She wanted me to pretend that what Finn and I had was nothing more than a trick of the light.

"I can't," I whispered.

The room fell silent. I could hear the tick of the wall clock, marking each excruciating second.

"Excuse me?" Fredericks leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.

"I said I can't!" The words exploded out of me, filling the stifling air. "I won't lie about this. About him."

Tasha's face softened, just a fraction. "Milo, think about what you're saying. Think about your career. About Finn's career."

"That's all I've been thinking about!" I shot back, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. "Do you think this is easy for me? For either of us?"

"Nobody said it was easy," piped up Neal Overton. I wasn't sure what job he performed, something that merited an office inthe top executive suite. "But this is professional sports, Moretti. There are expectations. Standards."

I turned to him, feeling a surge of anger. "Standards? You mean like looking the other way when half the team is out until 3 a.m. before a game? Or how many DUI's have NHL teams swept under the rug?"

Overton's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "That's different and you know it."

"How?" I demanded. "Because it fits into your narrow view of what's acceptable? Because it doesn't challenge your comfortable little worldview?"

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