Page 44 of Gamechanger

My thumb swiped lazily through the feed. Likes were up, comments mostly positive. Good. Maybe I was finally gettingthe hang of this marketing gig. I scrolled further, past player highlights and fan reposts, when something caught my eye.

I froze, thumb hovering over the screen. There, nestled in the background of a seemingly innocent locker room celebration shot, were Finn and me.

The world narrowed to those few pixels. Finn's lithe frame was tucked against my side, his head tilted up toward me with a smile that made my heart stutter even now. My hand—God, my massive paw—splayed possessively across his lower back. The intimacy was undeniable, even in the grainy background.

"No, no, no," I muttered, panic clawing up my throat. I zoomed in, hoping it was a trick of the light, a misunderstanding. But the image only became clearer, more damning.

The desk lamp flickered, its dying bulb matching the erratic rhythm of my pulse. I barely noticed. I glued my eyes to the phone, watching helplessly as likes and comments poured in beneath the post.

"Is that Moretti and Novak?"

"Looks cozy ;)"

"Guess we know why the rookie's getting so much ice time... connections in the front office."

I sucked in a ragged breath, my free hand kneading the tight muscles at the base of my neck. The low hum of the office faded, replaced by a memory—Finn's laughter, bright and unrestrained from just a few days ago, as I battled his dad in a bubble hockey tournament. The ghost of Finn's touch lingered on my skin, a stark contrast to the cold dread seeping through my veins.

My phone rang, cutting through my thoughts of doom.

"Moose?" Finn's voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the undercurrent of panic. "Have you seen—"

"Yeah," I cut him off, gentler than I intended. "I've seen it."

A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fears. I could almost see him, pacing in his apartment, running a hand through those unruly curls.

"What do we do?" Finn finally asked, the tremor in his voice betraying his calm facade.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the right answer to materialize. The weight of responsibility—to Finn, to the team, to myself—pressed down on me like a physical force. "I don't know. I don't—" The words caught in my throat. I wanted to wrap him in my arms, to shield him from the storm brewing around us. Instead, I was stuck in this sterile office, powerless. "Just... lay low for now, okay? I'll handle this."

"But—" Finn started, then cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. "Moose, we hold equal responsibility. You don't have to protect me."

A rueful laugh escaped me. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"I'm serious," Finn insisted. "We knew this could happen. We talked about it."

"Talking about it and living it are two different things," I countered, my free hand clenching into a fist. "You've worked so hard to get here. Your speed, your dedication—you're finally getting the recognition you deserve. I can't let this derail that."

"And what about you? You think I don't worry about your career too? You've reinvented yourself, taken on this whole new challenge. I won't let you sacrifice that for me."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. "Finn," I breathed, my voice breaking. "I—"

I heard a sharp knock on my door and the muffled voice. "Moose… it's Tasha."

"I have to go," I said quickly. "Emergency meeting. Just... promise me you won't do anything rash. No statements, no social media. Not until we figure this out."

"Moose—"

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