Page 162 of Twisted Play
The shout echoed off the metal lockers, and I felt myselfshrinking inward. This was what I’d become—a thing to be used, a problem to be solved, a body to be punished.
Tristan’s expressionless face sliced into my soul. “Bend over,” he said quietly, without any infliction at all.No. Tristan hated hurting me. He wouldn’t.
“Bend over,” Tristan said, gesturing toward the bench, “and fucking count.”
This is it. This is how everything good between us ends.With me bent over a bench in an empty locker room, taking their anger and their punishment because I had nowhere else to go.
Before I could move, the door slammed open.
Alek filled the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights, and the vice around my lungs loosened at the sight of him. Even after everything, even knowing what he’d done to get me this job, he was my safety.
“Eva,” he rumbled, taking in the scene.
“Sir,” I whispered, the word automatic.
“What’s going on?”
Tristan laughed, bitter and sharp. “Eva sold us out to Jed Carter.”
I stared at Tristan, feeling something fundamental break inside me. Just like that, he broke his promise to keep my secrets.
They’re all liars.
“She’s been sending him team secrets all season,” Tristan continued, and I watched Alek’s face carefully, looking for some hint of understanding, some recognition that I’d had no choice.
Nothing.
“She sent him your playbook. That’s why we lost today.”
“Is that true?” Alek asked, his accent thick.
I looked Tristan in the eye, letting him see exactly whathis betrayal had cost me. “You asshole,” I snarled. “You complete and utter shit.”
“Eva,” Alek continued. “Is it true?”
The fight drained out of me all at once. What was the point? They’d already decided I was guilty. They’d already decided I didn’t matter.
“Yes, it’s true.”
Alek’s fists clenched, and his expression transformed into pure, incandescent rage. “Jed Carter, baby girl? Tell me they’re lying. Tell me you didn’t hand him a program I spent the last decade defending from his rapaciousness.”
Baby girl.The endearment that used to calm me felt like a slap.
“He threatened to kill my father.”
His laugh was bitter, cruel. “Conrad Jackson? The same Conrad Jackson who destroyed my knee? Who ended my career when I was younger than these boys?” His accent thickened with fury. “You want to talk about threats, baby girl? Your father took a metal pipe to my leg sixteen years ago and ended my hockey career.”
The blood drained from my face.Dad’s limp. His nightmares. The way he flinches when hockey comes on TV. Oh god, what else don't I know?
“Sixteen years proving I could coach despite what your father did to me. Ten years I’ve spent building this program back up from nothing. And you handed it all to Jed Carter on a silver platter.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy with a history I’d never known existed.
“Was any of it real, baby girl?” His voice dropped to something soft and deadly. “Or were you just finishing what your father started?”
The question shattered my heart. After everything—after I’d knelt for him, after I’d found peace in his commands, after I’d trusted him with my surrender—he thought it was all fake.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” The words exploded from my lips. “You’re asking me whether any of what happened between us was real? After what you made me do to get this job? I’m so fucking done.”
