Page 92 of Daddies on Ice
Jake appears in the doorway, his green eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “What the hell?”
Behind him, I can see more faces. Other players, some of the support staff.
“Jake, help me stop this!” I plead.
Jake starts forward, but before he can intervene, Trent manages to land a solid punch to Ash’s stomach.
Ash doubles over with a grunt of pain, and Trent scrambles to his feet, breathing hard.
“Stay away from my sister,” Trent pants, pointing down at Ash. “I mean it, Ash. Stay the hell away from her.”
Ash slowly pushes himself up to his knees, one hand pressed to his stomach.
His lip is split now, and there’s going to be a bruise on his jaw, but his eyes are still focused on Trent with that same careful control.
“I can’t do that,” he says quietly.
“You can and you will,” Trent snaps. “Or I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” Ash gets to his feet, and despite his injuries, he still cuts an intimidating figure. “You’ll kick my ass? You can try, Trent, but we both know how that’ll end.”
The threat is subtle but unmistakable. I can see the moment Trent realizes it too, the way his eyes widen slightly, the way he takes an unconscious step back.
Trent’s gaze flicks to the doorway, where the crowd of onlookers has grown even larger.
His face flushes with embarrassment and renewed anger.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, his voice rising again. “Look at this mess! Look at what you’ve done to her reputation!”
“I didn’t take those pictures,” Ash says coldly. “And I sure as hell didn’t send them to anyone.”
“But you gave them something to photograph!” Trent shoots back.
The accusation hangs in the air, and I feel my cheeks burn with shame.
Because Trent is right, isn’t he? If I hadn’t gotten involved with Ash—with Jake, with Carl—there wouldn’t be any compromising pictures to take.
“That’s enough,” I say, my voice stronger now. “Both of you, that’s enough.”
But neither man is listening to me.
They’re staring at each other with years of friendship and trust crumbling between them, and I don’t know how to fix it.
The crowd in the hallway murmurs among themselves, and I can hear fragments of conversation drifting in.
My humiliation is complete.
Not only is my private life being splashed across gossip sites, but now the entire team is witnessing my drama play out in real time.
“Everyone needs to leave,” I say, raising my voice. “Now. This is a private matter.”
Some of the players start to disperse, but Jake remains in the doorway, his expression concerned. “Tish, are you okay?”
Before I can answer, camera equipment and boom mics appear in my doorway, and I can see the red recording light blinking on the main camera. The docuseries crew!
“No,” I breathe, taking a step back. “No, no, no…”
But it’s too late. The damage is done.
