Page 94 of Offside for Christmas
He started the engine and drove out of Evergreen Cove, watching it disappear in his rearview mirror.
And tried very hard not to think about what he was leaving behind.
Cole had made it as far as Pennsylvania. It was Christmas morning. Merry fucking Christmas to me, he thought.
He'd driven through the night, stopping only for gas and coffee, determined to put as much distance between himself and Vermont as possible. By dawn on Christmas morning, he was exhausted, hollow, and completely certain he'd made the right decision.
Kind of.
The rest stop was nearly empty—just a few truckers and one family with sleepy kids stumbling toward the bathrooms. Christmas music played from speakers somewhere, tinny and hollow. Through the windows of the main building, Cole couldsee sad decorations—a half-hearted tree, some garland that had seen better days.
Nothing like Evergreen Cove.
He pushed that thought away and reached for his phone to check the route. Thirty-five more hours to LA. Thirty-five hours and he could start over. Put Vermont and Ellie and all of it behind him.
That's when his phone started blowing up.
Texts. Calls. Notifications. All at once, like someone had opened a floodgate.
Cole stared at the screen, confused, as message after message appeared.
The first was from Mac:
MAC:Holy shit. Did you see this? Check your email. CHECK YOUR EMAIL RIGHT NOW.
The second was from Coach Davis:
COACH:Cole, call me. We need to talk. This changes everything.
The third was from a number he didn't recognize:
UNKNOWN:Mr. Hansen, this is Sports Illustrated. We'd like to do a profile piece on you after reading Sarah Chen's article in the Chicago Tribune. When can we talk?
Sarah's article?
Cole's hands started shaking as he opened the Tribune's website, his phone screen blurring slightly in the cold morning light.
The headline filled his screen:
"I Was Assaulted in a Parking Lot. Cole Hansen Saved My Life. Here's the Truth About the 'Bar Fight' That Ruined His Career"
By Sarah Chen
Cole read the first paragraph. Then the second. Then he had to stop, get out of his truck, lean against the cold metal because his legs felt unsteady.
He read it standing in the Pennsylvania rest stop parking lot, with Christmas music playing faintly from someone's car radio and snow starting to fall, and felt his entire world shift.
Sarah had told everything. Not just the facts, but the feelings. The terror of being cornered in that parking lot. The way those men had grabbed her, the things they'd said. The moment Cole had appeared—a stranger who'd seen something wrong and couldn't walk away.
She described the fight in visceral detail. Cole taking the first punch to protect her. The second. The third. How he'd kept putting himself between her and those men even as they kicked him on the ground.
"I watched this man—take a beating meant for me. Watched him sacrifice his body, his safety, his future, all to give me time to run. And then, when it was over and the police came, he made sure I was okay before he'd let anyone look at his injuries. He asked if I needed a lawyer. If I needed a ride home. If I needed anything at all. He never once asked what I was doing in that parking lot. Never questioned my choices. Never made me feel like any of it was my fault."
Cole's stomach dropped. He didn't remember it being that clear-cut. He remembered being terrified he wouldn't be fast enough, strong enough. Remembered the sickening crunch of his shoulder giving out. Remembered thinkingplease let her get away, please let her be okay.
He kept reading.
Sarah explained the edited video. How someone had deliberately cut the first five minutes—the harassment, the assault, Cole's attempts to de-escalate. How the viral versionmade it look like Cole had started the fight, had been the aggressor.
