Chapter 17
I wake to the dull ache of muscles I didn’t know could hurt, and my skin still tingling where Kai’s hands and teeth left their marks last night. A sharp inhale escapes me, and I can’t stop the small, guilty smile that flits across my lips. Last night was…insane. It was reckless and delicious.
I sit at the edge of the bed, my laptop open on the desk, and stare at the blank document. My mind should be focused, typing out the interview notes, shaping the article, chasing the story Marcus Webb is desperately on my neck for.
But all I can think about is Kai. His hands, the sharp bite of his teeth on my shoulder, the way he pulled me against him without hesitation. My professional mask feels miles away, buried under a layer of lust and undeniable chemistry I can’t talk myself out of.
I run a hand over my face, trying to cool the fire inside me, but it doesn’t work. Every memory drags me back, makes me crave more, even as my stomach twists in guilt. I crossed every line I swore I’d never cross with a subject.
Every ounce of journalistic integrity I claimed to have? Shredded. He’s not just a player, not just a story and yet I let him become something else entirely. Something personal. Dangerous. And now I’m sitting here, completely compromised, feeling both euphoric and terrified.
I lean back against the headboard, eyes closed, letting the memories roll over me.
Every gasp, every shiver, every whispered warning I ignored flashes my memory vividly.
The thought that I could have been caught, that anyone could have walked in and seen us…
it should make me furious, ashamed, but instead, it makes my pulse race all over again.
Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes and stare at the screen in front of me.
The cursor blinks, accusingly, demanding the professionalism I no longer feel.
I type a few words and delete them immediately.
The story, the scandal Marcus wants, the career I’ve worked so hard to build, they all feel distant, almost meaningless.
Not because I don’t care about my job, but because the line I’ve crossed with Kai has rewritten everything. The desire, the tension, the sheer intensity of last night lingers, and I can’t shake it.
I sigh, closing the laptop, and tucking my legs beneath me. I need to focus. I have to. But even as I tell myself that, I know the truth. Part of me wants this as much as I fear it. And that, more than anything, terrifies me.
I step into the facility, the familiar scent of ice hitting me immediately.
My notepad is in hand, my pen ready as always, but my focus is split.
Last night’s encounter with Kai is still fresh under my skin, making me acutely aware of his every movement around me.
I shove the memory aside, mostly but it lingers, like a shadow I can’t escape.
Kai is on the ice, stretching and chatting with teammates, his usual intensity softened in a way I rarely see.
My eyes drift toward Jake Rivera. From what I hear, he’s the closest friend Kai has on the team.
The two of them exchange a joke, shoulders bumping, and I catch a genuine laugh from Kai, full and unguarded.
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and for a second, he isn’t the magnetic, untouchable hockey star I’ve been writing about. He’s just… Kai Morrison.
Jake claps him on the back, teasing him about some minor mistake in a drill, and Kai retaliates with a mock shove.
I watch them move with easy familiarity, their bond is effortless.
There’s a softness in Kai’s gaze whenever he looks at Jake, a trust that’s obvious even from across the rink.
My pen hovers over the page, but the words don’t come.
I’m torn between documenting the story and trying to dissect this new side of him I didn’t expect to see.
I take a few careful steps closer, pretending to adjust my angle for better observation, all the while acutely aware of the tension lingering between us from last night.
Every movement Kai makes draws my gaze, and I can’t help but notice the subtle way his shoulder flexes, the way his jaw tenses when Jake teases him.
My pulse quickens despite my best efforts to maintain professional composure.
I start jotting down some notes, careful to keep them neutral, but my mind is working overtime.
This softer side of Kai, his loyalty, his humor, the way he genuinely interacts with Jake adds layers to the story that I hadn’t anticipated.
It challenges the narrative Marcus wants me to write, the scandalous version of Kai Morrison that I’ve been pushed to uncover.
There’s a clear display of humanity here that complicates everything, and I’m completely aware of how my growing attraction to him shifts my perspective even further.
West Carmack speaks quietly to Kai about a rookie they’re mentoring, and Kai’s expression softens even more.
My curiosity spikes. I want to ask questions, dig into the story behind this bond, but I hesitate.
Professionalism demands distance, but my desire to understand him and to be near him overrides my caution.
I scribble down a few final notes and step back, taking a deep breath.
My mind is spinning, torn between my responsibilities as a journalist and the undeniable pull of my lingering desire for the star hockey player.
Kai isn’t just a subject anymore. He’s complicated, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.
And watching him with Jake today has only made me more aware of just how human and real he is beyond the headlines.
I take a steadying breath before approaching Jake, careful to keep my notepad angled just right so it looks professional rather than intrusive. He notices me coming, gives a small nod, and I can tell immediately that he’s wary and protective, the way he always seems to be with Kai.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” I begin, voice neutral, but my heart is pounding.
Jake crosses his arms but doesn’t step back. “Depends on the questions,” he says evenly, though there’s a guarded edge. “I’m not giving you anything that’ll paint Kai the wrong way.”
“I’m not looking for that,” I assure him, though part of me knows Marcus Webb would kill for some dirt. “I want to understand him better. You know, his upbringing, leadership on the team and character stuff.”
Jake studies me for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. But keep it real. Kai’s got layers most people don’t see. You write him wrong, you’re writing a lie.”
I smile faintly, scribbling notes as I ask the first question, “Do you know what he was like as a kid?”
Jake shakes his head. “I didn’t know him back then, but from what I’ve heard, Kai was very protective, stubborn, the type to stick up for anyone who needed it, even if it got him into trouble. He didn’t just survive foster care, he made a way for others to survive it too.”
My pen hovers over the page. “Others?” I ask, intrigued.
He glances around the empty hallway, lowers his voice slightly. “Kai funds transitional housing for kids aging out of the system. He’s discreet about it, but he makes sure they have a place to go, help with college, work, anything they need to get on their feet.”
My breath catches. That’s not what I was expecting. The headlines paint him as selfish, bad-boy material, a player in every sense. And yet here’s a version of him none of that covers. The generous, deliberate, and quietly heroic version of him.
I press on, carefully framing my questions. “And on the team? How does he lead?”
Jake smirks slightly. “He’s strict but fair. Pushes people to do better, but never in a way that makes them feel small. And he notices when someone’s struggling. He’s not just about winning games. He wants everyone to win, in life and on the ice.”
I scribble more notes, my head spinning.
The more he talks, the more the ‘bad boy’ narrative crumbles.
My professional instincts clash with the growing sense that I’ve been chasing a story that doesn’t exist. Kai isn’t a headline for scandal.
He’s a person. A man with depth, integrity, and a quiet compassion that no scandal should ever maim.
Jake’s eyes meet mine again, sharp and assessing. “You understand what you’re hearing, right? You can’t just make it sound like a story for clicks. This isn’t for the press. It’s about him.”
I nod, feeling the weight of responsibility settle in my chest. Part of me wants to push for more, to dig, to get something Marcus Webb would call ‘juicy.’ But another, louder part of me, the part that’s been on edge since the locker room, the part that knows Kai beyond the headlines knows that the real story isn’t scandalous. And maybe… it’s better that way.
My phone rings loudly, dragging me out of my thoughts. The name on the screen makes my stomach tighten. Marcus Webb.
“Winters,” his voice snaps the moment I answer. “Where’s the story? I need dirt, something on Morrison. You’re wasting more time than is necessary. “
I run a hand through my hair, keeping my tone steady even as panic grows inside me. “I’m still working on it, Marcus. Gathering details, cross-checking and trying to make sure my information is accurate.”
He huffs, impatient, the kind of impatience that usually sends me sprinting to meet deadlines I don’t have. “Accurate? Winters, I don’t want boring, useless news. I want the real dirt. The kind of thing readers can’t scroll past. Time’s running out. Don’t make me wait.”
I bite back a sigh, forcing calm into my voice. “I understand. I’m on it.”
He grunts and ends the call, leaving me staring at the silent phone, heart racing. I feel the tug-of-war in my chest between the professional urgency, the loyalty to my job, the personal pull I’ve tried so hard to ignore.
My gaze drifts to the images I’ve compiled, photos of Kai with the foster kids, hospital visits, the bar fight research, all of it contradicting the story Marcus wants.
The more I dig, the clearer it becomes that the man I’ve been chasing scandal about isn’t who the press or even Marcus, claims he is.
I run a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. Lying to Marcus buys me time, but the tension doesn’t lift. Each call, each request feels like a knife at the edge of my conscience.
Kai’s face flashes in my mind. The line of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze and the moments we’ve shared. Protecting his secrets has never felt more important and I realize that staying objective is becoming impossible.
My career is riding on this, and yet, I can’t bring myself to betray him.
I sink back into the chair with my laptop open, the glow of the screen harsh against the dim morning light.
My fingers hover over the keys, but I’m not typing.
Instead, I’m scrolling, digging deeper into every scrap of information I can find about Kai.
Every headline I’ve read, every “bad boy” narrative pushed by the media, feels like a lie waiting to be torn apart.
It’s the same stuff I’ve looked through, but I look again just in case I missed something.
Instead, I stop researching the bad headlines. I need to dig for the good.
One link leads to another, and I see photos of Kai visiting children’s hospitals, quiet gestures of encouragement, small gifts handed with that subtle smile that somehow reaches his eyes.
Then there are the articles detailing anonymous donations to foster programs, funding for transitional housing for kids aging out of the system.
Names of former foster children he’s helped flash across pages, their gratitude quietly documented on unpopular sites. Even his teammate’s interviews confirm it, that Kai isn’t just generous. He is relentless about giving back.
I lean closer to the screen, my pulse picking up.
In one photo, Kai crouches beside a young girl hooked up to IVs, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
Her eyes light up in a mix of relief and joy.
Another shows him handing supplies to a group of teens at a community center.
Every click, every new image I find pulls me further into the reality I can’t ignore.
The man I’ve been chasing for scandal is not the selfish, arrogant figure Marcus has demanded I expose.
My chest tightens. Each discovery is like a punch to my gut and a reminder that my story, the one Marcus wants, is built on lies. And yet, the truth, the real Kai, is here in these images. I can’t unsee it. I can’t justify twisting it into a narrative that would betray him.
I lean back, staring at a photo of him with a boy no older than twelve, the kid laughing as Kai adjusts a hockey helmet on his head.
My fingers twitch, torn between recording this truth for the story and protecting the man who’s risked everything without anyone knowing.
The weight of my choice presses into me like a physical force.
If I go forward with the scandal narrative I was employed for, then I destroy the trust he’s given me and disrespect the private world he’s built. But if I protect him, my credibility, my career, the job Marcus depends on me to deliver, it would all slip out of my fingers.
I close my eyes for a moment, the images of Kai’s genuine smiles and quiet acts of kindness burning behind my lids.
Every instinct in me says this isn’t just about a story anymore.
It’s about loyalty, integrity, and the undeniable attraction I feel toward him, this man who is so completely misrepresented in the world’s eyes.
When I open my eyes again and stare at the photo pinned to the screen, I see Kai kneeling beside a child, arm protectively around her shoulders. The weight of the choice settles over me like a stone. I know the stakes, the consequences, and yet… I can’t shake the truth I’ve uncovered.
For some reason, I can’t betray him.