Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Momentum Shift - A sudden change in control or energy during the game.
Cole
I could still taste Phoenix on my lips. If I let myself think about that too long, I’d never make it to the damn post-game video review.
Instead, I headed down the corridor. Empty, quiet, except for the low hum of fluorescents and the sound of someone tapping on a tablet in the video room.
Cinder looked up when I stepped inside.
Still as soft-spoken as the first time I’d seen him, but not skittish—not tonight. The new medical assistant stood by the treatment cart, tablet under one arm, a diagnostic penlight in his hand. Calm. Focused. Like the chaos of the loss hadn’t touched him.
“Armstrong,” he said in a low, even voice. “Sit. I’ll run your post-game assessment while Coach gets set up.”
I lifted a brow. “Straight to the point.”
He didn’t blush or stammer. “It’s late. You’re bruised. Efficiency matters.”
I sat. I hadn't even noticed the bruises because they didn't hurt, not that I could tell him that. His hands were cool and steady as he lifted my arm, pressing carefully along the rib line where the hit had landed.
“Hartley got you good,” he murmured, professional and unflustered. “Deep tissue bruise. No crepitus.”
“No what?”
He looked up briefly. “No crunching. If it crunched, we’d have a problem.”
“Good to know.”
He nodded once and reached for an ultrasound wand. “Hold still.”
As he worked, the door opened and Coach Kinkaid stepped in, followed by the rest of the team in increments. I returned greetings as they all arrived. Coach gave Cinder a short nod.
“Doc?”
I'd heard Cinder correct Coach a few times by insisting he wasn't a doctor, but he gave up when he realized Coach referred to everyone on the medical team as "Doc."
“Minor contusion,” Cinder replied. “I’ll send the report.”
Kinkaid grunted approval and dimmed the lights, pulling up the clips.I braced myself for the breakdown, the lecture, the disappointment. It would be hard in front of everyone. Instead, he clicked to the moment of my mistake, paused it, and didn’t speak for a good ten seconds.
“You were on fire,” he said finally. I glanced at him, distracted by his choice of words, and I didn't know what to say.
"Hell, yeah," Max responded approvingly, and I blinked in shock. I'd expected them to all lay the loss at my door.
Kinkaid wasn’t done. “When you’re focused, Armstrong, you burn steady. Controlled. Useful.” He tapped the screen. “At the game, you were burning everything in sight.”
My throat tightened. He couldn’t know. It was impossible. “I’m fine,” I said quietly.
Kinkaid gave me a long, assessing look—the kind a man gives when he already knows he’s being lied to but won’t call it out directly. “Everyone’s got something they’re fighting,” he murmured. “Some things swallow a man whole if he faces it alone.”
Cinder stepped back at that moment, placing the ultrasound wand down with a soft click, but his eyes stayed on me—sharp, perceptive, not afraid.
Kinkaid went on, still studying my face like he was sorting puzzle pieces.
“You play better when you’re anchored,” he said. “Whatever you’ve got in your life that steadies you? Keep it. Hold onto it.” He looked around the room. "That goes for all of you."
Phoenix’s face hit me so hard I nearly stopped breathing, and the murmurs of the team fell away. We watched the full video debrief, then the players moved to leave. Coach came over just as I was going to do the same.
“Armstrong?” Kinkaid said, tone dropping so none of the others heard him. “Your father’s influence only goes as far as I let it. The sponsors…that’s politics. I don’t care for politics.”
I gaped.
Kinkaid continued, “I coach the man in front of me. Not the man someone else is trying to control.”
My heart thudded.
The message was clear. He knew something. Not what. Not how much. But enough to know I wasn’t just a hotheaded player spiraling from a bad hit.
And he wasn’t going to throw me to the wolves.
Cinder handed me a neatly wrapped ice pack. “Fifteen minutes on, fifteen off,” he said. “Don’t skip it.” His quiet confidence settled me more than the ice ever could.
Kinkaid clicked off the screen. “Get some rest, Armstrong. And whatever’s going on?”A meaningful pause. “You’re not alone in this locker room.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you, Coach.”
I walked out with the ice pack pressed to my ribs…and Phoenix’s warmth pressed somewhere much deeper.
I barely cleared the hallway before I saw him. Evan Marks—all sharp suit, sharper smile, and that self-satisfied gleam he always got when he thought he was about to gift me something I didn’t know I desperately needed.
“Cole,” he said, stepping away from the wall like a vulture leaving its perch. “Perfect timing.”
“I’m not in the mood, Evan. We lost.”
“Which is why this conversation is crucial.” He smoothed his tie, eyes glinting. “Your father agrees.” My stomach went tight.
He held out a sleek navy folder stamped with a white compass logo. NorthStar Integrity Network.
The name alone made my hackles rise.
“Absolutely not,” I said immediately.
“You haven’t even opened it.”
“I don’t need to.”
He sighed, the long-suffering kind. “Cole, it’s a values consultancy. They help companies and communities ‘align personal identity with societal wellness’—their words.”
“Conversion therapy research, Evan. Anti-trans think tanks. Lobbying dressed up as ‘wellness.’ I know exactly what they do.”
His jaw twitched. “Look. They’ve rebranded. They’re trying to broaden their reach. This is a crossover opportunity.”
“A crossover into bigotry, you mean.”
He gave me a tight, polished smile. “They want you for a video campaign. Talking about discipline. Mental strength. Grounding. Inspirational stuff. Nothing political.”
I stared at him. He genuinely believed that. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just didn’t care. “And my father?” I asked.
Evan didn’t hesitate. “He’s enthusiastic. NorthStar has major private investors. Your involvement would raise their profile. And yours.”
“My father wants their money.”
“He wants your future secured.”
No. He wanted control. Always had.
“This is vital,” Evan said smoothly. “You’re at a delicate point in your career, Cole. A teetering franchise, inconsistent media narratives, the loss—”
“I said no.”
The look he gave me was startled, like a dog hearing a whistle outside human range. “No?” he repeated like I'd suddenly started speaking Russian.
“No, Evan. I’m not fronting a company built on harming vulnerable minorities.”
He blinked, regrouped quickly. “This is not a sexuality issue, Cole—”
“Oh, spare me. Their entire business is sexuality issues.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“It’s a fact.”
His jaw locked, frustration bleeding through the corporate polish. “Your father is expecting your cooperation.”
“I’m not giving it.”
The silence between us went sharp as broken glass. “He'll be disappointed,” Evan warned.
“Good,” I said. “Tell him exactly this: I won’t do it.”
Evan stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Maybe because he knew better than anyone that I’d never defied my father in anything that touched my career. “You’re letting feelings cloud your judgment,” he said.
“No,” I answered. “I'm letting my conscience do that.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Don’t sabotage your career over some moral tantrum.”
That lit the ember inside me. The dragon. The fire I kept buried under layers of obedience and fear. But this time it didn’t flare wild. It settled hot, steady, unmovable.
“This isn’t a tantrum,” I said. “It’s a boundary.”
Evan’s expression iced over. “Then we’ll revisit this when you’re calmer.”
“No, Evan.” I met his gaze head-on. “We won’t.” I stepped past him, leaving him standing in the corridor with his perfect folder and his perfect smirk finally cracked. Outside, the night air hit my chest like a promise. For the first time in my life, I’d said no. And meant it.
The apartment was quiet when I let myself in. Too quiet. Like every thought I’d been avoiding since I told Evan no was waiting inside the dark to jump me. I shut the door softly, hoping I could slip in unnoticed—which was ridiculous. Phoenix sensed me the way birds sense storms.
He appeared around the corner within seconds, eyes searching my face like he already knew something was off. “You’re upset,” he said, no hesitation.
I tried for a shrug. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me? Yes.”
Of course it was. He saw right through the armor, right down to the brittle things underneath. He stepped closer, slow and careful, like he was approaching something half-wild. His hand lifted to my cheek, warm and steady, and I leaned in before I could talk myself out of it.
“Tell me,” he murmured.
The words hit harder than I expected. Not an order. Not pressure. Just…permission. I swallowed. “My agent was waiting for me. Evan. He wanted me to sign on as the face of a US ‘values consultancy.’ Name’s NorthStar Integrity Network.”
Phoenix’s expression flickered with unease. “That sounds bad.”
“It is.” My jaw tightened. “Conversion-adjacent research. Anti-trans lobbying. Wrapped in shiny ‘family-values’ language.” He didn’t interrupt or jump in. Just watched me, steady and patient.
“And you told them no,” he said quietly.
I froze. “How did you—?”
He gave a soft, almost sad smile. “Because you look like someone who’s done something good and scary at the same time.”
I let out a shaky breath and rested my forehead against his. The contact grounded me instantly. Heat and calm and Phoenix—the one place I wasn’t performing. “I’ve never refused something my father wanted,” I admitted. “Not if it touched hockey. Not ever.”
His hands slid to my jaw, thumbs brushing the tension there. “He doesn’t own you.”
Doesn’t he? The old instinct wanted to snap that back. Instead, I let myself be still. “I didn’t want them using me to hurt people,” I said. My voice came out quieter than intended. “People like—” I hesitated. “People like us.”