Chapter 12
Margot
I stare at the sports news station on my TV, huddled on the couch in my thickest cozy socks and a blanket, knees pulled tight to my chest as I try to process the wreckage.
Sabrina, Celeste, and Isabelle have all staged a morning-after intervention, descending on my living room for a gossip-fueled rescue mission. Isabelle even brought a box of her double-chocolate cookies—the big guns—so she clearly knows I'm in a state of crisis.
My whole body is humming with the lingering ache of last night, a constant little reminder of exactly how thoroughly Cillian wrecked me. And god help me, I'd let him do it again right this second.
"Oh my god, this is absolutely insane," Sabrina says, perched right next to me and gesturing wildly at the screen.
The grim-faced sports commentator on the TV is droning on about Cillian's indefinite suspension, pending this morning's disciplinary hearing, and the league's official statement of disappointment. That alone would be bad enough, but the whole thing has gone viral overnight.
Opinions are pouring in from every corner of the internet, ranging from what a man, saving that woman (humiliating) to unprofessional thug threw away his team's season and he can burn in hell (a touch harsh) to they should be auctioning him off to ME next, not that Margot Prescott bitch (actively concerning).
Isabelle stares at the TV looking more impressed than concerned. "Margot, you're basically famous. You are all over the freaking news."
I sink even lower into the cushions as Celeste settles a supportive arm around my shoulders.
"I just can't believe any of this is actually happening," I whisper, watching the broadcast in a state of absolute horror.
Isabelle snorts. "And I still can't believe you actually slept with him last night. Talk about a grand finale to the evening."
"It's my fault." Sabrina throws up her hands dramatically. "My styling skills were too effective on that fake date. I obviously made you look so irresistible the poor man just went absolutely berserk over you."
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat despite the crushing weight of the situation, and I rub my face with both hands, trying to scrub away the memory of the cinderblock wall.
"Ugh, I just feel so sick with guilt," I groan into my palms. "His entire career is sitting in the wreckage because he played knight in shining armor for me."
"It’s not your fault." Celeste gives me a sympathetic squeeze. “And we’ll know soon enough since the hearing is happening right now. Honestly, those videos of what happened might save him. The league can't pretend they didn't see what that guy did to you first."
I nod, clinging to that sliver of hope while Celeste rubs my shoulder. Since the rest of us possess a level of sports knowledge that could fit on a postage stamp, Celeste has become our designated hockey oracle.
Isabelle nods encouragingly. "Okay, well, that’s actually good news then!"
“I mean, it's complicated." Celeste winces a little.
"In the hockey world, this is basically the ultimate sin.
Abandoning your team mid-playoff game to brawl in the stands?
It's unheard of. The league could bench him for the entire postseason.
And even if they go easy, the road back is tough.
If they lose the Cup after this, he's finished. "
I let out a low groan, sinking further into my blanket. "Oh my god."
Sabrina pats my shoulder in a rhythmic, soothing motion.
"Sorry," Celeste says, looking regretful. "I wasn't sure how honest to be."
"No, it's fine." I peek out from between my fingers. “I'd rather know the stakes."
The broadcast cuts to a red brEAKING banner and all four of us freeze.
"Following this morning's disciplinary hearing, the league has set Cillian O'Rourke's suspension at three games, citing extraordinary mitigating circumstances surrounding the incident."
"Three games." Celeste looks stunned. "That is shockingly light. Those videos did exactly what they needed to do. The league clearly wants this story dead. The fact that the ushers didn’t get to you in time looks really bad for them, so I think that weirdly must have helped Cillian’s case."
I sag back into the cushions, weak with relief. Three games is a disaster. Three games is also not the end of his career, and an hour ago that was very much on the table.
"Thank god," I murmur, rubbing at my temples. "I mean, the situation is still a total mess, but at least he isn't completely finished. I just... I don't know why I don't feel more settled. I'm still so..."
"Reliving every second of the sex?" Isabelle smirks like she's been counting down the minutes until we reached this part of the debrief.
The world-shaking, reality-altering sex. In the past, reaching a climax the first time I slept with a man was a struggle, and coming from penetration alone was something I'd written off as a myth years ago, right up there with the Loch Ness monster.
But he effortlessly gave me two orgasms so intense it felt like my soul was leaving my body. I'm terrified it's completely clouding my judgment, because a very large part of me wants to ignore the mounting disaster and just hop right back into bed with him.
Of all things, the words of Brittany, the girl I sat next to at my first hockey game, come floating back into my head. Worth the ride. God help me, she wasn't wrong.
Celeste gives me a smug look over her coffee. "Like I said. Never underestimate a man strong enough to pick you up and fuck you senseless."
"Yes, well, you were right,” I say. "I have never, ever, in my life had sex like that. I mean, he was so intense and just took control, but somehow really attentive and tender at the same time."
Isabelle bounces in her seat with delight while Sabrina dramatically clamps her hands over her ears.
"I’m happy for you, Margot," Sabrina says, her voice reaching that high, panicked pitch. "I just don’t really want to hear the gory details of my sister getting railed. But know that I am in full support!"
"You can uncover your ears, Sab.” I laugh and pat her forearm. “I'm not going to provide a transcript."
Celeste raises her mug in solidarity. "I'll just say, as a fellow woman in a high-powered job who is making decisions every minute of every day, there’s nothing like a man who takes charge in the bedroom and just manhandles you a bit."
Isabelle nods approvingly, and I let out a small, helpless laugh. She isn't wrong.
"So, setting aside the hockey disaster stuff, what do you actually want to happen with Cillian?" Isabelle tilts her head, studying me. "Because from everything you've told us, it sounds like you want more than a one-night stand."
Suddenly all three of them are watching me expectantly, waiting for a confession I'm not sure I'm ready to make.
"I have absolutely no idea!" I groan, burying my face in my hands.
"He clearly wants more, but between his reputation and my own history with athletes, I don't know if it's a good idea.
And now I'm the reason his career is on fire.
As far as the entire hockey world's concerned, I'm the woman who ruined his season, and as much as I try to be evolved, I really do hate it when people don't like me. "
Isabelle shifts on the couch. "Okay, first of all, do not make major life decisions based on public opinion. You have to move past that, even if it admittedly sucks. Second, did you guys really not say anything afterward?"
"I mean…" I wince, replaying my clumsy exit. "I sort of panicked and just thanked him for both the sex and punching that creep. Then I mumbled something about talking later and practically sprinted for the exit."
"Oh, Margot." Sabrina looks pained. "You thanked him for the railing?"
"I was flustered and the sex was incredible!" I say, my voice defensive. "I mean, it was literally the exact scenario I’d been fantasizing about. It seemed rude not to acknowledge it."
"Sweet, sweet Margot." Sabrina shakes her head slowly. "You’re too sweet for your own good."
I groan again while Celeste loses it beside me, dissolving into laughter.
"It isn't that tragic. He probably found it endearing. I certainly would have!" Isabelle says supportively, reaching frantically for a cookie. "Here, take this, you look like you need the sugar."
I take it, biting in as if the chocolate could single-handedly fix the wreckage, while the three of them look at me with a mix of amusement and affection.
Sabrina had cancelled her plans with Marco right after I'd debriefed her late last night, and when I'd announced the disaster in our group chat this morning, both Celeste and Isabelle declared they were coming over right away so we could watch the news together.
Making friends has never come naturally to me.
Some people seem to gather them without effort, a whole bench of women a phone call away, and I always found it harder than that.
Too guarded, too busy, too much in my own head to let many people close.
I've always had Sabrina, thank god, and yet here are two more wonderful women in my corner, and I couldn't be more grateful for them.
"I really do appreciate you all dropping everything," I say softly. "I don't think I could have faced the media circus without the support."
Celeste bumps her shoulder into mine, and Isabelle gives me a warm, steadying smile.
"Please,” Sabrina says. “You know the code. Ride or dies forever. We've got you, Margot."
I laugh softly, the crushing weight in my chest finally starting to dissipate. "Well, the office is going to be a real joy today. I can already picture everyone pretending they haven't been scrolling through the headlines all morning."
Isabelle snorts. "You should've just called out and played the trauma card. It really was pretty horrifying, Margot. I'm with Cillian on this one—it's a total disgrace that nobody intervened besides a bit of shouting."