CHAPTER 9
Kane
I NEED TO not be here.
Not in the dining hall with fifty pairs of eyes watching me like I'm a fucking zoo exhibit. And more importantly, not anywhere near Becker and his goddamn podcast and his complete inability to keep my life private.
My legs are moving before my brain catches up, carrying me out of the lodge and toward—where? The cabin's out. That's Becker's territory now, contaminated by his chaos and his microphones and his apparent talent for ruining my entire existence.
The main building. It's got to have somewhere I can hide until I figure out how to request an emergency trade to literally anywhere else.
I take the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break out and flee the country without me.
First floor, second floor, third floor—I keep going until I hit the top landing and find myself in a hallway that looks like it hasn't seen human life since the Cold War.
Perfect.
I slide down the wall and collapse onto the dusty floor, my phone already buzzing in my pocket like it's having a seizure.
Don't look. Don't look at it. Looking makes it real.
I look at it.
Forty-three notifications. Sixty. Eighty-seven. The number climbs while I watch, each buzz another person discovering that my family drama is now public entertainment.
My hands are shaking as I open the podcast app.
I shouldn't listen to it. I know I shouldn't. But there's this sick part of me that needs to hear exactly how bad it is, like poking at a bruise to see how much it hurts.
I press play.
Becker's voice fills my ears, animated and energetic, talking about drills and bears and Petrov. Normal podcast shit. The kind of content that's harmless and stupid and—
There.
Underneath his voice, faint but unmistakable: mine.
"Maybe I'd rather play beer league than have you micromanage my career from your broadcast booth."
Jesus Christ.
"You micromanage every aspect of my life."
I close my eyes, but that makes it worse. Now I can focus entirely on the sound of my own voice, raw and angry, saying things I never meant for strangers to hear.
"I requested this transfer to get away from you!"
The episode keeps playing. Becker wraps up, signs off, seemingly oblivious to the disaster lurking in his background.
The comments are a nightmare.
Holy shit this is awkward
Kane's dad sounds like a controlling dick.
#DaddyIssuesOnIce
Poor guy. That's rough.
I exit the app before I can read more and check Twitter, because apparently I'm a masochist.
#DaddyIssuesOnIce is trending. Number four in the United States. Right between a political scandal and a celebrity breakup.
My father's going to lose his shit.
As if summoned by the thought, my voicemail notification appears. Three new messages.
I shouldn't listen. I really, really shouldn't.
I listen.
"Jayden." My father's voice is ice. "Call me. Immediately."
Delete.
Next message.
"I don't know what you think you're accomplishing with this stunt, but it ends now. Call me."
Delete.
Third message.
"You did this to humiliate me. To embarrass the family name publicly. This is unforgivable, Jayden. Unforgivable."
I throw my phone across the hallway. It hits the opposite wall and clatters to the floor, screen somehow still intact.
Unforgivable.
Like I planned this. Like I wanted my private conversation—my moment of finally standing up to him—broadcast to hundreds of thousands of people.
My chest feels tight. Too tight. Like someone's wrapped duct tape around my ribs and keeps pulling it tighter.
I can't breathe.
No, that's not right.
I'm breathing.
In and out.
Mechanical.
Controlled.
Except I don't feel controlled. I feel like I'm falling apart, piece by piece, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
ESPN alert on my watch: Kane's Family Drama Exposed in Viral Podcast Moment.
I rip the watch off and throw it after my phone.
My head is buzzing.
Footsteps on the stairs. Running. Fast. Getting closer.
No. Absolutely not. I don't want to see anyone right now, least of all—
"Kane!"
Becker rounds the corner, out of breath and wild-eyed, and skids to a stop when he sees me on the floor.
"Jayden," he tries again, softer. "I am so, so fucking sorry. I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to what?" My voice comes out cold. Flat. The opposite of what I'm feeling inside. "Violate my privacy for content?"
"It was an accident." He takes a step closer, hands up like I'm a spooked animal. "I was recording in the cabin. I didn't know you were outside. I didn’t—"
"An accident." I stand, my legs shaky but functional. "Right. Like how you accidentally made me part of your podcast without asking. Like how you accidentally turned my first day here into a viral moment."
"That's not—" His face crumbles. "Kane, that's not fair."
"Fair?" The word comes out sharp. "You want to talk about fair? My father thinks I did this intentionally. That I'm trying to embarrass him publicly."
Becker flinches. "I'll take it down. Right now. I'll delete everything and post an apology—"
"It's too late, Becker." I can hear my voice rising, losing that careful control. "It's already out there. People have downloaded it. Clipped it. It's on Twitter, YouTube, probably fucking TikTok by now. You can't un-ring that bell."
"Then let me fix it—"
"You can't fix this!" I'm shouting now, and some distant part of me registers that I never shout. Never lose control like this. "Do you have any idea what you've done? That conversation was private. It was mine. And now it's entertainment for people who don't even know me."
"I know." His voice cracks. "I know, and I'm so fucking sorry. I would never— If I'd known you were there, if I'd checked the audio before posting—"
"But you didn't check. You just posted it. Because that's what you do, right? Everything's content. Everything's material for the podcast."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I take a step toward him, and he actually backs up. Good. "You’re a fucking mess, Becker. Everywhere you go, you brig nothing but chaos."
"Kane—"
"Stay away from me." I pick up my phone and watch and move to walk past him, toward the stairs, toward anywhere that isn't here. "Just stay the fuck away from me."
I make it three steps before his voice stops me.
"Kane, wait—"
I spin around so fast it gives me whiplash. "What?" The word comes out loud enough to echo in the empty hallway, loud enough to make him physically startle.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
"Cap wants to see us," he says finally, quietly. "Both of us. In his cabin."
Of fucking course he does.
***
Becker
WE MAKE IT into Cap’s cabin in two batches—first Kane, who spent the entire way here walking five steps ahead of me, picking up pace every time I tried to catch up. Then, my sorry ass.
Cap's cabin is nicer than ours. Bigger. Cleaner. With furniture that looks like it was designed for humans instead of torture.
None of that matters right now.
Kane's sitting on the far side of the room, as far from me as physically possible without actually leaving. His jaw's clenched so tight I'm worried about his teeth, and he won't look at me. Just stares at the wall like it's personally offended him.
I'm on the couch, picking at a loose thread on my hoodie and trying not to throw up.
Washington sits between us—literally and metaphorically—looking less pissed than I expected and more tired.
"Explain," he says.
Not "what happened" or "I heard there was an incident." Just "explain."
I swallow. "I was recording an episode in the cabin.
I had the window open because it was hot, and I didn't know Kane was outside.
His conversation with—" I can't even finish the sentence.
"It got picked up by my microphone. I didn't hear it when I was recording.
I didn't check the audio before I posted.
I just— I fucked up. I fucked up really, really badly. "
Silence.
Cap turns to Kane. "Anything to add?"
"No." Kane's voice is clipped. Professional. The robot's back in full force. "He explained it accurately."
More silence. The kind that makes you want to confess to crimes you didn't commit just to fill the space.
"Kane," Cap says finally. "You have a right to be angry. That was a private conversation, and it shouldn't have been made public." He shifts his attention to me. "Becker, this was unprofessional and careless. You violated a teammate's privacy, and that's not something we take lightly here."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"That said." Cap leans back in his chair. "This is also fixable."
I look up. "How?"
Kane makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be him choking. "Fixable? It's trending on Twitter."
"Yeah, it is." Cap pulls out his phone and scrolls. "And do you know what most of the comments are saying?"
Neither of us answers.
"They're saying your father's controlling.
That his behavior is toxic. That you deserved to stand up to him.
" Cap sets his phone down. "Kane, your father's control over your career—a lot of players deal with that.
Parents who think they know better, who can't let go, who try to manage every aspect of their kid's life.
Being honest about that struggle might actually help other people. "
"I didn't want to be honest about it publicly," Kane says through gritted teeth.
"I understand that. And I'm not saying this isn't a violation. It is." Cap's voice is gentle but firm. "But now that it's out there, you have a choice. You can let other people control the narrative, or you can address it on your terms."
"Or I can ignore it and hope it goes away."
"Has ignoring your father ever made him go away?"
Kane's jaw works, but he doesn't answer.
Cap turns back to me. "Becker, you need to make this right. You've got a platform—use it. Take responsibility, apologize publicly, and help Kane tell his side of the story if he wants to."
"And if I don't want to?" Kane asks.
"Then you don't. But think about it." Cap stands, clearly done with this conversation. "You've spent your whole career trying to live up to the Marcus name. Maybe this is your chance to set your own expectations instead."
He heads for the door, then pauses. "You two are roommates for two more weeks. You're defensive partners. You don't have to be friends, but you do have to figure out how to exist in the same space without destroying each other. Work it out."
The door closes behind him with a quiet click.
I count to ten in my head, then risk a glance at Kane.
He's staring at his hands, his expression unreadable.
"Kane—"
"Don't." He stands abruptly. "Just... don't."
"I need you to know I didn't do this on purpose. I would never intentionally—"
"I know." He finally looks at me, and the exhaustion in his eyes makes my chest hurt. "But that doesn't make it okay."
"Then let me help fix it. We can do an episode together, address it head-on—"
"No."
"Kane—"
"I said no, Becker." He moves toward the door. "I need time to figure out what the fuck I'm going to say to my father when he inevitably shows up here to destroy my life in person."
He leaves before I can respond.
I sit there alone in Cap's cabin, surrounded by furniture that's too nice for the absolute disaster my life has become, and try to figure out how I managed to fuck everything up so spectacularly in less than a week.
My phone buzzes.
Wall: You alive?
Becker: Barely.
Wall: Kane?
Becker: Alive. Hates me. Understandably.
Wall: What did Cap say?
Becker: Fix it. Use my platform. Make it right.
Wall: Can you?
I stare at the message for a long time before responding.
Becker: I have no fucking idea.