Chapter 16
Roman
A man can survive almost anything if he has a purpose.
I had survived a childhood of cold neglect. I had survived a ski accident that nearly took my leg. I had survived the crushing weight of expectation that sat on my shoulders like a yoke of lead.
But sitting in the office of Dean Harrison, with my father on one side of me and my agent Marcus on the other, I realized I might not survive this.
The room smelled of lemon polish and institutional power. The Dean, a woman with steel-grey hair and eyes that had seen a thousand student excuses, sat behind a mahogany desk. On the desk were the photos.
Grainy, black-and-white printouts of my life being dismantled.
"The evidence is... compelling," Dean Harrison said, tapping a finger on the image of me and Vanessa in the truck. "Mr. Volkov, you understand the gravity of this? Ms. Sterling was your Teaching Assistant. A relationship of this nature violates the ethical code of the university."
"It wasn't unethical," I said. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Hollow. "We didn't start... seeing each other until after I transferred out of her section."
"The timestamp on this photo," the Dean pointed to the one in the design studio, "is dated two weeks before the transfer."
I looked at the photo. The moment Vance had interrupted us. We weren't touching. But the look in our eyes... it was incriminating.
"I can explain," I started.
"There is nothing to explain," my father interrupted. He didn't look at me. He looked at the Dean. "My son made a mistake. A lapse in judgment fueled by... youthful indiscretion."
"It wasn't a mistake," I said sharply.
My father turned his head slowly. His eyes were void of any warmth.
"Be quiet, Roman," he said softly.
He turned back to the Dean.
"We are prepared to make a significant donation to the university's ethics program to... smooth over any administrative costs associated with this inquiry."
"Mr. Volkov," the Dean said stiffly. "We are not discussing a parking ticket. We are discussing expulsion. For both students."
My heart stopped.
Both students.
"Vanessa had nothing to do with it," I said quickly. "I pursued her. I harassed her. She is innocent."
"The text messages suggest otherwise," the Dean said, sliding a stack of papers forward.
I stared at them. Transcripts.
Me: I prefer the second option.
The Tsar: Behave. Or I will punish you in the fitting room.
My blood ran cold.
"How?" I whispered.
"We have our ways," my father said. "Digital hygiene is important, Roman."
The Dean sighed. She took off her glasses.
"Here is the situation," she said. "President Sterling is... livid. He wants to protect his daughter's reputation. He is arguing that she was coerced. Manipulated by a student athlete."
I flinched. Coerced.
"If that is the narrative," the Dean continued, looking at me with something like pity, "then Vanessa stays. She keeps her degree. She keeps her show."
"And Roman?" Marcus asked. He hadn't spoken yet. He was checking his watch.
"Roman is expelled," the Dean said. "Immediately. Academic dishonesty. Violation of the student code of conduct. The transcripts are sent to the NCAA. You become ineligible to play anywhere."
My career. My draft. My life. Gone.
But Vanessa stays.
"However," the Dean said slowly. "If you contest it... if you claim it was consensual, a mutual relationship... then both of you go down. We launch a full investigation. It will be public. It will be messy. And given the evidence... you will both likely be expelled."
The room went silent.
The equation was simple. Brutal.
Option A: I fight for us. We both lose everything. Vanessa loses her degree, her show, her future. I lose hockey. We become a cautionary tale.
Option B: I take the fall. I become the villain. Vanessa is the victim. She graduates. She succeeds. I disappear.
"Roman," Marcus said quietly. "Think about the combine. If you are expelled, you can still go to the draft. You can play in Europe for a year. We can spin the narrative. 'Bad boy of hockey.' Teams like a little edge."
"But if she is expelled," my father added, "Sterling pulls his funding. The university loses millions. And you, Roman? You lose your trust fund. You lose my support. You are on the street."
He leaned in close.
"And do you think she will stay with you then? When she is a college dropout living in a studio apartment with a failed hockey player? She will hate you."
She will hate you.
Banksy had said the same thing.
I looked at the photos. I looked at Vanessa’s face in the grainy image. She looked so happy.
If I loved her... truly loved her... I couldn't let her burn for me.
I closed my eyes. I felt a piece of my soul wither and die.
"I take full responsibility," I said.
The Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I pursued her," I said, my voice dead. "She tried to resist. I... I manipulated the situation. I used the project to get close to her."
"Roman," Marcus warned. "Careful with the wording."
"I accept the expulsion," I said. "On the condition that Vanessa is cleared. Completely. No investigation. No mark on her record."
The Dean looked at my father. My father nodded once.
"Done," the Dean said. "You have twenty-four hours to vacate the campus."
I stood up. My knee throbbed.
"I need to see her," I said.
"That is ill-advised," my father said.
"I need to say goodbye," I said. "If I am going to be the villain... I need to do it properly."
My father checked his watch. "You have one hour. Then the car takes you to the airport."
The walk from the administration building to the Hockey House was the longest mile of my life.
It was snowing again. A wet, heavy snow that clung to my eyelashes and soaked my coat.
I didn't feel the cold. I was numb.
I rehearsed the speech in my head.
I don't love you.
It was just a game.
You were a distraction.
The lies tasted like ash.
I remembered the roof. The sunset. I would move to Mars for you.
I remembered the basement. The way she had looked at my scar and called it survival.
I was about to destroy the only person who had ever looked at my scars and seen a human being.
I reached the house. It looked dark. Quiet.
I walked up the steps. I didn't use my key. I knocked.
Banksy opened the door.
He looked terrible. His eyes were red. He was wearing my jersey.
"Cap," he whispered. "Jesus. Is it true? You're expelled?"
"Where is she?" I asked.
"She's in the basement," Banksy said. "She won't come out. She's been crying for three hours. Her dad left to deal with the lawyers."
He grabbed my arm as I tried to pass.
"Roman," he said. "Don't do this. We can fight it. The team... we'll protest. We'll walk out."
I looked at my best friend. My goalie.
"Take care of the team, Carter," I said softly. "You're the Captain now."
Banksy recoiled like I had hit him. "No. No way."
"Goodbye, Banksy."
I pulled my arm free and walked to the basement door.
I unlocked it.
I walked down the stairs.
The basement was exactly as we had left it. The Thai food cartons were still on the table. The pillows were still on the floor.
But the warmth was gone.
Vanessa was sitting on the couch. She was hugging her knees to her chest, still wearing my t-shirt. Her eyes were swollen. Her face was blotchy.
When she saw me, she scrambled up.
"Roman!"
She ran to me. She threw her arms around my neck.
"Oh my god," she sobbed. "I thought... my dad said... tell me it's not true. Tell me you're not expelled."
I stood there. I didn't hug her back. I kept my arms at my sides.
"It's true," I said.
She froze. She pulled back slowly, looking at my face.
"What?"
"I am expelled," I said. "I am leaving. Tonight."
"But... we can fix this," she said frantically. "I'll talk to the Dean. I'll tell them it was consensual. I'll tell them I pursued you!"
"No," I said.
I stepped back, breaking her hold on me.
"You will not say anything," I said coldly. "The deal is done. You are cleared. I am gone."
"I don't care about being cleared!" she yelled. "I care about you! Where are you going? I'm coming with you."
"No," I said again. Louder.
"Why not?" she pleaded. "Chicago, remember? The loft? The dog? We can go now. Screw the degree. Screw the draft."
"That was a fantasy, Vanessa," I said. "It wasn't real."
She stopped. She looked at me, confused. "What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath. I summoned every ounce of discipline I had learned in twenty-one years of being Aleksander Volkov's son. I hardened my heart until it was ice.
"I mean," I said, "that I cannot be with you anymore."
"Because of the expulsion?" she asked. "Roman, that doesn't matter—"
"Because of the contract," I lied.
"The contract?" She looked baffled. "The one your dad showed us? You said that was just paper."
"It is not just paper," I said. "It is three million dollars. It is my trust fund. It is my future."
I looked her in the eye.
"If I stay with you," I said, "I lose everything. I become nothing."
"But you have me," she whispered. "Isn't that enough?"
I looked at her. The love of my life. My anchor.
"No," I said.
The word hung in the air. Cruel. Final.
Vanessa flinched. She looked like I had stabbed her.
"No?" she breathed.
"I am a hockey player, Vanessa," I said, reciting the script I had written in my head. "That is who I am. It is the only thing I am. Without it... I am just a guy with a bad knee and no money. And you?"
I gestured to her.
"You are a Princess. You need the gala. You need the applause. You think you can live in a studio apartment with a failure? You would hate me in a month."
"I wouldn't," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "I love you!"
"You love the idea of me," I said cruelly. "You love the 'project.' You love fixing the broken boy. Well, I am not a project anymore. I am a liability."
"Stop it," she sobbed. "Stop saying that."
"I used you," I said. The final lie. The nail in the coffin. "To pass the class. To feel something other than pressure. It was fun. It was... intense. But it's over."
She stared at me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"You used me?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said. "I needed a distraction. You were available."
I watched the light go out of her eyes. I watched the hope die.
She stepped back. Then another step.
"Get out," she whispered.
"Vanessa—"
"GET OUT!" she screamed. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at me. "GET OUT! I HATE YOU!"
She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.
I wanted to run to her. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her I was lying, that I was dying inside.
But I couldn't.
If I touched her now, I would never leave. And if I stayed, I would ruin her life.
I turned around.
I walked to the stairs.
"Goodbye, Vanessa," I whispered.
I climbed the stairs. I walked out the side door.
The car was waiting. A black sedan. My father’s car.
I got in the back seat.
"Airport," I told the driver.
As the car pulled away, I looked back at the house one last time.
The basement window was dark.
I leaned my head back against the leather seat. I closed my eyes.
And finally, alone in the dark, I let myself break.
I cried. Silent, shaking sobs that tore through my chest.
I had saved her.
And in doing so, I had killed myself.