Chapter 16
Ben
I sat in a leather chair that squeaked every time I breathed. My hands were clasped between my knees, my knuckles white.
Across the desk sat Director Miller, a man with a comb-over and the nervous energy of a hamster. Next to him stood Coach Sullivan, looking like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall.
And leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, looking immaculate in a charcoal suit, was my father.
The silence in the room was suffocating. It pressed against my eardrums.
"The situation," Director Miller began, clearing his throat, "is... untenable."
He gestured to the tablet on his desk. The news report from last night was paused on the screen. The photo of me and Ivy behind the library was frozen in pixelated infamy.
"The University has a strict code of conduct regarding the use of campus facilities," Miller droned. "And the allegations regarding academic fraud—that you are receiving grades in exchange for... favors—are serious. We have launched an internal investigation."
"It's a lie," I said, my voice hoarse. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. I was running on pure, toxic adrenaline. "She helped me study. That's it. No favors. No fraud."
"And the photo?" Miller asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that studying?"
"That's a private moment. Invaded by a stalker."
"It's a violation," Miller snapped. "And the other matter... the donation allegations." He glanced nervously at my father. "That is a NCAA violation of the highest order. If substantiated, we lose scholarships. We lose titles. We lose everything."
My father pushed off the wall. He walked to the desk, his movements smooth, predatory.
"Director," my father said, his voice like oiled silk. "Let's not be dramatic. The donation was a charitable gift to the university general fund. Perfectly legal. The allocation of those funds is your business, not mine. As for my son's... indiscretion..."
He turned his cold blue eyes on me.
"Ben is young. He made a mistake. He got involved with a girl who is... clearly a distraction. A bad influence."
"She's not a bad influence," I ground out. "She's the only good thing here."
"She is the reason you are sitting in this office facing suspension!" my father snapped, the mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "She is the reason the Montreal scout called me this morning to pull his offer!"
The words hit me like a slap.
Pull his offer.
"Davids pulled the offer?" I whispered.
"He's reconsidering," my father corrected, smoothing his tie. "He doesn't like drama. He doesn't like scandal. And right now, Benjamin, you are walking, talking scandal."
Coach Sullivan stepped forward.
"Ben. Listen to me. The Frozen Four is next week. If this investigation goes forward... you're suspended. You don't play. If you don't play, the scouts don't see you. Your career is dead in the water."
"So what do I do?" I looked between them. "Tell me. What do I do?"
"We kill the story," my father said.
"How?"
"You issue a statement. You apologize for the lapse in judgment. You clarify that the relationship was casual, a mistake, and is now over. You distance yourself from the girl completely."
He leaned over the desk.
"And," he added, "Ivy St. James recants. She confirms it was a brief fling. She confirms she dropped out of the showcase for personal reasons, not because of any pressure. She disappears."
"Disappears?" I laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "She lives in my house, Dad. She goes to this school."
"Not anymore," Director Miller said quietly. "We've reviewed Ms. St. James's tuition status. Her payments are in arrears. Her father has... ceased funding. Unless the balance is paid by Monday, she will be administratively withdrawn."
My head spun. Ivy was broke. She had dropped the showcase—her only ticket out—to save me. And now she was getting kicked out?
"I'll pay it," I said instantly. "I have savings."
"You don't have enough," my father cut in. "And if you pay it, it looks like a payoff. It confirms the prostitution narrative the press is spinning."
He walked over to me. He put a hand on my shoulder. It felt heavy. Like a yoke.
"Ben. Look at me."
I looked up.
"You have a choice. Right now. You can walk out of here, go find that girl, and hold her hand while your career burns to the ground. You'll be suspended. The team will forfeit the season. I'll cut you off. You'll be working at a gas station in a month."
He squeezed my shoulder.
"Or... you end it. You cut her loose. I make a donation to the Arts program to cover her tuition quietly—as a severance package. She stays in school. You stay on the team. The investigation goes away."
I stared at him.
"You're bribing me," I whispered. "To break up with her."
"I'm negotiating a future for both of you," he corrected. "If you stay together, you both lose. You lose hockey. She loses her degree. If you break up... you both survive."
I looked at Coach Sullivan. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He was staring at the floor, ashamed.
I looked at the window. It was raining. A cold, gray drizzle.
She dropped the showcase for me.
She sacrificed her dream.
If I stayed with her... I would cost her her degree too. I would drag her down into the mud with me. She would be the girl who ruined the season. The girl who cost the team the title.
And I would lose the one thing I had worked my entire life for.
I thought about the house. The dog. The future we talked about in the motel.
It was a fantasy. This... this room, these men, this leverage... this was reality.
I felt something inside me die. It was a quiet death. Like a candle blown out.
"Fine," I said. My voice sounded dead. "I'll do it."
"Good choice," my father said, patting my shoulder. "Smart choice."
"But I want it in writing," I said, standing up. "You pay her tuition. Full ride. Until she graduates. And you stay the hell away from her."
"Done," my father agreed.
"And Coach?" I looked at Sullivan. "I play next week. No suspension."
"If you fix this today," Sullivan nodded. "You play."
I turned and walked to the door.
"Ben," my father called.
I paused, hand on the knob.
"Make it clean. Don't give her hope. Hope is messy."
I walked out.
The Ice Box
The house was silent. The team was at practice—a practice I had been barred from attending.
I walked up the stairs to the attic. My leg felt heavy, dragging like lead.
I opened the door to my room.
Ivy was there.
She was sitting on the floor, packing a bag. Her clothes were scattered around her. She looked tiny. Fragile.
She looked up when I walked in. Her eyes were red and swollen.
"Ben," she breathed, scrambling up. "You're back. Did you... did you fix it?"
She ran to me. She threw her arms around my neck.
I stood there, rigid. I didn't hug her back.
She froze. Slowly, she pulled back, looking at my face.
"Ben?"
I looked at her. I memorized her. The hazel eyes. The freckle on her nose. The way her lips trembled.
Make it clean.
"You need to leave," I said.
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Final.
Ivy blinked. "What?"
"You need to leave. The house. My room. My life."
"Ben, stop." She tried to smile, but it was terrified. "You're upset. The meeting was bad, I get it. But we can talk about it. We can—"
"There's nothing to talk about," I interrupted, stepping away from her. "It's over."
"Over?" She let out a hysterical little laugh. "What are you talking about? We're a team. Black ops. Remember?"
"That was a mistake," I said cold, turning my back on her. I walked to the window. I couldn't look at her while I did this. "I let things get out of hand. I let myself get distracted."
"Distracted?" Her voice cracked. "Ben, I love you. You love me. You gave me a ring!"
"The ring was a mistake too."
I heard her intake of breath.
"Look at the facts, Ivy," I said, staring at the rain on the glass. "Since you got here... my grades dropped. My stats dropped. My dad is breathing down my neck. The scouts are pulling offers. You are destroying my career."
"I saved your career!" she screamed. "I dropped the showcase so that photo wouldn't get out!"
"And look where that got us!" I shouted, spinning around. "It got out anyway! So you sacrificed for nothing! And now I'm facing suspension because of you!"
She recoiled as if I had hit her.
"I didn't mean to..." she whispered.
"It doesn't matter what you meant. It matters what happened. You're poison, Ivy. Everything you touch... it breaks."
Tears streamed down her face. She was shaking.
"You don't mean that," she sobbed. "You told me... in the motel... you told me I was enough. You told me I was the only real thing."
"I was emotional," I lied. The words tasted like acid. "I was tired. I was hurt. I said what you wanted to hear to get through the night."
She stared at me. Her face crumpled. The light in her eyes—the light I had put there—went out.
"So it was all a lie?" she whispered. "The lessons? The ring? The... the love?"
"It was a season," I said, my voice flat. "It was a way to blow off steam. But the season is ending. And I need to focus on the playoffs. I need to focus on my future. And you're not part of it."
I walked over to the desk. I opened the drawer and pulled out an envelope. My father had given it to me.
I tossed it on the bed.
"That's a check," I said. "From my father. It covers your tuition for the rest of your degree. Consider it... severance."
Ivy looked at the envelope. Then she looked at me. The hurt in her eyes turned into something else.
Contempt.
"You took money," she said quietly. "You let him buy you off."
"I secured my future," I corrected. "And yours. You get to stay in school. I get to play hockey. Everyone wins."
"Everyone wins," she repeated hollowly.
She walked over to the bed. She picked up the envelope.
For a second, I thought she was going to rip it up. Throw it in my face.
But she didn't. She put it in her pocket.
"You're right," she said. Her voice was ice cold. "I need the money. I have nothing else."
She walked back to her bag. She zipped it up.
She stood up and looked at me one last time. She wasn't crying anymore. She looked numb.
"You know what the sad part is, Ben?" she asked.
"What?"
"You think you're saving yourself. But you're just becoming him. You're just a man in a suit making deals."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring. The silver band with IV engraved inside.
She placed it on the dresser. It made a small clink sound.
"Goodbye, Captain."
She picked up her bag and walked out.
I listened to her footsteps go down the stairs. I listened to the front door open and close.
I stood in the middle of the room.
The silence rushed back in.
It wasn't peaceful. It was deafening.
I looked at the ring on the dresser.
I looked at the empty space where her bag had been.
I sank to my knees.
The scream that tore out of my throat wasn't human. It was the sound of an animal caught in a trap, gnawing its own leg off to survive.
I grabbed the lamp from the bedside table and threw it against the wall. It shattered.
I threw the books. I threw the chair. I tore the sheets off the bed.
I destroyed the room.
And when there was nothing left to break... I lay down on the floor, amidst the wreckage, and curled into a ball.
I had done it. I had saved her. I had saved my career.
But as I lay there in the dark, shivering, I realized the truth.
I hadn't saved anything.
I was just a ghost in a jersey.
And the only person who had ever seen me was gone.