Chapter 15
Ezra
There is a superstition in hockey that you never touch the conference trophy.
You pose with it, you smile at it, but you don’t put your hands on the metal until you’ve won the big one—the National Championship.
Touching it early is bad luck. It invites disaster.
It says you’re satisfied with "good enough" when you should be hungry for "great. "
I felt like I was touching the trophy every time I looked at Amara.
Or rather, Amara was plotting. I was mostly just admiring the way her brow furrowed when she was concentrating.
“Okay,” she whispered, tapping her stylus against her tablet screen.
“So, if the Rangers draft you, we look at Tribeca. It’s expensive, but the light is better for my studio.
If it’s Chicago… well, we have to deal with the wind, but the architecture is better.
And if it’s Boston… god help us, Ezra, the cobblestones will ruin my heels. ”
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out under the small table until my knee brushed hers.
“You’re really worried about the cobblestones?”
“It’s a serious logistical issue,” she insisted, looking up at me. Her eyes were bright, lit from within by a manic energy I had come to adore. “Have you ever tried to walk from Back Bay to Beacon Hill in stilettos? It’s a combat sport.”
I chuckled, reaching out to snag her hand. I ran my thumb over her knuckles.
“We’ll get you a driver,” I said. “Or I’ll carry you.”
“You’ll be too busy carrying the team,” she teased. She squeezed my hand, then sobered slightly. “But seriously. Chicago. New York. Boston. It’s real, isn’t it? In two months, everything changes.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s real.”
It felt surreal to say it. For years, the draft had been a looming monolith—a terrifying judgment day where my value would be publicly assessed. Now, it just felt like… a move. A change of address.
Because no matter where I went, she was coming with me.
We had survived the week from hell. The leaked photo on The Blackwood Buzz had caused a stir for about twenty-four hours.
My father had called, furious, threatening to activate the penalty clauses.
I had talked him down. I had told him it was a strategic leak—that it humanized me, made me look passionate rather than robotic.
He had bought it, mostly because my stats in practice had gone up since Amara moved back into my bedroom.
Leo was still icing us out. He hadn’t spoken to Amara in three days. That hurt her, I knew. I could see the shadow of it in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking. But she was stubborn. She insisted she could fix it.
“New York,” I said firmly. “I want New York. For you.”
She blinked. “For me?”
“For the studio,” I said. “For Parsons. You can transfer. Finish your degree there. Be in the center of the fashion world. You shouldn't be designing hockey jerseys in Vermont, Amara. You should be making dresses that end up in Vogue.”
Her mouth opened slightly. “You’ve looked into Parsons?”
“I made a few calls,” I admitted, looking away. “Just… inquiries. About transfer credits.”
“Ezra.” She breathed my name like a prayer.
She stood up. In the quiet, cramped space of the carrel, she moved around the table and climbed into my lap. She straddled me, her legs wrapping around my waist, her hands framing my face.
“You are insane,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be focusing on the playoffs, and you’re researching fashion schools?”
“I’m multi-tasking,” I murmured, my hands settling on her hips. “It’s efficient.”
“I love you,” she said.
The words still hit me like a physical blow. Every single time. It was a shock to the system, a jolt of adrenaline that was better than any goal I’d ever scored.
“I love you too,” I said.
I kissed her.
It wasn’t a frantic, hiding-in-a-car kiss. It was slow. Deliberate. A kiss that tasted of coffee and promise and the absolute certainty that we were going to be okay.
“Let’s go,” she whispered against my lips. “Let’s go home. I want to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what? We haven’t won anything yet.”
“We’re winning right now,” she said. “We’re together. The contract is just paper. Your dad is in New York. Leo is… processing. We’re winning, Ezra.”
She kissed the corner of my mouth.
“Take me home. I want to wear the jersey. And nothing else.”
I groaned. “You’re killing me, Vane.”
“That’s the plan.”
We packed up our things. We walked out of the library hand in hand, ignoring the curious looks from the few students still studying on a Friday night. We walked out into the crisp spring air.
The snow was melting. The slush on the sidewalks was turning to mud. But the air smelled fresh. Clean.
We got into the Aston Martin. I drove toward the penthouse.
I felt lighter than I had in years. The heavy cloak of expectation that usually suffocated me felt thin, manageable.
I looked over at Amara. She was scrolling through her phone, smiling at something.
“What?” I asked.
“Jules just texted. She said she saw Leo at the Hive. He’s drinking beer and actually laughing. She thinks he’s thawing.”
“That’s good,” I said, relief washing over me. “Maybe I can talk to him next week. Clear the air.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. She put the phone down and reached for my hand on the gear shift. “One step at a time. Tonight, we celebrate us.”
We pulled into the garage. We took the elevator up.
When the doors opened, the penthouse was dark. Quiet.
Safe.
I dropped my keys on the console. I turned to Amara.
“You first,” I said. “Shower. I’ll order food. Thai?”
“Perfect,” she said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me again. “Don’t be long.”
She walked toward the bedroom, swaying her hips in a way she knew drove me crazy.
I watched her go, a stupid grin on my face.
I pulled out my phone to order the food.
10:14 PM.
I had three missed calls.
All from Coach Ramsey.
My stomach tightened. Ramsey never called late on a Friday unless someone was dead or arrested.
I hesitated. I looked down the hall where Amara had disappeared. I could hear the shower running.
I hit redial.
It rang once.
“Sterling,” Ramsey answered. His voice was tight. Grim.
“Coach. Everything okay?”
“Where are you?”
“Home. Why?”
“Are you alone?”
“I’m… at home,” I repeated, dodging the question. “What’s going on?”
Ramsey sighed. It was a heavy, exhausted sound.
“Ezra, you need to come to my office. Now.”
“Now? Coach, it’s Friday night. Can’t it wait until morning practice?”
“No,” he said. “It can’t. And… bring the girl.”
My blood ran cold.
“What girl?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Don’t play games, son. Bring Miss Vane. We have a situation. A… compliance situation.”
“Compliance?”
“Just get here, Ezra. Before the Dean gets involved. I’m trying to contain this, but it’s… it’s bad.”
Click.
The line went dead.
I stood in the dark foyer, the phone still pressed to my ear. The silence of the penthouse suddenly felt oppressive.
Compliance situation.
That was NCAA code for "someone broke a rule that costs scholarships."
I walked down the hall. I opened the bathroom door.
Amara was in the shower. I could see her silhouette through the frosted glass. She was singing again. Some Taylor Swift song about shaking it off.
I felt sick.
I knocked on the glass.
“Amara?”
The singing stopped. She poked her head out, dripping wet, smiling.
“Already? That was fast. Did you order the Pad Thai?”
“We have to go,” I said. My voice sounded hollow.
Her smile faded. “Go where? What’s wrong?”
“Coach Ramsey called. He wants to see us. Both of us.”
She blinked, water dripping from her eyelashes.
“Both of us? Why?”
“He said it’s a compliance situation.”
Amara went pale.
“Oh god,” she whispered. “The contract.”
Coach Ramsey’s office smelled of stale coffee and old trophies. It was a small room in the basement of the arena, lined with photos of past championship teams.
Ramsey was sitting behind his desk. He looked older tonight. Tired.
Sitting in the chair opposite him was Leo Vane.
My heart stopped.
Leo didn't look up when we walked in. He was staring at the floor, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped behind his neck. He was shaking.
Amara gasped. “Leo?”
Leo flinched, but didn't speak.
“Sit down,” Ramsey said, gesturing to the two empty chairs.
We sat. Amara reached for my hand. Her grip was bone-crushing.
“What is this, Coach?” I asked. “Why is Leo here?”
Ramsey picked up a folder on his desk. He opened it.
“This afternoon,” Ramsey said quietly, “an anonymous tip was sent to the NCAA compliance office. It alleged that a student-athlete—specifically, you, Ezra—was providing impermissible benefits to another student.”
He looked at Amara.
“Impermissible benefits,” he repeated. “Like… paying tuition fees. Buying expensive clothing. Providing luxury housing.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” I stammered. “We’re dating. I help her out sometimes. That’s not a violation.”
“It is when there’s a paper trail,” Ramsey said. He pulled a document out of the folder.
It was the contract.
The signed contract. With Cyrus Sterling’s signature. And Amara’s.
And a bank statement. Highlighting a transfer of $45,000 from Sterling Enterprises to the University Bursar for Amara Vane’s tuition.
“This,” Ramsey tapped the paper, “is a violation of Bylaw 16. It’s categorized as ‘Pay for Play’ adjacent. You’re receiving benefits from your father’s company based on your athletic performance, and you are funneling those benefits to a third party to secure… companionship.”
He looked at me with profound disappointment.
“It looks like you bought a girlfriend, Ezra. And you used team-adjacent funds to do it.”
“I didn't buy her!” I shouted, standing up. “I love her! My father made us sign that! It was his idea!”
“It doesn't matter whose idea it was,” Ramsey said calmly. “You signed it. She signed it. Money changed hands.”
He closed the folder.
“The NCAA is launching an investigation. Effective immediately, you are suspended from the team. Indefinitely.”
The room spun.
Suspended.
Playoffs. The draft. The future.
Gone.
“No,” Amara whispered. “No, you can’t. He didn't do anything wrong. I… I needed the money. My dad cut me off.”
“That’s unfortunate, Miss Vane,” Ramsey said. “But the rules are clear.”
He looked at Leo.
“And we have to thank Mr. Vane here for bringing the physical evidence to our attention before it went to the press. Because if this had leaked to the media first… the entire program would have been sanctioned. We would have gotten the death penalty.”
I froze.
I turned slowly to look at Leo.
Amara turned too.
“Leo?” she whispered. “You… you gave them the contract?”
Leo finally looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed. swollen. He looked like a man who had just shot his own dog.
“I had to,” he choked out. “I had to stop him, Mara. He trapped you. I saw the clause. The repayment clause. He was going to ruin you.”
“You idiot!” Amara screamed. She stood up, knocking her chair over. “He wasn't trapping me! He was saving me! We were going to New York!”
“He bought you!” Leo yelled back, standing up. “Can’t you see that? He’s a Sterling! They don’t love people, they own them! I was trying to free you!”
“You destroyed him!” Amara sobbed. She pointed at me. “You destroyed his career! For what? For your pride?”
“For you!” Leo shouted. Tears were streaming down his face. “Because you’re my sister! And I couldn't watch you be his whore!”
I stepped between them. I put a hand on Amara’s chest, holding her back. She was vibrating with rage.
“Leo,” I said. My voice was deadly quiet. “Did you send this to anyone else?”
Leo looked at me. The hatred in his eyes was gone, replaced by a terrible, dawning realization of what he had done.
“No,” he whispered. “Just Coach. I thought… I thought he would just kick you off the team. I didn't know about the NCAA investigation. I didn't know it would… go this far.”
“It’s over,” I said.
I looked at Ramsey.
“Is there any way to fix this? If I pay the money back? If we break up?”
Ramsey rubbed his temples.
“The investigation has started, Ezra. The only way to stop it… is if the narrative changes. If you can prove that this wasn't an exchange of benefits. If you can prove that the money had nothing to do with her being your girlfriend.”
“How do we do that?” Amara asked desperate.
“You can’t,” Ramsey said. “Not with that contract existing.”
He looked at me.
“Unless… unless you claim coercion. Unless you claim that you were pressured into this arrangement by your father. And that Miss Vane was… a victim of that pressure.”
He paused.
“But if you do that… you have to throw your father under the bus. Publicly. And you have to distance yourself from her completely. You have to say it was a mistake. That you were trying to help a friend, and it got out of hand.”
He looked at Amara.
“You can’t be together, Ezra. Not while this investigation is active. If you are seen together… it looks like collusion. It looks like the arrangement is ongoing.”
I looked at Amara.
She was crying silent tears. She looked terrified.
“We have to break up,” she whispered.
“No,” I said immediately. “No. I’m not losing you.”
“Ezra, listen to him!” she grabbed my lapels. “It’s your career! It’s the NHL! It’s everything you worked for! If we stay together… you lose everything.”
“I lose you,” I said. “That is everything.”
“You can’t be that selfish,” she sobbed. “You can’t throw your life away for a college romance.”
She stepped back. She wiped her face.
“I’m breaking up with you,” she said. Her voice was shaking, but her eyes were steel. “Right now. It’s over.”
“Amara, don’t.”
“It’s over!” she screamed. “I’m done! I’m taking the money back. I’ll figure it out. I’ll drop out. I don’t care. But I am not going to be the reason you fail.”
She turned to Ramsey.
“Tell the NCAA we broke up. Tell them it was a mistake. Tell them he was just… a nice guy who tried to help a charity case.”
She looked at Leo.
“And you,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare follow me. You’re dead to me.”
She turned and ran out of the office.
“Amara!” I shouted. I started to go after her.
“Sterling, sit down!” Ramsey barked. “If you walk out that door after her, you are admitting guilt! You are ending your career right now!”
I stopped at the door.
I looked down the hallway. I saw her white coat disappearing around the corner.
I looked back at Leo. He was slumped in his chair, head in his hands.
I looked at the photos of the championship teams on the wall.
I had a choice.
Chase the girl and burn the future.
Or stay in the room and save the dream.
I gripped the doorframe until my knuckles cracked.
I stayed.
But as the door closed, shutting out the sound of her footsteps, I knew.
I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. The ledger was balanced.
And I was bankrupt.