Chapter 16
Ezra
The sound of a door closing is usually final. But when the door to Coach Ramsey’s office clicked shut, leaving me in the stale, trophy-lined silence with Leo and the ruin of my life, it didn't feel final. It felt like the beginning of a suffocation.
I stood there, staring at the wood grain, my hand still throbbing from where I had gripped the frame.
Amara was gone. She had run.
And I had let her go.
“Sit down, Sterling,” Ramsey said. His voice was no longer angry. It was tired. It was the voice of a man who was used to cleaning up messes made by boys who thought they were men.
I turned slowly. I didn't look at Leo. I couldn't. If I looked at him—at the miserable, self-righteous set of his jaw—I would put him through the drywall. And Ramsey was right; violence would only confirm the narrative that I was out of control.
I sat.
“Here is the reality,” Ramsey said, leaning forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “The NCAA investigation is not a rumor. It is an active file. They have the contract. They have the bank transfer. They have the photos.”
He paused, letting the weight of the evidence settle on my chest.
“The hearing is in three days. If you go into that hearing holding Miss Vane’s hand, claiming true love…
they will laugh you out of the room. They will see a rich kid trying to buy his way out of a violation.
They will suspend you for the season. They will strip the team of its wins.
And your draft stock? It will plummet to zero.
No NHL team touches a player with a compliance scandal and a ‘pay-for-play’ history. ”
“I didn't pay her to play,” I rasped. “I paid her tuition so she wouldn't drop out.”
“Intent doesn't matter,” Ramsey said sharply. “Optics matter. And the optics are that you used your father’s money to secure a companion. The only way—the only way—to survive this is to separate the money from the relationship.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
“This is a statement. Drafted by the university’s legal counsel. It states that the tuition payment was a personal loan, unconnected to any romantic arrangement. It states that the relationship was brief, casual, and has been terminated due to… incompatibility.”
I stared at the paper. It was a lie. A sterile, legal lie designed to erase the last three months of my life.
“And Amara?” I asked. “What happens to her?”
“She faces a review board,” Ramsey said. “But she’s not an athlete. The NCAA has no jurisdiction over her. If she corroborates the statement—if she says it was just a loan and a casual fling—she keeps her degree. She pays the money back eventually. She walks away clean.”
“But she has to say it was nothing,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Ramsey said. “She has to say you were nothing.”
He pushed the paper toward me.
“You have a choice, Ezra. You can fight for the girl and lose the game. Or you can lose the girl and save the team. Save your future.”
I looked at the paper. Then I looked at the championship trophy in the glass case behind Ramsey’s head. The metal gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Cold. Hard. Permanent.
I thought about the loft in SoHo. The dog. The messy, brilliant life I had just started to believe in.
Then I thought about my father.
If I got suspended… if I got stripped of the Captaincy… he wouldn't just be disappointed. He would be vindicated. He would open the ledger and show me the red ink. See? I told you. Emotion is a liability. You failed.
And he would come for Amara. He would invoke the repayment clause immediately. He would sue her for breach of contract. He would crush her under a mountain of legal fees just to teach me a lesson.
I couldn't let him do that.
I had to protect her. Even if it meant destroying us.
“I’ll sign it,” I said. My voice sounded dead.
“Good,” Ramsey said, relief flooding his face. “That’s the right call, son. It’s the hard call, but it’s the right one.”
He handed me a pen.
I signed my name. Ezra Sterling.
It looked like a forgery.
“One more thing,” Ramsey said, taking the paper back. “You can’t just sign it. You have to live it. No contact. No texts. No late-night visits. If the NCAA sees you together even once before the hearing… the deal is off.”
“I understand,” I said.
I stood up. I walked to the door.
“Sterling,” Leo said.
I stopped. I didn't turn around.
“I didn't know,” Leo whispered. “About the repayment clause. I swear.”
“It doesn't matter,” I said. “You were right, Vane. I’m a robot. And robots don’t get happy endings.”
I walked out.
The walk from the arena to the penthouse was a blur.
I didn't take the car. I left it in the lot. I walked. It was raining now—a cold, miserable sleet that turned the streets into grey slush. I didn't feel it. I didn't feel my feet hitting the pavement. I didn't feel the wind cutting through my thin jacket.
I was rehearsing.
“It was a mistake.”
“I was using you.”
“You were a distraction.”
I had to make her believe it. If I just told her we had to break up for the investigation, she would fight. She would argue. She would try to find a loophole. She would wait for me.
And if she waited… she was still a target.
I had to sever the tie so completely that she would never look back. I had to make her hate me. It was the only way to save her from my father’s wrath.
I reached the building. The doorman, a nice guy named Carl, tipped his hat.
“Rough night, Mr. Sterling?”
“Yeah, Carl,” I said. “Rough night.”
I took the elevator up. The numbers ticked by. 10… 20… 30…
My heart was hammering against my ribs. A frantic, desperate rhythm.
Don’t do this. Don’t do this.
I have to.
The elevator opened.
The penthouse was quiet. The lights were dim.
Amara wasn't in the living room. Her shoes were by the door—the muddy boots she had worn to the office. Her coat was thrown over the back of the sofa.
I walked down the hall.
The door to the master bedroom was open.
She was there.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed. My bed. Our bed. She was still wearing the clothes she had run out in—jeans and a sweater. Her knees were pulled up to her chest. She was rocking slightly.
When she heard me, she looked up.
Her face was ravaged. Her eyes were red, swollen almost shut. Her mascara had tracked dark lines down her cheeks.
She looked small. Broken.
“You came back,” she whispered. Hope flared in her eyes. A tiny, fragile flame.
“I live here,” I said.
I leaned against the doorframe. I crossed my arms. I put on the mask. The Iceman.
“Did you talk to Ramsey?” she asked. She stood up, taking a hesitant step toward me. “Did he fix it? Did he say we could… figure something out?”
“He fixed it,” I said.
“Oh thank god.” She let out a sob of relief. She started to rush toward me. “I was so scared, Ezra. I thought… I thought it was over.”
I held up a hand. “Stop.”
She froze halfway across the room. The hope flickered.
“Amara, stop right there.”
“What? Why?”
“Ramsey fixed it,” I said, keeping my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “By accepting my statement. I signed a document stating that the tuition was a loan. And that our relationship was… casual. Temporary.”
She stared at me. “A document? But… that’s a lie. It’s a legal lie to get them off our backs, right?”
“Is it?” I asked.
I pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. I walked past her to the closet. I grabbed a duffel bag from the shelf.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rising in panic.
“I’m packing your things,” I said.
I walked to the dresser. I opened the drawer where she kept her clothes. I started grabbing handfuls of sweaters, t-shirts, underwear. I shoved them into the bag.
“Ezra, stop! What are you doing? Talk to me!”
She grabbed my arm.
I ripped it away.
I turned to face her.
“I’m ending it, Amara. The experiment is over.”
She recoiled. “Experiment? Is that what you call us?”
“That’s what it was,” I said coldly. “A transaction. My father needed me to look stable. You needed tuition. We made a deal. It worked for a while. It was… entertaining.”
“Entertaining?” She choked on the word. “We talked about New York! We talked about a dog! You told me you loved me!”
“I said what I had to say,” I lied. The words tasted like bile. “I was selling the narrative. Just like you were.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered. Tears were streaming down her face again. “I know you. I know who you are. You’re not like this. You’re scared. You’re doing this to protect me.”
She reached for me again.
“Ezra, look at me. It’s me. It’s Amara. Don’t do this. We can fight them. I don’t care about the degree. I don’t care about the money.”
“I care!” I shouted.
The volume made her flinch.
“I care about the money, Amara! I care about the legacy! Do you really think I’m going to throw away the NHL for you? For a college fling?”
I laughed. It was a cruel, sharp sound.
“You’re delusional. You’re a liability. My father was right. You’re chaos. And chaos is expensive.”
I grabbed the rest of her clothes from the drawer and threw them into the bag. I zipped it up.
I shoved it into her chest.
“Take it,” I said. “And get out.”
She stumbled back, clutching the bag. She looked at me with horror. Absolute, devastating horror.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. “Please, Ezra. Tell me you don’t mean that.”
I looked at her.
I looked at the woman I loved more than breath. I looked at the only person who had ever made me feel safe.
And I crushed her.
“I never loved you,” I said. I looked her dead in the eye. I didn't blink. “I loved the distraction. But the game is back on. And I don’t need distractions anymore.”
Something in her eyes died.
The light went out. The hope vanished.
She stared at me for a long, agonizing moment.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
She turned. She walked to the door.
She stopped at the threshold. She didn't look back.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice hollow. “You are exactly like your father. You’re just a ledger with a heartbeat.”
She walked out.
I listened to her footsteps down the hall. I listened to the front door open. I listened to it close.
Click.
Silence.
The penthouse was silent.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom. The bag of clothes was gone. She was gone.
I held my breath. I waited for the relief. I waited for the sense of safety that usually came with control.
It didn't come.
Instead, my legs gave out.
I collapsed onto the floor. I curled into a ball on the expensive rug.
A sound tore out of my throat. A guttural, animalistic howl of pain.
I screamed. I screamed until my throat bled. I screamed until the air in the room felt too thin to breathe.
I had saved her. I had saved the team.
But I had killed myself.
I lay there in the dark, shivering, alone in the fortress I had built.
And for the first time, I understood why my mother had driven into the ditch.
Because sometimes, the pain of staying on the road is worse than the crash.
Two Days Later
The NCAA hearing was brief.
I sat in a conference room with Ramsey, the University’s lawyer, and three grim-faced officials.
I read the statement. I confirmed the timeline. I confirmed that the relationship was terminated and that the money was a loan.
They asked questions. I answered them with robotic precision.
“And you have no current contact with Ms. Vane?”
“None.”
“And you understand that any resumption of this arrangement would result in immediate permanent ineligibility?”
“I understand.”
They deliberated for twenty minutes.
They came back.
“Cleared,” the head official said. “With a probationary period. You retain your eligibility. The team retains its record.”
Ramsey let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for days. He clapped me on the back.
“Good job, Sterling. You did it.”
I didn't feel anything. I was numb.
I walked out of the conference room.
Leo was waiting in the hallway.
He looked terrible. He had lost weight. His eyes were dark circles.
When he saw me, he stood up.
“Ezra,” he said.
I walked past him.
“Is she okay?” he asked to my back.
I stopped.
“Ask her yourself,” I said. “You’re the one who saved her.”
“She won’t talk to me,” Leo said. His voice broke. “She packed her stuff. She moved out of the dorms. She… she filed for a transfer.”
I froze.
Transfer.
“Where?” I asked.
“New York,” Leo whispered. “Parsons. She leaves tomorrow.”
New York.
The loft. The dream.
She was going without me.
I closed my eyes. The pain was a physical knife in my gut.
“Good,” I said. “She should go. There’s nothing for her here.”
I started walking again.
“Sterling!” Leo called out. “Did you really mean it? What you said to her?”
I didn't answer.
I walked out of the building. I walked into the sunlight. It was a beautiful spring day. The birds were singing. The campus was alive.
It felt like a mockery.
I walked to the rink. I put on my skates.
I skated.
Lap after lap. Mile after mile.
I was the Captain. I was the Asset. I was the Investment.
I was empty.
The ledger was balanced. Zero credits. Zero debits.
Just zero.