Chapter 37
Austin
I’m nothing but a lying fucking liar. I’ve spent my entire life trying to live up to other people’s expectations of me, and now all I can do is lie.
Brant promised me he’d ask around and we’d find the women Dumas was harassing the night I hit him. He asked me to be patient, but my boyfriend has fled the country and I’m out of fucks to give. I’ll hire a private investigator if I have to.
My game suffers and speeds by me as if I’m playing underwater. The team has rallied around me to pick up the slack, but it’s not enough. Coach assumes I’m in a slump and gives me more ice time than I deserve.
Lying has become a sickness I can’t stop. Doing the right thing will cause damage and harm, but doing the wrong thing is killing my soul. The team is better when I’m not on the ice, and for the first time in my career, I fake an injury to remove myself from the game.
It’s surprisingly easy, given that there are already rumors.
I’ve seen how Gray evaluates players’ bodies and know what to say.
When a defender slashes my ankle, I turn it inward and go down.
I tell the assistant trainer I’m fine but yelp when he takes my skate off.
I sigh with relief when Coach tells me I’m not going in again.
My teammates vow to win for me, and they come from behind to avenge me. Drake and Lucky combine to score, and King finds the back of the net. Benz makes incredible saves.
We win. And there’s no joy.
I’m not the man I thought I was.
Ari Dimon intercepts me on the way to the locker room. “Can I have a word with you?” He asks politely but doesn’t wait for an answer as he ushers me into the nearest office. “How serious is your ankle injury?”
“I haven’t had a full eval, but from experience it’s not serious.” I lean against the wall to stand on my “good” foot.
“Glad to hear it.” Mr. Dimon clears his throat. “Are you doing okay?” The weight of his stare and tone nearly breaks me.
I open my mouth to tell him I’m fine, but I shake my head instead. “Everything is wrong, and it has gone on for too long. I’m done.” I say defiantly.
“The lawyers are pressing to close the case. How is Mr. Ward holding up?”
I shrug. I’m saved from answering when Wes, his assistant, knocks on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you’d want to hear this right away. Rhys Brant is at the police station, and the press is there.”
Mr. Dimon’s body convulses before he closes his eyes and locks his emotions down. “What does that have to do with me?” he snaps.
“He went to make a statement about the night Ward hit Dumas, and he took two women with him.” I’m out the door, running to my phone before Wes finishes his statement.
There are missed calls and messages from Brant.
I listen to his last one. “Hey, I hate to do this without you, but tomorrow I’ve got a road trip, and one of our friends is a server and works later.
I’m taking them to the police station, and we’ll all make statements.
I’m an eyewitness so it won’t be weird. I hope. Anyway, call me. Later.”
There’s a hush in the room, and I hear Rhys’s voice on someone else’s phone.
I’m surrounded by media personnel and bombarded with questions about the video.
I’m thankful I already listened to his message, but I can honestly say I never saw Rhys’s statement.
There’s talk about a second video from that night from a different vantage point and I ask to watch it.
Without a doubt, it looks like self-defense, and, more importantly, in the audio, Dumas is the aggressor.
It’s the only positive news I’ve had in weeks. A reputable reporter uses her phone to cue up the video of Rhys standing outside the police station.
“When I heard the charges were still pending despite the video evidence, I felt it was my civic duty as a witness to come forward. The police hadn’t interviewed me yet in their investigation, and my friends”—he gestures to two beautiful women beside him—“provided their account with Mr. Dumas that night.”
My phone goes off with Gray’s ringtone, and I rush to answer it, unofficially dismissing the reporter.
“What did the trainer say about your ankle?” he asks before I can say “hello.”
“Haven’t seen him yet. Do you know what’s going on?” I’m purposely vague.
“Austin, go see the trainer!” he huffs, unintentionally answering my question.
“Listen, search Rhys Brant and call me back.” I hang up and dial Rhys.
“I owe you one,” I say instead of hello. “The press was a nice touch.”
“That part was pure luck and a hockey fan.” He chuckles. “I hope it puts pressure on the lawyers to drop the charges against Ward. Not gonna lie, the police are mad about it.”
“Thanks again, I gotta roll.” I hang up to answer Gray’s call.
“When are you coming back?” I blurt out. In my bones, I know Rhys’s statement along with the two women will be the tipping point to end this nightmare.
He hesitates and dread poisons my mind. My finger hovers over the video button as I rush out of the locker room and find an empty room.
His tired face has a small smile when he answers my video call. “Tinny,” he rumbles, and his use of my nickname eases my tension. “How’s your ankle?”
Of course he’s worried more about me. “Totally fine. A strange phantom pain that’s gone.” I beg, “Come home. It’s not over, but I miss you and need you.”
His eyes get glassy, but he shakes his head on the pillow. “It’s not that simple.”
The darkness rises, but it’s my fear of rejection. Of loving Grayson with my whole heart and not being loved back. It’s not darkness, it’s despair.
“Sunshine, you’re not here to lift me up.
I need you.” My entire world crumbles as I realize I’m begging him to love me.
“I give zero fucks about headlines,” I snarl.
I regret my tone as his face crumples and decide to switch tactics.
“All this means nothing if you’re not by my side.
I’d rather never score another goal than score a hundred more without you. ”
He covers his face with his hand. “I love you, but there’s a snowstorm and I’m stuck.