Chapter 37
Thirty Seven
Ezra
The cameras were still rolling when I saw her flinch at Sam’s words.
It was small – barely there – but I caught it. I always did.
“How do you keep things professional when you’re constantly around sweaty, shirtless athletes?” he asked.
I’ll kill him.
That was the first thought, and I instantly turned to Kaeli, my eyes asking for her permission to make him pay. But one shake of her head was enough to keep me seated.
I knew that I would make the motherfucker pay for the way he treated her in front of the entire world. How dare he question her character, professionalism, and ethics in that British accent of his that fools people into believing that he’s charming, when all he is is cruel.
So, when Kaeli stands up for herself and storms out of the Boston Repository’s set, I mutter in a low voice, tight with restraint, “What was that?”
He has the audacity to chuckle, clearly thinking he’s being clever. “Relax, Ezra. It was just a little friendly chit-chat, yeah? These women can’t seem to control their emotions. That’s why I believe they should be in their homes instead of trying to run the world.”
I don’t say a word, waiting for him to realize his fault and apologize.
Instead, he continues to dig himself a deeper grave. “After all, everyone just saw the way she looks at yo–”
He didn’t finish that sentence.
Because I was already moving.
One stride, two—then my fist connected with his jaw. The sound wasn’t cinematic or dramatic – it was real, bone against bone, pop of a mic, the shocked gasps of the production crew.
The man went down, clutching his face, blood already on his lips.
“What the hell, mate?” he sputters, gaining hold of himself.
I leaned over him, breathing hard. “You say her name again,” I said quietly, “and I’ll cut your tongue out myself. You understand me?”
His jaw clenches as he bites his tongue, but he doesn’t agree.
“One more mistake and I’ll end your fucking career,” I growl, drilling it into him.
He blinks up at me, dazed, terrified. The cameras have gone dead silent. Somewhere behind me, the people are yelling my name, but all I could see is her—affected and insulted as her fingers trembled over my hand.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders, and look straight into the nearest camera lens. “You talk about hockey,” I say, voice steady now. “Not about her. Not about anyone who’s got nothing to do with what happens on the ice.”
Security was already moving in, and I let them. I unclip the mic and walk off the set behind her without another word.
I realize I staked my career, my captaincy, and everything I love for her the second I decided to unleash myself on him. But I also realize something else.
I’d do it again in a heartbeat.