36. Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Renegades are in uncharted territory.
Reports of a breach of team policy involving a key player and the team’s video coach has shaken the organization.
Shep Landon, on pace to break his own record, is leading the league in goals scored and a crucial asset for the team.
The trade deadline might tempt the organization to test the market, but Landon’s no-trade clause might make this difficult.
In this reporter’s view, the video coach’s position is looking increasingly precarious. ~Renegades Rinkside
Merri
I lingered in the video room long after the crowd in the arena cleared out. Wilson’s leftover wings churning up my stomach. The wings, or maybe the ominous quiet of my phone.
No, not quiet. My phone wouldn’t shut up—notifications piling up, a never-ending flood of inquiries, cheap sympathy, and veiled curiosity dressed up as concern.
Just nothing from the one person who mattered.
The arena lights cut out, swallowing the ice in darkness.
In here, the fluorescents still buzzed, casting their harsh, unforgiving glow.
Between that infernal hum, the stale stench of Wilson’s questionable meal choices, and the hours spent hunched over film, the migraine I’d been dodging finally landed its first blow—a slow, pounding ache behind my eye.
I kneaded the back of my neck, gaze dropping to the table. Joonie sat at the corner of my keyboard, right where he used to be back at Arvon. A constant presence. A grounding talisman against my anxiety.
Had I even worked a single game with him since joining the Renegades?
I grabbed him now, rolling his smooth plastic head under my thumb, chasing the comfort he used to bring. But tonight, even Joonie couldn’t quiet the storm brewing inside me.
I’d analyzed plays, identified patterns in the opponent’s strategy, debated line matchups with the other coaches, answered the demands from the bench with sharp precision. For the last few hours, I’d blocked it all out. The chaos. The fear. Him.
Once upon a time, the thrill of a high-energy game, a hard-fought battle down on the ice was the “real” life I wanted. But now? Now being a coach wasn’t enough. Not even close to enough.
Maybe it finally hit him. The truth I’d tried to make him see. Our careers weren’t going to benefit from this. His brand—golden boy, local hero—tarnished by a relationship that broke all the rules, and brought the team low with needless distractions. And that captaincy? Gone. Just like that.
I woke my phone up for the ninetieth time tonight, dragging my finger to unlock the screen and tapping into my text messages. The last from Shep came through before the game.
Radio silence since.
But then, he had a game to focus on. As did I.
We couldn’t exactly be texting sweet nothings while the Renegades battled for another W.
Though Shep single-handedly embarrassed the opposition tonight.
Three unassisted goals for his hat trick and another after a sweet pass from Zacha.
And nearly as many assists. Another blow out game, 7-nothing.
Had I really expected him to find me after the game? When being seen together would be like playing Russian Roulette?
Stupid. Reckless. Just as starting up anything at all with him had been. Stupid, Merri. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Sucking in a breath, I flicked open the socials.
My breath froze in my throat as I scrolled.
Holy social media sleuthing—Renegades fans rated top tier.
My phone overflowed with pictures—zoomed-in crops of PR shots, players in focus, but my unmistakable yellow dresses flitting around in the background.
Reposts from whoever it was that was posting my “arrival” outfits.
Maybe I should reconsider my fashion preferences, after all. Stupidly eye-catching in hindsight.
Pics from practices, team events, even a shot from the Killbillies Insta. A million pics, a million eyes watching.
I pulled up The Dispatch. They’d upped the ante. Not just stills, but the full video from the escape room. Grainy, shadowed, but unmistakable, caught in the act. Shep’s lips on mine, a kiss that could cost me everything.
The final buzzer had sounded hours ago. Midnight crept past. The video room sat heavy with silence, pressing in, squeezing tight. Tears burned, hot and unwelcome, slipping down my cheeks before I could stop them.
And Shep? Silent.
His silence gnawed at me, dug in deep, an invisible weight crushing my ribs. His face hovered behind my eyes—those intense blue eyes that made promises I’d let myself believe. That sharp line of determination etched into his face. I’d trusted him. But now? Doubt slithered in, a wicked whisper.
My fingers found Joonie beside the keyboard. I traced the rim of his tiny yellow glasses, summoning the memory of Mom’s frail hand doing the same. The bemused smile she’d worn, even when facing the unthinkable.
Even then, she’d found a way to smile.
I could use some of that strength tonight.
The next morning I woke, my mind groggy and fuzzy, like I suffered the worst sort of hangover. But I’d had none of the fun of earning it.
A glance through my phone didn’t help. No new messages from Shep. My gut twisted into knots. I needed to hear from him. I needed him to tell me everything was going to be okay, to smash the doubts growing louder with every silent hour that passed.
Where did we even stand, at this point? Did he love me? Did we have a future together?
The photos, the headlines, the relentless buzz of social media—changed everything.
I’d been raked over the coals by Coach Trasier yesterday, but mysteriously, no one from management had reached out. The waiting added a special kind of torture to the seething cauldron in my belly.
Pre-Shep Merri would have charged into the HR office and insisted on a status report. She wasn’t a woman to wait things out and see what happened.
But post-Shep Merri didn’t want to mess anything up for him. Post-Shep Merri worried about repercussions and making a misstep and negatively impacting his career.
We needed to talk. If we were truly together, I needed his perspective on how much I should fight. I wasn’t going to sacrifice my dream, but I didn’t want to be the reason his world imploded, either. There had to be some sort of compromise.
So why was I waiting for him to call? Why wasn’t I reaching out?
Goosebumps tore up the back of my arms, the back of my neck, prickling along my scalp. Ice cold and stabbing into my brain like the sharpest of skate blades.
What the hell was I afraid of?
The shrill ring of my phone jolted me. I scrambled to answer, desperate hope surging. Please, let it be Shep.
Unknown caller.
Another one.
A reporter looking for a scoop. An old acquaintance looking for gossip. Some random troll ready to bash me for ruining the Renegades’ prospects.
I’d spent the last twenty-four hours hiding, cowering like a frightened little rabbit, ashamed of a damn kiss caught on some lousy security camera.
When my mother died the summer after graduation, I learned all about putting up walls.
How to plaster on a smile, to shove aside my grief and rock on.
I may have leaned too hard on the whole anchor idea, fixating on Joonie to control my anxiety instead of working through my feelings in a healthier way, but I figured whatever worked, right?
As long as I moved forward. Maybe I moved forward with a K-Pop idol in my back pocket, but I took the hits, kept on rolling, and moved forward.
So what the hell was I doing holed up alone in my apartment, waiting on someone else to tell me what to do, to solve my problem, to show me a way out?