Chapter 32 Jake
JAKE
The sound of raised voices and something crashing carries across the snow-covered campground, cutting through the peaceful December evening like a blade.
I drop the firewood I’ve been stacking and sprint toward Tish’s cabin, my boots crunching through the fresh powder that fell this afternoon.
The Christmas lights strung between the pine trees cast an eerie glow on the scene unfolding ahead of me.
A crowd has already gathered at Tish’s open door. Half the team is here, craning their necks to see inside like they’re watching some twisted holiday entertainment.
My stomach drops when I spot the docuseries crew pushing through the group, their camera already rolling as they capture whatever disaster is happening inside.
“Move,” I bark, shouldering past a couple of the younger guys. “Get back.”
Through the doorway, I can see Trent and Ash locked together, grappling like a couple of amateurs who’ve never been in a real fight.
Trent’s face is flushed red with rage, his usually perfect hair disheveled, while Ash looks more controlled but equally pissed.
They’re knocking into Tish’s carefully arranged Christmas decorations. A small tree in the corner tilts dangerously, its silver and gold ornaments jangling with each impact.
“Turn that fucking camera off,” I snarl at the crew, stepping directly in front of their lens and spreading my arms wide to block their shot. “This is private property.”
The cameraman tries to sidestep me, but I mirror his movement. “I said turn it off.”
“We have permission to film—”
“Not this you don’t.” My voice carries the authority I’ve rarely ever used, and something in my tone must convince him because he finally lowers the camera.
Inside the cabin, Tish is gawking in horror at the camera crew, and Trent and Ash, who had just broken apart, go at it again.
“That’s enough,” I growl, grabbing Trent to pull him away. “Both of you, knock it off.”
Ash steps back immediately, his hands raised, but Trent struggles against my grip like a wild animal. His elbow catches me in the ribs, and I grunt but don’t let go.
“Let me go, Jake! You don’t understand—”
“I don’t need to.” I tighten my hold on him. “What I don’t understand is why you’re acting like a complete jackass in your sister’s cabin, with a film crew eating up every fucking second of it!”
Tish rushes past us to slam the door shut, her face pale but her eyes blazing with fury.
She’s wearing a red sweater that brings out the fire in her hair, and even in the middle of this mess, I can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks when she’s angry.
The way her chest rises and falls with each heated breath, the flush spreading across her cheeks—Christ, I need to focus.
“Everyone out,” she shouts at the lingering players visible through her windows. “This isn’t a show.”
I can hear them grumbling and shuffling away, their voices fading as they head back to their own cabins.
The docuseries crew lingers for a moment longer before finally retreating, probably hoping to catch some audio through the thin walls.
Trent has stopped struggling, but I can feel the tension coiled in his muscles like a spring ready to snap. “You can let me go now,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Can I? Because you seem pretty wound up still.”
“I’m fine.”
I glance at Ash, who’s wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.
There’s something in his expression.
Guilt, maybe, or resignation.
Like he knows he deserves whatever Trent was trying to dish out.
Slowly, I release Trent and step back, ready to grab him again if he makes another move toward Ash.
But instead of going after his original target, Trent spins around and swings at me.
I see it coming and duck, his fist whistling past my ear. “What the hell, Trent?”
“You’re all the same,” he snarls, winding up for another swing. “All of you hockey players think you can just take whatever you want.”
This time when he comes at me, Ash moves too, and we both grab him at the same time.
It’s not that Trent’s particularly strong or skilled, but we’re both trying not to actually hurt him, which makes subduing him more complicated than it should be.
“Stop it!” Tish’s voice cuts through our struggle like a whip crack. “Trent, stop acting like an ass!”
We manage to wrestle him down onto the small couch, which is draped with a festive red and green throw that’s now completely askew.
Trent’s breathing hard, his face still flushed with anger, but he’s stopped trying to throw punches.
“Get off me,” he pants.
Ash and I exchange a look before slowly releasing him.
I stay close, ready to intervene again if necessary, while Ash moves to the other side of the small living room, putting some distance between them.
Tish stands in the middle of the chaos, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
The Christmas tree in the corner has somehow survived the scuffle, its lights still twinkling merrily, but several ornaments have fallen to the floor.
The whole scene feels surreal, like we’re actors in some twisted holiday drama.
“I want an explanation,” Trent demands, pointing an accusatory finger at his sister. “I want to know what the hell is going on here.”
“You don’t deserve an explanation,” Tish fires back, her voice shaking with rage. “You come barging into my cabin, attacking my friends, making a scene in front of the cameras—”
“Friends?” Trent’s laugh is bitter. “Is that what you call them? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re screwing the entire hockey team.”
The words hang in the air like a toxic cloud. I feel my own temper flare, my hands clenching into fists, but Tish beats me to the punch.
“How dare you,” she whispers, her voice deadly quiet.
“I dare because I’m your brother, and I’m trying to protect you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Protect me?” Tish’s voice rises to a near-shout. “By humiliating me in front of everyone? By starting fights and acting like a complete psychopath?”
I watch the siblings face off, and despite the anger radiating from both of them, I can see the hurt underneath.
Trent’s not just angry, he’s scared.
Scared of losing his sister, scared of not understanding what’s happening in her life.
And Tish isn’t just furious, she’s wounded by his lack of trust in her judgment.
But there’s something else bothering me, something that’s been nagging at the back of my mind since this whole mess started.
“Wait,” I say, stepping between them. “Trent, how did you even know to come here? What set this off?”
Trent’s jaw tightens, and he glances away. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it matters,” I say. “Because someone had to tell you something to get you this worked up.”
The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. Tish wraps her arms around herself as if she can hold in her anger or hurt.
“Someone sent photographs,” Trent finally admits, his voice tight with controlled anger. “To my office. Pictures of my sister with…” He gestures vaguely at Ash, then at me.
My blood runs cold. “What kind of pictures?”
“The kind that make it clear she’s been playing games with both of you,” Trent snaps. “Kissing you, kissing him. Making fools of you both while she—”
“That’s enough,” Tish interrupts, her voice deadly quiet. “You don’t get to talk about me like I’m not standing right here, and you sure as hell don’t get to judge my choices.”
I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.
Pictures of Tish kissing Ash and me?
When did that happen?
My mind races, trying to process this information while simultaneously dealing with the surge of jealousy that hits me like a freight train.
Wait, that can’t be right. I’m not the jealous kind. Well, I’ve never been at least. Until now.
“Who sent them?” I ask. “Did you recognize the handwriting? Was there a return address?”
Trent shakes his head. “Anonymous. Just a manila envelope with my business address on it.”
Tish has gone very still, her face pale. “Someone’s been watching me,” she whispers. “Taking pictures, intimate pictures, of me. Now they’re sending the pictures to Trent too.”
The protective instinct that kicks in is so strong it nearly knocks me over. The thought of someone stalking her, violating her privacy like that, makes me want to hunt them down and make them pay.
“We need to call the police,” I say immediately.
“No,” Tish says quickly. “No police. Not yet. We don’t even know who’s doing this or why.”
“That’s exactly why we need the police,” Ash argues, moving closer to her. The casual way he does it, like he has every right to be her protector, sends another spike of jealousy through me.
“Think about it,” Tish continues, ignoring the tension crackling between Ash and me. “Someone wanted Trent to see those pictures. They wanted to cause problems. If we go to the police now, it becomes public record. The media will have a field day.”
She’s right, and I hate that she’s right. The Thunderwolves already have enough negative press without adding a stalking scandal to the mix.
“So what do you suggest?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
“We figure out who’s doing this ourselves,” she says, her chin lifting with determination. “And we don’t let them win by tearing each other apart.”
Trent snorts. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who had to see pictures of his sister—”
“Stop,” Tish cuts him off. “Just stop. You came here ready for a fight, and you got one. But the real problem, what we should really be focusing on, is who delivered those pictures to you and why.”
Before anyone can respond, there’s a sharp knock on the door.
We all freeze, and I realize how this must look, all of us crowded into Tish’s cabin, Ash with a split lip, Trent’s shirt torn from the scuffle.
“Open up,” comes Carl’s gruff voice from outside. “Now.”
Tish closes her eyes briefly, then opens the door.
Carl takes one look at the scene—at Ash’s bloody lip, at Trent’s disheveled appearance, at the tension radiating from all of us—and his expression hardens.
“Outside,” he says to Trent. “You’re leaving. Now.”
“Carl, wait,” Tish starts.
“No discussion,” Carl cuts her off, his blue eyes cold as winter ice. “Mr. Johnston, you have five minutes to get off this property, or I’m calling security.”
Trent’s face flushes red again. “You can’t just—”
“I can and I am,” Carl says flatly. “You came here looking for trouble, and you found it. Every fucking person within twenty miles heard you guys. This ends now. Leave.”
The authority in Carl’s voice is absolute, and even Trent seems to recognize it.
He looks at his sister one more time, his expression a mixture of anger and something that might be hurt.
“This isn’t over, Tish,” he says quietly. “We’re going to talk about this.”
“Not here, you’re not,” Carl replies before Tish can respond.
After Trent leaves, Carl turns his attention to Ash and me. The look he gives us could freeze hell over.
“As for you two,” he says, his voice carrying the kind of quiet menace that’s more terrifying than shouting, “I’ll deal with you later.”