Chapter 28
The message comes as soon as I finish practice, while I’m still lacing my shoes. My phone buzzes on the bench, and I already know who it is before I even pick it up. Derek.
I swipe the screen, my jaw tight.
Weekly payments. Non-negotiable. And you’ll start sending me updates about the reporter. Where she goes. Who she talks to. Consider it my insurance.
My chest tightens. The word reporter hangs like a blade. He doesn’t even use her name, but I can see her face in every letter, Rochelle, laughing at something I said last night, her eyes soft in a way they rarely are around anyone else.
I text back one word: No
The dots appear immediately, like he’s been waiting all damn day for my response.
Don’t play with me, Kai. You think I don’t know things?
Her schedules, habits, places she likes to stop after games?
I’ve heard things from your teammates when they come to the bar.
Funny how the mouth gets loose when people get after a couple drinks.
Funny how much I can piece together from social media.
She posts more useful stuff than she realizes.
My stomach drops as I skim over the text. Derek’s not bluffing.
I can picture him leaning on that sticky bar counter, pretending to chug down a glass of whiskey while listening to my teammates chatter. He doesn’t even need to follow me around.
All he has to do is wait, and people hand him everything he needs to attack me.
I scroll up through his messages, rereading the casual way he lists Rochelle’s routines. Her coffee runs, the time she usually leaves the facility.
The fact that she walks home from the office sometimes, even when it’s late. He shouldn’t know any of that, but that bastard does anyway.
I rub a hand over my face, fighting the nausea clawing at my throat. This isn’t just about me anymore. He’s shifting his focus. He’s setting his sights on her.
“Yo, Morrison,” Alex calls from across the locker room. “You coming, man?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, shoving my phone into my bag before he can see the look on my face. My pulse is still racing.
I try to act normal as we head out, but every step I take feels heavy. It’s one thing for Derek to bleed me dry with his demands, to dangle my reputation and career over my head.
But doing that to Rochelle? No. She doesn’t belong in this.
The realization slices through me with brutal clarity. This isn’t just blackmail anymore. Derek’s planning something bigger, something that uses her as leverage.
By the time I get into my car, my hands are trembling so badly I have to grip the steering wheel just to steady them.
My brother is circling Rochelle like prey, and if I don’t find a way to stop him, he’s going to drag her into the same pit he’s been pulling me toward for years.
I don’t go straight to her place after practice. I drive around first, wasting gas and circling blocks just to rid of the panic that’s been riding me since Derek’s text.
By the time I finally knock on Rochelle’s door, I’ve rehearsed the words a dozen times. None of them sound right, but I need to say something.
She opens the door in sweats and a messy bun, eyes lighting for half a second before dimming at the look on my face. “Rough day?”
“Something like that,” I mutter, stepping inside. Her apartment smells like coffee and cinnamon. It’s grounding, and for a dangerous moment I almost tell her everything. Almost.
Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “You’ve been running yourself ragged with work. Maybe you should take some time off. Visit family. Get out of the city for a while.”
Rochelle blinks, her brow pulling tight. “What?”
“You’ve earned it. You’ve been under a lot of pressure.” I try to sound casual, but my voice is strained, and it comes out too sharp around the edges. “A break would do you good.”
She crosses her arms, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “You’re telling me to leave? Now? That’s odd timing, don’t you think?”
I force a laugh, but it rings hollow. “I’m saying you should think about yourself for once. Recharge. It doesn’t always have to be about chasing stories or…”
Her glare cuts me off. “Don’t act like this is about me needing a vacation. You don’t want me here. Why?”
My chest aches. I want to scream the truth. I want to tell her it’s because my brother is watching her. That he might already be aware of every move she’s planning to make.
Because if Derek ever decides she’s useful, he would be out to destroy like he is for me.
But I can’t say any of that. So, I press my tongue to my teeth and shake my head. “It’s not like that. I just… I don’t want you caught in the middle of—”
“The middle of what?” she snaps, stepping closer. “You’ve been dodging questions for days, Kai. Shutting me out. And now you’re pushing me away, telling me to disappear?” Her voice cracks on the last word. “Do you even hear yourself?”
I meet her eyes, and it’s like standing on a fault line. One wrong move, and everything crumbles.
“Rochelle,” I say softly, “I’m trying to protect you.”
Her arms drop, but her jaw stays tight. “From what? You can’t keep protecting me from a ghost you won’t even name. Stop it, Kai. Either trust me enough to tell me what’s going on or stop pretending you’re asking me to leave for my own sake.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. She turns away, pacing once before turning to look at me, her eyes blazing.
“I’m not leaving. Not when you clearly need me, whether you want to admit it or not.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. Because she’s right. Fuck, she’s right. I need her.
The buzz of my phone splits through the silence of my apartment.
Derek.
A string of images fills the screen. My stomach clenches as I swipe through them. There is an image of me and Rochelle, at the coffee shop near the stadium.
Another has me walking to her car after practice, and one more of us standing too close in the hotel lobby during an away game. Every shot is technically innocent, no kissing or touching, but the way they’re framed makes the truth very visible through the images.
We’re together. Anyone with eyes could see it.
A new message comes in: Pretty couple. Shame if the world found out like this.
My grip tightens on the phone until my knuckles ache.
Play along, and the photos stay buried, is what Derek is trying to say. Don’t, and he’ll make sure every paper, every blog, and every sports outlet runs with them.
More messages come in and I hold my breath as I read them.
Let’s see how long your charity survives once the board starts asking questions. Let’s see how long her job lasts when her boss realizes she’s sleeping with the subject of her big expose.
I pace the length of the living room, dragging a hand through my hair. He’s cornered me again, perfectly. The bastard doesn’t even need to lie about me.
He has the truth, even down to snapshots as evidence.
For a second, I let myself think about going public. About grabbing the story back before he can use it. Rochelle and I, together, honest and unashamed. No secrets left for him to twist.
But reality crashes just as fast. If this breaks now, it won’t be romantic headlines and congratulations. It’ll be Rochelle’s career gutted because no editor will trust her again.
It’ll be my foundation bleeding donors, kids left without programs because no one wants to support a scandal-ridden face of charity. Derek knows exactly where to hit.
I stop pacing, lean forward, my palms braced on my knees. My chest feels like it’s closing in. I can’t fight back without burning everything we’ve built. I can’t walk away without letting him bleed me dry.
The phone buzzes again and I fight the urge to smash the device as I read another message from him.
I’ll be waiting for your move, little brother.
My vision blurs with rage, but underneath it there’s a feeling of dread.
He’s winning. Every choice he gives me is a trap, and every road leads to losing something I can’t bear to lose.
I want to throw the phone, smash it into the wall until there’s nothing left. Instead, I sink onto the couch and press my hands to my face.
I’m trapped and powerless. Even worse than powerless because every second I stay silent, Rochelle stays in the crosshairs without even knowing it.
And that thought terrifies me more than anything Derek could threaten.
Rochelle is watching me like she’s trying to read a playbook I won’t hand over. Every time I avoid a question, her brows knit, and her lips press thin. She’s too smart not to notice.
Tonight, she’s curled on the couch in my apartment, legs tucked underneath, with her laptop balanced on her knees.
“You’ve been distracted for days,” she says, voice casual but edged. “Don’t tell me it’s just the game again.”
I force a shrug, busying myself at the counter with a glass of water I don’t need. “Well, what can I say? It is the game,” I echo. The lie tastes sour.
She doesn’t buy it. I hear it in her sigh, feel it in the silence that stretches between us.
The problem is, every lie stacks on the last, and the questions don’t stop. She wants to know where I’ve been. Why do I keep checking my phone, why I don’t want her walking alone anymore.
Each excuse I give is like a thin wall, and I can feel them wobbling under her scrutiny.
“Then tell me,” she says quietly. “If you’re struggling with something in particular, I want to know what it is…about the game.”
I grip the counter hard enough that my knuckles pop. The truth claws at the back of my throat, and I feel the desperate urge to let it out, but I swallow it down.
If she knew what Derek was holding over me…over us, she’d never look at me the same.
Instead, I turn to face her, offering a hollow smile. “It’s hockey. I’ll be fine.”
Her laptop closes with a snap. She studies me, suspicion flashing clear in her eyes. For a heartbeat, I’m terrified she’s going to press harder, demanding answers I can’t give. But she just shakes her head. “You keep saying that, Kai. But you’re pulling further away every day.”
I want to cross the room, to take her face in my hands and beg her to trust me for just a little longer. But I stay rooted where I am, because closeness would only make the lies sharper.
She turns back to her laptop, shoulders stiff, and the walls rising. The space between us feels like a huge gap, and I know I’m the one putting it there.
For her protection. That’s what I tell myself. Even as it starts to feel more like destruction.