Chapter 30
I pull into the practice lot, and it feels like the world is exploding before my face. Cameras flash like gunfire. Reporters’ voices slice through the morning air with a constant, deafening roar.
“Kai! Did you set her up?”
“What happened with Rochelle?”
“Is this true? Are you involved?”
Every question feels like a punch to the chest. My hands tighten on my steering wheel. My stomach twists.
I try to breathe, but the air feels too thick. My mind reels as I think of the last twenty-four hours.
How did they get these photos? Who gave them the story? Rochelle? It can’t be. She wouldn’t…she wouldn’t betray me.
Could she have known and stayed silent while Derek manipulated everything? The word betrayal presses against my skull like a drumbeat I can’t escape.
I inch forward, trying to keep the car steady, but the crowd wouldn’t let me through. Flashbulbs pop, and I flinch with every click.
My chest hammers, heart racing so fast I feel like I might pass out. I can’t focus on anything or even think clearly.
Every instinct screams at me to get out of here, but I know any sudden move will be a headline, another image, another shred of my privacy ripped away.
A familiar hand grips my shoulder. Jake. I glance up through the side mirror, relief and irritation colliding in equal measure.
He’s scowling, muttering something about “leaving the circus behind,” then I’m out of my car and he’s pulling me toward the side entrance. I follow, moving like a man in a daze, every step heavy.
My teammates line the hallway, eyes wide, concern etched into their faces. I catch glimpses of familiar faces—Cameron Gray, Reed Hendrix, West Carmack, even Coach Williams, but none of it bothers me right now. I feel untethered, untouchable, yet trapped inside a storm I can’t escape.
Voices still echo behind me. Snippets of questions I can’t answer. “Was she in on it?” “Are you okay?” “What will you do now?”
Every single question feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I want to scream, to tell them all to back off, but my voice catches somewhere in my throat, leaving me mute.
Jake nudges me again, steadying me, his grip firm on my arm. “You good, man?”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out, “Yeah.”
Inside the side door, the chaos recedes slightly, but the echoes linger. I see teammates still glancing at me, some seeming worried, others whispering behind their hands. I try to meet their eyes, but the betrayal, the shock, the humiliation, it’s too heavy.
Even among friends, even in the safety of familiar faces, I feel completely alone.
And I realize, with a sinking certainty, that nothing will ever be the same.
Coach Williams’ office feels smaller than usual, the walls closing in the second I step inside. He sits behind his desk, arms crossed, papers stacked neatly, but the weight in his eyes is enough to warn me before he speaks.
“Kai… you need to see this,” he says, pushing a folder across the desk.
I hesitate, but something in his tone makes my chest tighten. I reach for it, my fingers trembling as I flip it open.
The first thing I see are photos of me at the hospital, me leaving my apartment, me arriving at the rink, all meticulously documented.
And there she is in every shot. Rochelle. She’s watching me. Every movement. Every gesture. Then she’s smiling at her laptop in the background, her phone pressed to her ear, like she’s tracking everything, taking notes and recording.
I swallow, and it catches somewhere in my throat. “This… all of this is just for the article?” My voice sounds small, broken even to my own ears.
My coach shakes his head slowly. “Kai, she’s been covering you for weeks. Before the bar fight. Before any of this Derek nonsense. And she… she never told you what she knew. About him. About what was happening.”
The words crash over me like a tidal wave. I can’t breathe. Every fiber of trust I’d placed in her, every late-night conversation, every touch, every time I let myself believe she was different, was she ever? The pictures feel like daggers, sharp, precise, aimed straight for my chest.
“She… she knew?” I whisper. My mind loops, unwilling to accept what I see. She knew about Derek and kept it from me. She let him manipulate both of us, and I… I thought I could protect her. Hell, I did everything to protect her.
Coach Williams leans back, arms still crossed, as he watches me carefully. “Kai, I know you care about her. But this…” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This changes things. You need to process it before practice.”
I can’t. I shove the folder aside, shaking. My hands clutch the edge of the desk, and my knuckles go white, pulse racing. My chest feels like it’s collapsing inward. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, loud, frantic, echoing in the silence of the office.
Hyperventilation sets in before I even realize it. My breaths come fast, shallow, and completely uneven. I feel trapped, like the world is reminding me that I’m all alone.
My eyes blur with heat, tears threatening to spill, anger and heartbreak colliding violently in my chest. How could she? How could I have been so blind?
Everything I trusted, everything I loved, is crumbling. Rochelle, she was my anchor, my lifeline, my first real love since… Fuck! Now she is a stranger in the photos staring back at me. And Derek… the thought of him lurking, watching, manipulating, only deepens the hole opening inside me.
I sink back into the chair, trembling and trying to control the chaos I feel inside. But the panic, the betrayal, the heartbreak, they won’t stop stabbing my chest.
I collapse into the corner of the equipment room, my back pressing against the cold wall, the stink of old gear and sweat filling my nostrils.
My chest heaves uncontrollably, each breath shallow, and coming out too fast. My hands shake violently, my fingers gripping the bench beside me, trying to grab onto something solid, anything that will stop the panic from consuming me.
I hear voices that sound distant, but I know it’s from outside the door. The sound of my teammates calling my name. Coach shouting something I can’t make sense of.
“Kai! Are you okay?” It all sounds distorted, muffled, like I’m underwater and the world is trying to pull me under.
My phone rings and I manage to slide the screen to receive the call.
“Hey, hey, Kai!” Tommy’s voice cuts through the haze. I recognize it, and it should help, it should calm me, but it doesn’t. I try to speak, to tell him I’m fine, but my throat closes up, the words lodged like stones.
My chest tightens even more. I can’t explain. I can’t explain how everyone, Rochelle, the media, Derek, even the people I thought I trusted are all lying to me. They kept scheming and manipulating me. My whole life has been a setup. My hands pound the wall in frustration, shaking me further.
“Tommy… I––” I gasp, my voice cracking, broken, and barely there at all. He’s still on the line, pleading for me to breathe, to snap out of it and respond to him. I can’t.
It feels like I’m trapped inside my own head, every memory of trust twisting into betrayal.
Rochelle’s eyes, her smile, the way she claimed she cared about me.
Turns out it’s all a lie now. She watched, she knew, and she didn’t warn me.
But it’s my own fault for getting involved with a fucking reporter. What the fuck was I thinking?
I press my palms to my face, wishing I could vanish. My legs tremble beneath me, knees pulled tight against my chest. I imagine leaving, just walking away from the rink, the team, the media circus, the sport I’ve built my life around.
If I disappear, maybe the pain stops. Maybe the weight of betrayal, of exposure, of Derek’s threats, of Rochelle’s secrecy, just falls away.
“Kai, talk to me,” Tommy says, voice urgent now, desperate. I can hear him shouting into the phone, doing everything to get me to talk. I know he’ll be here soon.
I want to push him away, scream at him, tell him to leave me alone, and end the call but all I can do is shake. My mind spins in circles, each thought worse than the last.
The world is a trap, everyone is complicit, and there’s no escape except to walk away from everything I’ve ever fought for.
I slump further against the wall, hyperventilating, trembling, hollow.
The idea of quitting flits through my mind, sharp and tempting.
Hockey isn’t worth this pain, not if the people I love, the people I trust are all part of the betrayal.
Not if my heart is this broken, and there’s no safe place left in the world.
I close my eyes, gripping the edges of the bench, wishing and praying for a way to make it stop.
I step out onto the press area, the usual fluorescent light harsh against my eyes.
Cameras flash immediately, and microphones point towards me.
The questions come like rapid-fire, demanding and invasive.
I feel my stomach tighten, my chest still trembling from earlier, and a sharp pang of exhaustion cuts through me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out instinctively and sigh when Rochelle’s name displays on the screen.
I stare at the screen for a second too long before sliding it back in. I can’t answer her. Not now. Not with everyone watching.
The thought that she’s been waiting, collecting information relentlessly over the past hour, tracking, gathering, probably witnessing every move I’ve made feels like a knife twisting my chest.
My hands clench at my sides. I can’t let her see the mess I am, can’t let anyone see it.
“Mr. Morrison, can you comment on the reports about your personal life? And Ms. Winters?” A camera operator’s shout pierces through the noise of the other reporters.
I inhale slowly, forcing a calm I do not feel. “All interactions with colleagues are strictly professional,” I say, voice clipped. The words sound hollow even to me. I refuse to elaborate.
Anything more would give them and Derek the leverage they’ve already proven they can exploit. I cannot afford to let the reporters touch Rochelle’s reputation, even though she’s betrayed my trust.
“Was there any prior knowledge of these allegations, Kai? Did Ms. Winters inform you?”
I shake my head slightly, keeping my eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the flashing lenses. “I cannot comment on that. Professional boundaries are maintained at all times.”
My tone is distant, almost cold. It’s the only armor I can wear at this moment. Inside, though, I feel every crack widening. I trusted her. I loved her. And now, seeing the evidence, seeing the media hounding us both, that trust feels shattered.
“Mr. Morrison!” Another shout. My fingers twitch, desperate to grab the nearest object, to explode with something, anything.
Instead, I swallow, my jaw tight. I will not give them satisfaction. I will not give Derek any more satisfaction.
I hear Jake calling my name, stepping up behind me, but I ignore him. His presence is meant to be grounding, but grounding is impossible right now.
Every part of me wants to retreat, to vanish, to step away from the rink, from the cameras, from the sport itself. The thought flits through my mind and I let myself entertain the idea of quitting. Just leaving it all behind.
The flashes continue, the questions continue, and I continue to stand there, a stone in the storm. My chest still heaves; my hands still shake. But I will not crumble in front of them.
Finally, I turn, walking away briskly. Some of my teammates approach, trying to reach me, asking if I’m okay. I nod curtly, polite but distant, my thoughts already spiraling.
The professional statement is over. My emotions, however, are not. I feel betrayed and exhausted. For the first time, I allow myself to consider the unthinkable––that hockey, everything I’ve fought for, might not be worth this shit anymore.