Chapter 36
The roar hits me the second I step out of the tunnel. It’s almost deafening, sticks banging against the boards, fans stomping in the stands, my name echoing in the crowd.
For the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like they’re jeering. It feels like they’re waiting.
My skates cut across the ice, sharp and steady. The arena lights sting my eyes, but I’m locked in. I’ve been benched, dragged through headlines, accused of things I didn’t do, but tonight I’m here. And she’s here.
I glance up to the press box and spot her. Rochelle. Even from this distance, I feel the weight of her eyes watching me, and the quiet strength she carries.
The woman who bled her career dry just to give me back my life. My chest tightens. I can’t let her down. Not now.
The puck drops. First shift. I explode off the line, fighting for position. My legs burn, lungs already raw, but my focus feels different. Clean. The noise fades, and the chaos dims. I play my game, not theirs.
A blocked shot, a clean pass, a controlled hit into the boards. Nothing spectacular yet, but no mistakes either.
Every time I hit the ice, I hear the commentary buzzing: “Is Morrison distracted? Can he handle the pressure after the scandal?” I shut it out. Let them talk.
Tonight isn’t about proving anything to them. It’s about proving something to myself, and to her.
The game speeds up, bodies colliding, sticks clashing like swords. I can feel the edge in the air, the storm waiting to break. And underneath it all, the shadow of Derek Delaunay lurking around.
Even when I’m flying down the rink, I can’t shake his face, all the lies, his obsession with tearing everything apart.
But this time, I’m ready.
As the horn blares for the first period break, I skate to the bench, my chest heaving. I don’t look up at the cameras. I don’t look at the reporters scribbling notes. Instead, I lift my head just once, finding Rochelle again in the glass above.
This game isn’t just hockey. It’s survival. And I’ll fight for it, with her watching every move.
Between shifts, I catch a flicker of movement on the jumbotron’s split feed, something most fans don’t even notice. A security angle that’s deep in the arena tunnels. My blood runs cold.
It’s Derek.
He’s hunched over a crate near the storage room, slipping papers into an equipment bag. From this distance, I can’t make out the details, but I don’t need to. It’s him, and I know he’s up to something. Again.
Moments later, my phone buzzes on the bench. A message from our head of security.
He’s planting betting slips and trying to rig sport gambling apps too. We’ve got him on camera.
For a second, I can’t breathe. My chest locks up, fury pounding through me like a drum. Even now, after everything, the exposé, the warrants, the truth being finally revealed, he’s still clawing at my career, trying to bury me with lies.
The arena crowd roars as the second period rages on, but all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. I grip my stick so hard my knuckles ache.
Then the update flashes across the monitor. Security is closing in. Two officers, and one guard. They corner him in the south tunnel, Derek pressed back against the wall like a rat with nowhere left to run.
My pulse spikes as I watch the scene. I should be satisfied he’s caught but this isn’t over. Not until I face him.
I shove my helmet off, ignoring the startled look from the assistant coach. My skates scrape against the concrete as I leave the bench, cutting through the corridor that leads down into the bowels of the arena.
The further I go, the louder the echoes become shouts, the clattering of boots, and Derek’s voice barking something desperate and wild.
For days I’ve carried the weight of his destruction, for years even, without knowing it. Tonight, I’m done running from him.
I’m going down there.
His eyes snap to me, and for a moment the whole arena, the whole world, disappears. Just the two of us, brothers who were never really brothers.
“You shouldn’t be here,” one of the officers warns, but I ignore them.
Derek sneers, voice cracking. “Of course you’d show up. Golden boy Kai, here to watch me get dragged out like trash.”
“I didn’t come to watch,” I say, stepping closer. “I came to listen. Say what you need to say.”
That’s all it takes for him to explode.
“You had everything! Fame, talent, people who worship you. I had scraps. Do you know what it’s like to grow up knowing you were the mistake? That you’ll always be the second choice?”
His words cut, but I don’t flinch. I also know what it’s like to have nothing too. Nights spent in foster homes, fighting to be seen, to matter.
“You think I had it easy? I clawed my way here. Every bruise, every doubt, every night I wanted to quit, I kept going. You didn’t get nothing, Derek. You chose to have nothing.”
He shakes his head violently, eyes wild. “Liar. You stole it from me.”
The officers move in, gripping his arms. He thrashes, spitting curses, but he’s finished. His fight ended long before tonight.
I stand there, chest tight, watching as they snap cuffs around his wrists. For a second, I almost pity him. Almost.
Then I turn, skates biting into the tunnel floor, the roar of the crowd above pulling me back. The game isn’t over. My game isn’t over.
The tunnel spits me back into the blinding light of the arena. The roar of the crowd crashes over me like a tidal wave.
My chest is still burning from Derek’s words, but I shove them down, and let the fire drive me instead. This is where I belong, on the ice, with everything on the line.
The ref waves me over for my shift. My teammates tap my pads, their eyes locked on mine like they know what just happened outside without a word being said.
I nod at them, feeling pumped. No excuses, no threat holding me back. Just the game.
The puck drops and chaos erupts. I chase, stick slapping, legs pumping harder than they ever have. The other team’s defense is brutal, but I cut through, carving the ice like it owes me something. Every cheer feels like it’s echoing in my bones.
And then Jake feeds me a perfect pass, right through the traffic of players marking us. For a heartbeat, the world slows. My stick meets the puck with a snap that rings like thunder.
It hits the top corner of the next. Goal.
The arena detonates. Fans start to scream, jump, and wave banners. The sound is deafening, but all I hear is my own breath, ragged with disbelief and relief.
My teammates swarm me, pounding my helmet, yelling my name.
Up in the press box, my eyes meet hers. Rochelle. Her hands are over her mouth, tears streaking her cheeks. She looks at me like I’m more than just a professional player on the ice, like I’m hers.
For the first time, I feel whole. I’m not just a guy on the ice, not just the foster kid who fought to matter. I have someone I love, and she loves me just as much.
I skate past the bench and point straight to her, letting the whole damn world see.
This win isn’t just for me. It’s for us.
The locker room is chaotic, with champagne spraying, and my teammates hollering, but all I can think about is what’s waiting on the other side of those cameras.
Not the highlight reels or the fans waiting for autographs. All I can think about are the vultures. The reporters that are ready to tear me apart with questions.
By the time I sit at the press conference table, lights blaze down so hot I sweat through my tracksuit. Reporters shout over each other, their questions like knives.
“Kai, what about the gambling rumors?”
“Care to comment on Derek Delaunay?”
“Were you aware of your father’s identity all along?”
Each word feels like a chain trying to drag me back into the shadows. But I’m done hiding, so I lean forward, elbows braced, my eyes locked straight into the cameras.
“You want the truth?” My voice cuts through the noise. “My half-brother tried to destroy me. He planted lies, blackmailed me, and tried to bury my career. But you know who refused to let that happen?”
The room goes silent, pens frozen midair.
“Rochelle Winters.”
I say her name like it’s armor. Like it’s the only headline that matters. “She dug through every false lead, every smear. She fought for the truth when none of you would. She’s not just a reporter, she’s the finest journalist I’ve ever met. And she gave me back my life.”
Gasps ripple. Cameras flash like lightning.
I know what I’ve just done, peeled back the last layer of my privacy and handed it to the world. But I don’t flinch.
Because in the corner of the room, I see her. Rochelle. Her eyes are wide, and moist with tears that she can’t hide. The look on her face makes every sacrifice worth it.
The reporters start asking questions again, chasing angles, but none of it matters. Not anymore.
For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m fighting alone. I’ve won my name back, my family, and something I never thought I’d have. A love that’s real, a love that lasts.
And as Rochelle stares back at me, her lips parting in that stunned, aching smile, I know.
This isn’t just my victory. It’s ours. Forever.