Chapter Thirty
Rhodes
Monroe is curled up, satisfied and sleepy, pressed against me after our declarations, when she suddenly bolts up, hesitation all over her face. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
My entire body goes on alert and panic seizes my chest. “What is it?” What else could we possibly need to cover? Worst-case scenarios start racing through my brain.
She clears her throat, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Aaron came to the rink yesterday. He had a proposition for me.”
“What the hell did he want?” Anger spikes hot and fast, pooling in my gut, such a difference in feeling from a moment ago.
Her lips twitch like she expected the reaction, but she continues. “He offered me my pairs spot back. Said there was an opening and I should talk to my old coach about it.”
I blink, pulse stuttering. She keeps going before I can say anything.
“Not on an Olympic track, necessarily. But I could compete in Nationals again. Maybe Worlds, if my ankle keeps holding.”
“Okay,” I manage, voice rough. “Well, I fucking hate those guys. But if this is what you want to do, I obviously support you.”
She lets out a slow breath. “I don’t know, honestly.
I want to skate again. Competing was my life.
But yeah, those guys really suck. And…” Her eyes flick to mine, guarded but honest. “I don’t want to lose this.
Us. I know our schedules would be kind of tricky to line up… ” She trails off, obviously nervous.
Something loosens in my chest. I reach out, hooking a finger under her chin to tilt her face back to mine.
“Monroe, I’ll make anything work with you. I love you, remember? If this is the future you want, we’ll figure it out.” If she thinks something as little as a job is going to be a problem for us, she is seriously mistaken.
“Okay,” she says, mostly to herself, I think. “Okay, yeah. We’ll figure it out.” I love the way we slips off her tongue when she’s talking about us.
“We. Together. You and me, sweetheart.”
We lie together for as long as we can before I have to get up and start getting ready for the press conference Kelsey has been putting together.
It’s important I address everyone with what I have, especially since I presented it all to the commissioner.
He has the recording, the paperwork, all of it.
All that’s left to do is put the truth out there.
* * * *
I’m unlacing my skates after a quick few loops around the rink to burn off some energy before I go into the press conference when I hear footsteps behind me—too deliberate to be one of the guys.
“Rhodes McKnight.”
I glance over my shoulder, already annoyed at the intrusion into my mental prep time. “Aaron.” He leans against the row of lockers, arms crossed, smug smirk firmly in place. Would it be an overreaction to punch him in the face right now?
“Are you here to have a dick-measuring contest to see who gets to keep Monroe?” I ask flatly, tugging the laces tighter. “Two things you should know. One, my dick is bigger. No contest. And two, she can have me and pursue skating however she wants to, so no need to stake some kind of weird claim.”
Aaron rolls his eyes, but there’s something sharp in his expression—desperation simmering just under the surface.
“I’m here to tell you to just back off,” he bites. “She could get back everything she ever wanted. Nationals. Worlds. Hell, maybe the Olympics again. Hockey dick wasn’t even on the list of things she wanted until recently. You can’t override twenty years of dreams.”
The words hit harder than I expect, low in my gut.
I never want to be the thing that holds her back from her dreams. I meant it when I told her we’d figure everything out.
But does she really know how much I mean it?
That I’d tear my life apart and rebuild it around whatever she wants? She is it for me.
Aaron doesn’t stop. He presses forward, voice low and bitter. “You know it too. You swooped in and played golden hockey savior. This…relationship,” he sneers the word like it’s a joke, “is nothing more than trauma bonding. When she wakes up and realizes her moment’s passed, she’ll hate you for it.”
“Dude, did you hear me at all? I’m not trying to take away her dreams. She can do both. Monroe is perfectly capable of deciding how to prioritize her life.”
“Skating is a singular focus. She can’t do two things.”
Well, that’s just not true. But before I can tell him exactly where to shove his opinion, another voice cuts through the air.
“Oh, can’t I?”
We both whip around. Monroe’s standing at the locker room door, one shoulder propped lazily against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She glances down at her nails like she’s bored, and lifts her gaze to pin Aaron in place.
There’s something in her expression—cool, calm, dangerous—that makes me stand up straighter. God, she’s sexy. I bite back a grin at the ferocity on her face.
“Aaron,” she says, voice light but sharp enough to cut glass, “are you trying to get my boyfriend to break up with me?”
He stiffens, lips parting, but she keeps going before he can get a word in.
“That isn’t how this is going to work, I hope you realize that.”
“I want what’s best for you,” he says, the words strained now.
Monroe pushes off the doorframe and walks across the room with deliberate ease, sliding right up next to me. I can feel the heat rolling off her. I loop an arm protectively around her waist, not that she needs it. I need it, I think.
“Out of the two of you, I’m certain it’s Rhodes who cares more about that,” she says, voice steady. “At the very least, he’s letting me work through the decision myself. Which is more than you’re doing right now.”
I don’t say a damn thing. I just lean back against the lockers and watch my girl flay this asshole alive. There’s no fire and brimstone—just the calm, quiet confidence of someone who’s done being pushed around. She’s standing here, holding her own.
Aaron scoffs, the sneer slipping back into place as he looks between us. “When you come to your senses, you know where to find me.”
He turns on his heel, stalking toward the door. Monroe waits, arms folded, perfectly composed.
And just before he crosses the threshold, she calls after him.
“Oh, and for the record,” she says, almost sweetly.
Aaron pauses, glancing back.
“Rhodes’ dick is bigger. No measuring contest needed.”
He glares, but she just raises one perfectly unimpressed brow.
I can’t help it—I grin, pulling her flush against me the second he’s out of sight, flipping her around so she has to look up at me, my hands wrapping tightly around her.
“You know,” I murmur, brushing a kiss against her mouth, “I knew it was, too. But it’s nice to hear confirmation.”
She smirks against my lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. And now I’ve got to get to the media interviews,” I mumble, not ready to be done kissing her yet.
“I know, that’s why I’m here. I’ve come to escort you.”
I grin down at her.
We walk hand-in-hand through the hallways, stopping when we get to the conference. Coach is standing outside with Kelsey, waiting for me. I let go of Monroe’s hand, but turn and give her a quick kiss, Coach be damned. If I wanted to kiss my girl, I was going to kiss her.
“I’ll be right outside,” she whispers and pushes me forward. Coach stares at the two of us, face unreadable in its neutrality, before putting his game face on. The media room is buzzing, but I’m not listening yet. I’m staring at my phone.
Beck (11:23am): Keep your cool and don’t punch anyone in the face.
JD (11:28am): stick to the script Kelsey gave you and don’t give them an inch. they’re fucking sharks.
Tyler (11:30am): knock ’em dead, cap.
Another ping—Sloane.
Sloane (11:31am): You got this. Proud of you.
I huff out a breath, rolling my shoulders back, tension still tight but easing slightly. I put my phone in my pocket. Time to face the music. We walk to the table, where the microphones are lined up like traps. The second we sit, Kelsey takes control.
“Thank you all for coming. I know many of you have questions regarding the recent rumors involving Rhodes McKnight. Today, we are providing full transparency to put those rumors to rest.”
She flips open the folder in front of her, voice crisp and steady as she lays out the facts.
“After thorough investigation, we’ve confirmed the following—Rhodes McKnight was being harassed continually over the last few months by an individual with familial ties.
He did not give in to the threats, and the party decided to falsely accuse Mr. McKnight of inter-sport betting, game-throwing, and profit splitting.
This person has been served papers by Mr. McKnight, and we will be proceeding with pressing charges against him.
Mr. McKnight has never and would never compromise his position as captain or standing in the NHL by participating in any such events. ”
The room stirs. Flashes of cameras, reporters scribbling like their lives depend on it. The NHL commissioner steps up to the next mic.
“The investigation against Mr. McKnight has been closed, as no sufficient evidence to support the claims has been found.”
Coach Abrams takes over after that, voice steady as stone.
“I’ve coached Rhodes for years,” he says, looking directly into the sea of cameras. “He supports this team with discipline, grit, and integrity, both on and off the ice. The last week has been difficult—for him, for all of us—but we stand behind him.”
There’s a slight pause before it’s my turn.
I shift forward, adjusting the mic, heart pounding in my chest.
“I’m not going to pretend this hasn’t been hard,” I start, voice even. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Hell, just in this season.” A few chuckles from the reporters. “But this?” I glance out over the sea of cameras, flashes going off like lightning. “This wasn’t one of them.”
I let the silence sit for a second before I continue.
“I’ve spent too long letting other people’s choices affect me. That stops now. I’m proud to be part of the Wolverines for as long as they’ll have me. I’m proud to be back where I belong.”
Coach nods slightly beside me.
“Any questions?” Kelsey asks. Hands shoot up immediately. Kelsey calls on one, and a reporter in the front row speaks first, her voice sharp.
“Was this part of the reason you were aggressive on the ice earlier this season?”
“Yeah, I won’t lie. The stress of the constant harassment did have me feeling stressed on and off the ice. That isn’t an excuse for excessive violence during play, however, and I take full accountability for my previous actions.”
Nods from the crowd.
Another reporter steps forward. “Rhodes, is it true you’re in a relationship with Monroe Abrams, the daughter of your head coach? Do you feel that presents a conflict of interest?”
Beside me, Coach Abrams stiffens. His jaw locks as he leans toward the mic.
“This press conference is about clearing Rhodes’ name,” he says, voice low and final, “not his personal life.”
Another reporter jumps in, undeterred.
“Still, given Monroe Abrams’ past as a figure skater and her fall from the sport, do you think your relationship could affect your image, Rhodes? Some might say being involved with a crashed and burned skater could—”
I don’t even let him finish.
My grip tightens on the mic. “Watch how you talk about her.”
The room stills. My voice isn’t raised, but it doesn’t have to be.
“She didn’t crash and burn. She’s one of the most talented skaters in the world. And I don’t need to justify who I’m with to any of you.”
“So, it’s serious then?” another reporter yells before we can cut them off.
Kelsey moves the mic to shut it down, but I yank it back, needing everyone to understand where I stand with Monroe.
“Yes, it’s fucking serious.”
The words settle like a weight in the air. The reporter looks down. Beside me, Kelsey smirks just slightly before schooling her face into the picture of neutrality.
I push the mic back out of my face. Kelsey smoothly wraps things up.
“That’s all we’re addressing today. Thank you.”
We stand. Cameras still snapping. Reporters still shouting questions as they’re led from the room.
But I don’t hear any of it. I follow Coach and Kelsey out of the back of the room, the noise fading behind us.
Just outside the door, leaning casually against the wall, Monroe is waiting for me.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just gives me a once-over, like she’s assessing whether I survived.
Then she smirks. “Welcome back, Captain.”
I huff out a breath, finally feeling the tension start to bleed from my shoulders. “I’m glad it’s over.”
She steps closer, fingers brushing lightly against my wrist. Just enough contact to ground me. “You did good,” she says, low.
The noise of the media room fades behind us, footsteps echoing down the hallway as people file out. Ahead of us, Coach is walking a few paces in front, Kelsey beside him, already on her phone, probably scheduling another crisis right out of existence.
But then Coach glances back, his gaze landing on the two of us. His eyes drop to where Monroe’s fingers are still tangled with mine, then back to my face. His expression is unreadable.
We haven’t really talked about…this. Not since that first conversation when he made it clear Monroe was off-limits. I clearly didn’t listen and I can’t find it in me anywhere to feel sorry for not heeding my coach’s warning. He studies me for a beat longer, like he’s weighing something.
Then he clears his throat. “Serious, huh?” He narrows his eyes.
Monroe hides a smile into the side of my arm, and instinctively, I tuck her closer.
“Serious as a heart attack, sir,” I say, voice steady, fingers flexing around her.
Coach’s gaze flicks to his daughter. “Monroe?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” she says, smiling softly. “Yeah, really serious.”
Something shifts in his posture. Not quite relaxed, but…resigned. Maybe even a little fond.
He nods once, gruff. “All right then. I like you, kid. But that’s my little girl, so you break her heart”—his eyes sharpen, no-nonsense—“I’ll hand your ass to you on a plate. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” No hesitation. And I mean every word. I catch her hand tighter, threading my fingers with hers with no intention of letting go. Ever.