Chapter 40 Grayson
GRAYSON
Coach Graves doesn’t yell right away but instead sits across from us silently.
That’s how I know I’m fucked.
He waits until the locker room door shuts and the noise is trapped inside with us—steam, sweat, adrenaline still crawling under our pads like they have nowhere else to go.
The music that was blaring ten minutes ago is off.
The guys are quieter than they’ve been all season.
Even Weston is sitting like he’s in church, which might be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Kai stands in the center of the room, with his jaw locked like he’s holding his own teeth together.
I’m on the bench with my elbows on my knees, gloves off, knuckles scraped, cheekbone throbbing in a way that feels like punishment and relief at the same time. My heart is still sprinting like it thinks we’re still in the third period.
I can’t stop hearing it.
The words.
Tyler’s casual, rotten tone.
The way the world went silent inside me before I moved.
Coach’s eyes sweep the room like he’s counting who survived. Then they land on me. Then Kai. And his voice finally hits.
“Do you know what you just did?” he says, quiet and venomous.
No one answers because there isn’t an answer that makes this okay.
Coach takes a step closer, stopping right in front of us like he’s blocking the door to the rest of our lives.
“I don’t care how chirpy they are,” he says. “I don’t care if Rushton’s whole bench is made of clowns. We do not”—his gaze cuts to Weston, who flinches, —“do not turn my ice into a street fight.”
Weston opens his mouth, thinks better of it for once, and shuts it. Miracles, again.
Coach looks back at me. “Bennett.”
I lift my head slowly.
His eyes are sharp enough to cut tape. “You’re one of my leaders. You’re one of my guys who keeps his head. What the hell happened to that tonight?”
I swallow.
The answer wants to come out in a hundred different ways, none of them safe. Because the truth is ugly, and it’s not mine to share. Harlow’s pain doesn’t belong in the locker room like a story we pass around for justification. Kai shifts beside me, the smallest movement, like he’s bracing.
Coach’s voice hardens. “You cost us discipline. You cost us power-play time. You cost us control.”
My jaw tightens.
Kai’s voice cuts through—low, rough. “Rushton said something.”
Coach’s eyes flick to him. “Yeah? He said lots of things. It’s hockey.”
Kai’s nostrils flare. “Not like this.”
The whole room changes. Kai doesn’t do this. He keeps things, especially where Harlow is concerned, quiet and private.
“He said something about my sister,” Kai says, voice controlled but shaking underneath. “About her body. About her eating.”
Every muscle in my body goes tight again, like my fight-or-flight never turned off.
Coach goes still. He looks at Kai for a long beat, then slowly turns his eyes back to me.
“Is that true?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate.
“Yes,” I say.
Coach’s jaw works.
For a second, I see the man under the coach—the one with daughters, the one who’s seen boys like Tyler hide behind pretty faces and “good families” and trophies.
Coach exhales hard, and for a heartbeat, the room is silent except for the hum of the vents and Asher’s steady breathing from across the room.
Then Coach pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Jesus.”
Kai’s shoulders lift and fall once. His hands are fisted at his sides.
Coach looks between us again, and I can see him doing it—making a choice. Balancing discipline with context. Team rules with humanity. He still doesn’t make it easy.
He points at me. “That wasn’t your fight.”
I open my mouth.
Kai beats me to it, voice raw. “It was mine, but it’s also his now.”
Coach’s eyes narrow. “Is that what you wanted, Mercer? Your right winger to throw his future into the boards because some asshole couldn’t keep his mouth shut?”
Kai’s jaw clenches. “No.”
“Then why didn’t you handle it yourself?” Coach fires back.
Kai’s voice drops. “Because if I did, I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself.” The honesty hits the room like a puck off the post.
Coach stares at him for a long moment. Then he drags a hand down his face, like he’s tired in a way none of us can fix.
“All right,” he says finally. “Here’s the deal.”
He looks at me again.
“League’s going to suspend you,” he says, lifting a finger for every new reason he lays out. “Automatic. Fighting major. Instigator. They’ll call it whatever makes it feel official.”
My stomach drops, not because I didn’t know it was possible, but because I did. And fuck yes, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
I still can’t stop my mind from flashing to Harlow’s face and the way she looked at me like she didn’t know whether to thank me or smack me herself.
Coach continues, “I’ll talk to who I can talk to. I’ll argue it down. I’ll tell them the context and hope it helps soften the blow a bit.”
Kai’s head snaps up. “Coach—”
Coach holds up a hand. “I said I’ll try. No promises.”
Then he points at me again, like he’s pinning me to the wall.
“But you,” he says. “You sit and take it. You knew what this could cost you before you threw the first punch.”
My throat tightens.
I nod once. “Yes, Coach.”
Coach’s eyes stay hard. “And you show up Monday.”
“Yes.”
He turns to Kai.
“And you,” he says, voice sharp, “you keep your captaincy in your chest and your brotherhood in your bones, and you do not,” he lowers his voice, “put your team in the middle of your family.”
Kai’s jaw trembles. “Yes, Coach.”
Coach holds his stare for one long beat, then nods once like that’s all he’s got left to give.
“Shower,” he barks to the room. “Ice. Eat. Whatever the fuck you wanna do, but get out.”
He turns and walks away. The door swings shut behind him. And the second it does, everything rushes back in—noise, movement, oxygen.
Weston lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for an entire period.
“Okay,” he whispers. “At least our balls are still attached.”
Asher’s voice drifts from his stall, calm. “Barely.”
Kai doesn’t move. He stands there like he’s been nailed to the floor, staring at nothing.
I get up and step toward him.
“Kai,” I say, low.
When he finally looks at me, he is destroyed.
“Are you okay?” I ask, because it’s the only question I can ask that doesn’t make this worse.
Kai laughs once, sharp and humorless. “No.”
Then he breathes in slowly and shakes his head like he’s trying to recalibrate into captain again.
“Where is she?” he says.
My chest tightens. “Probably the hallway. That’s where we were supposed to meet after the game.”
Kai’s gaze snaps up. “You think she stayed?”
I nod once.
Kai’s expression shifts—pain, pride, fear all tangled.
“Of course she did,” he mutters.
And then he’s moving.
I follow.
The hallway outside the locker rooms is cooler, quieter, the kind of quiet that makes your pulse sound too loud. The arena noise is muffled here, like the building is holding its breath.
Harlow is standing by the concrete wall near a closed door that leads to the staff corridor.
Wren is beside her, hand on her back, posture protective without being possessive. I’m pretty sure she’d shred anyone who dared to even look at Harlow wrong.
Harlow’s eyes lift the second she sees us. And I hate the way my chest reacts like it’s been waiting. She’s still wearing my jersey. My number sits on her shoulders like a confession. Her face is pale, eyes too bright. But she’s standing, not hiding.
She’s here.
Kai gets to her first. He slows down right before her, like he remembers he’s trying not to hover. For one second, he just stares at her like he has to confirm she exists in one piece.
“Harlow,” he says, voice rough.
Harlow’s chin lifts slightly. “Kai.”
He swallows hard. And then he does something I don’t expect. He opens his arms. Harlow hesitates for half a second, then she steps into him. Kai’s arms close around her like a shield. Like a vow. Like a boy who once watched his younger sister disappear and refuses to ever watch it happen again.
I look away. Because that’s theirs. I can feel my own throat tightening for reasons I don’t want to name in public.
Kai’s hand spreads across Harlow’s back. He breathes her in like he’s trying to calm his own nervous system.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too low for anyone but her.
Harlow’s voice is small. “Don’t.”
Kai pulls back just enough to look at her face. His eyes are glassy. He blinks hard. Then he says, blunt and quiet, “He’s not saying that shit again.”
Harlow swallows. “Kai—”
“I mean it,” he cuts in, then softens instantly. “I mean it.”
Harlow nods once. Not agreeing. Not praising. Just…accepting that he needs to say it.
Wren clears her throat softly, like she’s giving them a moment but also reminding them the hallway is not private.
Weston appears, bounces once on his toes, and then blurts, “For the record, I would like to volunteer as tribute to hit him next time.”
Harlow’s mouth twitches faintly.
Kai’s glare slices to Weston. “Stop.”
Weston zips his lips with an exaggerated motion and holds up both hands.
Harlow’s eyes drift to me. And the second they land, my body reacts in a way that makes me feel exposed. Her gaze drops to my cheek. The swelling is already there; I can feel it. Her eyes flick back up. There’s something in them that makes my stomach flip.
Something like…mine, and she hates that I was hurt.
Kai follows her gaze. His eyes cut to my face.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re going to look great in your draft photos.”
I snort once. It’s the closest thing to a laugh I’ve had all night.
Kai looks back at Harlow, expression shifting again—captain to brother to something softer. There’s a flicker of pain in his face like he’s struggling to not be the one to take her home and make sure that she’s okay.
“Text me,” he says.
Harlow rolls her eyes faintly. “I will.”
Kai’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile. “Good.”