CHAPTER 12
POSSESSION
ALEX
Robert Carter called me to his office after midnight and ordered me to stay away from his daughter.
The instruction would have been more effective if Olivia had not been standing beside his desk, staring at both of us as though she was deciding which man to set on fire first.
Richard Parker was gone.
According to Robert, he had left through the private stairwell before security arrived. According to Olivia, Robert had allowed him to leave because arresting him inside the owner’s suite would expose whatever the two men were still hiding.
I believed Olivia.
Robert placed both hands on the desk. “You concealed evidence from the development camp.”
“I did not.”
“Richard played a recording.”
“I know. Olivia sent it to me.”
His gaze snapped toward her. “You sent him confidential material?”
“It is my mother’s voice.”
“It concerns the organization.”
“It concerns her death.”
The room went silent.
Robert’s office overlooked the dark arena. Championship photographs lined the walls. My face appeared in more than one—young, bleeding, holding trophies that had made Robert richer.
I had spent a decade mistaking employment for belonging.
“What file did Eleanor give me?” I asked.
Robert’s expression hardened. “You tell me.”
“I was eighteen. I received equipment schedules, scholarship papers, and a termination packet after Evan collapsed. If something else was hidden inside, I never saw it.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I do not care what you believe.”
Olivia stepped between our lines of sight. “Stop using him as the easiest place to put your guilt.”
Her defense hit me with unwanted force.
Robert noticed.
“He has already admitted to tracking you,” he said. “Do not confuse obsession with loyalty.”
“I am not confused about what he did.”
“Then why is he still here?”
The question belonged to Olivia, but Robert looked at me.
I wanted her answer too much.
She refused to give either of us the satisfaction.
“He is here because Richard named him, because Ben is threatened, and because he has evidence we need.”
“Not because you trust him.”
“Trust is not a switch.”
Robert’s jaw tightened. “You sound like your mother.”
“Perhaps she was right more often than you admit.”
Pain crossed his face before control covered it.
He opened a locked drawer and removed a small brass key.
“Eleanor kept a private box at the old development rink,” he said. “After her death, it was empty.”
“Who opened it?” Olivia asked.
“I did.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did Richard know about it?”
“Eventually.”
I studied the key. “Why tell us now?”
“Because if Eleanor hid a file in something given to you, she may have expected you to return it there.”
“I did not.”
“Then someone else did.”
Olivia took the key.
Robert looked at me. “You will not accompany her.”
She slipped it into her pocket. “I decide that.”
His voice softened, which made the control more dangerous. “Liv, he is not safe.”
“No,” she said. “But neither are you.”
She left the office.
I followed after one look at Robert.
He did not try to stop me.
In the corridor, Olivia walked quickly enough that her heels struck hard against the polished floor.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“Not that question right now.”
“Then tell me what I should ask.”
She stopped near the empty owner’s elevator.
“Ask why Richard was able to stand three feet from me after threatening my life while my father protected the organization.”
“Why?”
“Because Robert still thinks he can manage this privately.”
“You want to expose him.”
“I want the truth.”
“Those may become the same thing.”
“I know.”
Her expression broke for half a second. The burden of choosing between family and truth settled visibly across her shoulders.
I reached toward her, then stopped.
She noticed.
“I am angry with you,” she said.
“I know.”
“And I am tired of that phrase.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I would prefer not to want comfort from the man who violated my privacy.”
The honesty cut both ways.
“You can want it and refuse it,” I said.
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I dislike it too.”
A small laugh escaped her.
Then the elevator opened and a man in a navy suit stepped out.
Thomas Reed, a sports attorney who represented several Titans sponsors. I knew him because he had attended two team dinners and spent both speaking to Olivia as if the rest of the table did not exist.
His face brightened when he saw her.
“Olivia. I heard you were back.”
He kissed her cheek.
Every controlled thought inside me stopped.
Olivia glanced at me.
She saw it.
Thomas did not.
“I have been trying to reach you,” he continued. “Your father asked me to review the sponsorship clauses.”
“My father asks many people to contact me instead of doing it himself.”
“Dinner tomorrow? We can discuss strategy without the entire board listening.”
“No,” I said.
Both of them looked at me.
Olivia’s eyes sharpened. “Excuse me?”
Thomas finally registered who I was. “Captain Morgan.”
“Reed.”
Olivia turned fully toward me. “Why did you answer?”
Because his mouth had touched her skin. Because he looked at her with the confidence of a man who believed access could be inherited from her father. Because I had spent three years imagining every person she might choose and hating them for receiving what I denied myself.
None of those answers belonged in public.
“I thought the schedule was restricted,” I said.
“That is a security concern, not an answer to a dinner invitation.”
Thomas raised both hands. “I seem to have interrupted something.”
“You did,” I said.
“No, he did not,” Olivia replied. “Good night, Thomas.”
He left with enough curiosity to become dangerous later.
The elevator doors closed.
Olivia pressed the stop button before it moved.
“What was that?”
“He works for Robert.”
“So do you.”
“Not in the same way.”
“He asked me to dinner.”
“I heard.”
“And you answered for me.”
“Yes.”
Her anger rose visibly. “After everything we discussed, you still believe wanting me gives you authority.”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
“I was jealous.”
The blunt truth interrupted her momentum.
“That is not permission,” she said.
“No.”
“Stop agreeing and doing the same thing.”
“I am trying.”
“Try faster.”
The demand pushed against every instinct to defend myself.
I pressed the button, opening the doors again.
“You are free to have dinner with him.”
“I do not want dinner with him.”
Relief arrived too fast.
She saw that too.
“But,” she continued, “I need you to understand that my refusal belongs to me, not you.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“No,” I said. “But I will act like I do until I learn.”
Her expression changed.
It was not forgiveness. Something more dangerous: belief that change might be possible.
The next morning, I returned to practice with jealousy still sitting beneath my ribs like a live blade.
Thomas Reed had not done anything wrong. That made hating him less satisfying.
Coach Davis ran faceoff drills while reporters gathered behind the upper glass. Every camera wanted evidence that the suspension had changed me or failed to. I won twelve of fourteen draws and said nothing when Adam celebrated the two he stole.
“Are we allowed to discuss the attorney?” Daniel asked during a water break.
“No.”
“Then I will discuss a hypothetical man with excellent hair who asks a hypothetical woman to dinner.”
I looked at him.
He raised both hands. “Silence is a response.”
Luke tightened the strap on his glove. “You answered for her.”
“I know.”
“Badly,” Noah said from the crease.
“I know.”
Adam skated closer. “Did she hit you?”
“No.”
“Would that help?”
“Go run stairs.”
Coach Davis blew the whistle. “Morgan, if you are assigning punishment, make it useful. Wilson, twenty sprints. Brooks, join him for enjoying this.”
Daniel looked betrayed. “Leadership has consequences.”
The team returned to drills. I forced my attention onto the puck, the angle of Daniel’s stick, the weakness in Adam’s defensive turn. Hockey demanded presence. That was why I loved it. For seconds at a time, nothing existed except the next decision.
After practice, Mark stopped me near the bench.
“Your restraint against Detroit mattered,” he said.
“I still wanted to break Mercer’s mouth.”
“Growth is not the absence of the impulse.”
“You all truly attended the seminar.”
He ignored that. “Robert asked me to remove you as captain if the relationship rumors escalate.”
My body went cold. “What did you say?”
“That captaincy is a hockey decision.”
“He owns the team.”
“I coach it.”
The distinction carried risk for him.
“Thank you,” I said.
Mark looked almost uncomfortable. “Do not make me regret it.”
The team motto again.
In the locker room, I found a plain envelope inside my stall. No stamp. No name.
The photograph inside showed Olivia and Thomas Reed at a charity dinner four years earlier. Thomas’s hand rested at the back of her chair. Olivia was laughing.
On the back:
YOU CANNOT PROTECT WHAT DOES NOT CHOOSE YOU.
Parker understood jealousy because it made intelligent men volunteer their weaknesses.
I photographed the envelope and sent it to Noah, then placed the original in evidence. I did not confront Thomas. I did not ask Olivia about the dinner. The choices felt unnatural enough to count as training.
Daniel watched from the next stall. “That looked painful.”
“It was paper.”
“I meant not reacting.”
I closed the locker. “He wants me to interfere.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Not yet.”
Honesty was becoming inconvenient in new ways.
Ben met me for lunch in a quiet room near the training facility. He carried a notebook filled with dates from Evan’s case.
“Parker contacted three former camp players,” he said. “Mercer, a goalie named Ryan Cole, and Daniel’s former junior teammate.”
“Why Daniel’s teammate?”
“He may have helped move medical data into betting accounts.”
The conspiracy widened around the team.
Ben pushed the notebook toward me. “I want to interview him.”
“No.”
His face closed.
I heard Olivia’s voice before she needed to be present.
I corrected myself. “I think it is dangerous. What safety measures would make it acceptable?”
Ben blinked.