Chapter 27 Roman
ROMAN
The photo’s been up for three hours and I’m still staring at it.
Marnie leaning back, mouth open, laughing. Rodriguez leaning toward her with that stupid grin, both of them looking relaxed and happy and intimate and suddenly I’m irrationally jealous even though I know logically that nothing happened.
I trust them both. Rodriguez texted me immediately. Marnie explained. I believe every word.
But that doesn’t stop the ugly twist in my gut every time I see it. Doesn’t stop me from noticing how good they look together, how easy, how uncomplicated.
Doesn’t stop the voice in my head whispering that maybe she’d be better off with someone whose brother didn’t kill himself, someone who doesn’t have five years of guilt and trauma weighing him down, someone who can take her to dinner without worrying about career implications.
Someone easier than me.
It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid.
But knowing doesn’t make it stop.
“You good?” Dex asks, dropping into the seat next to me on the bus.
“Fine.”
“You’ve been staring at your phone for twenty minutes. That’s not fine.”
I lock my screen. “Rodriguez told me what happened. It’s nothing.”
“Then why do you look like you want to murder something?”
Because I do. Just not Rodriguez. Not Marnie.
The anger isn’t at them—it’s at the situation. At Winters who’s definitely seen this by now and is already planning how to use it. At the internet tearing Marnie apart in the comments. At myself for feeling jealous when I have no right to be.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Just thinking.”
“About how to destroy Winters?”
I look at him. “How’d you know?”
“Because you get this expression when you’re planning something. Like you’re solving a problem.” He leans back. “Also Brody mentioned you’ve been making calls. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re doing.”
“Winters is going to use that photo. I’m making sure when he does, I have ammunition.”
“That’s very you. Turning jealousy into strategic warfare.” He grins. “It’s actually kind of healthy. Growth.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Cap. You’ve looked at that photo a hundred times since we got on this bus. You’re jealous. You’re just channeling it into something productive instead of spiraling.”
“Fuck off.”
“There he is.” Dex stands. “Go win us a game. Then go destroy Winters. In that order.”
We’re in Dallas and I play the most focused hockey I’ve played all season.
Every shift is calculated, controlled, perfectly executed. Two assists. Zero penalties. Completely locked in.
“You’re terrifying like this,” Dex says after the second goal. “What’s going on in that head?”
“Just playing hockey.”
“That’s not ‘just’ anything. That’s you in kill mode.” He glances at me. “This about the photo?”
“This is about winning.”
But he’s not wrong. I am in kill mode.
Just not about the game.
Every shift, I’m calculating. I know Winters is watching. Probably taking screenshots. Definitely building his case against her.
So I need to build mine faster. Better. Strong enough to destroy him when he makes his move.
Back at the hotel I claim shoulder soreness and lock myself in my room with my phone and laptop.
First call: former defenseman, three seasons with us, career ended at twenty-six after a hip injury.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Varga?”
“Yeah. Thanks for taking my call.”
“You’re going after Winters.” His voice is cautious. “That true?”
“Our head PT stood up to him about rushing an injured player back. He’s going to retaliate. I’m gathering evidence that his protocols are dangerous.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Your story. If you’re willing.”
He’s so quiet I think the call has dropped, when he speaks again, his voice is rough.
“You know what Winters told me when my hip wouldn’t stop hurting three weeks after the initial injury? That I was being ‘mentally weak.’ That the injury was healed and I just needed to push through the pain.”
I’m already taking notes.
“Grade two strain?”
“Yeah. And he wanted me back in three weeks for playoffs.” The bitterness bleeds through. “I trusted him. Pushed through. Made it worse. Developed a complete tear that required surgery. Been dealing with chronic pain ever since. Had to retire at twenty-six.”
“You have medical records?”
“All of it. Initial diagnosis, Winters’ clearance three weeks later, the surgery records showing the tear he said wouldn’t happen. It’s all documented.” He stops. “Your PT—the one who stood up to him—what’s her name?”
“Dr. Walker. Marnie.”
“She’s doing the right thing. Someone should’ve stopped him years ago.” His voice hardens. “You need more than just me though. One player could be coincidence. You need a pattern.”
“I know. You know anyone else?”
“Donovan. He’s coaching junior hockey in Miami now. Winters cleared him from a PCL sprain in ten days. Ten fucking days. Turned into a complete tear that ended his career at twenty-seven.”
“Can you send me his contact?”
“Yeah. And Varga? When you take Winters down, make it hurt. He’s destroyed too many careers pretending to know better than actual medicine.”
After we hang up, I stare at my notes.
Two players, both with documented negligence. Both careers ended by Winters’ ego.
But he’s right. I need more. Need it to be undeniable.
I call Donovan. He picks up immediately, like he’s been waiting.
“Varga. Heard you’re collecting war stories about that bastard Winters.”
“You willing to share yours?”
“Fuck yes.” No hesitation. “PCL sprain, grade two. Winters had me back in ten days. Said I was healed. Said I just needed to trust the process.” His voice is bitter.
“I trusted him. Played through the pain. Tore it completely. Required surgery and six months recovery that never worked right. Had to retire.”
“You file a complaint?”
“Tried. Management shut it down. Said Winters had been with the organization for over a decade and I was just a disgruntled player looking for someone to blame.” He pauses. “Why’s it different this time?”
“Because this time it’s not one player with a grudge. And the person calling him out isn’t a player—it’s another medical professional with her own documentation.”
“Your head PT.”
“Yeah.”
“She must be something special for you to be making calls at midnight.”
She is. She’s everything.
“She stood up to him when no one else would. That deserves protecting.”
“Then bury that bastard. You need anything else—testimony, records, whatever—I’m in.”
By 2 AM I have three documented cases. Three players whose careers were shortened or ended by Winters rushing them back.
It’s enough. More than enough.
But I keep going anyway.
Because fury is a better fuel than jealousy, and I’d rather spend my energy destroying the man who’s going to come after Marnie than thinking about that photo.
On the flight home Barrett drops into the seat next to mine.
“Heard you’ve been making calls,” he says.
I look up. “To who?”
“Louden called me this morning. Said you were asking about his shoulder surgery.” Barrett’s expression is neutral. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”
I consider deflecting but decide against it.
“Winters has had it out for Marnie since day one. I’m gathering evidence that his judgment is the one that should be questioned.”
“By collecting stories from former players.”
“By documenting a pattern of negligence that’s affected multiple careers.” I hold his gaze. “Three players so far. All rushed back too early. All suffered complications. All have medical records to prove Winters prioritized roster needs over their long-term health.”
Barrett’s quiet, considering everything I’ve told him. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s a documented fact. I have timelines, medical records, testimony. Everything needed to prove Winters has been doing this for years.”
“And you’re doing this because...?”
“Because Marnie stood up to him about Rodriguez’s knee and now he’s watching for an excuse to retaliate.
That photo gave him one.” I lean forward slightly.
“She’s the best physical therapist we’ve ever had.
If Winters gets her fired because she actually gives a shit about long-term player health instead of short-term wins, this organization will have proven it cares more about politics than players. ”
Barrett studies me. “You’re very invested in defending Dr. Walker.”
“She’s brilliant at her job. That should be enough.”
“But it’s more than that.” Not a question.
I meet his eyes. “Yes.”
He’s quiet for another moment, processing.
“How long?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might. If Winters tries to claim her judgment about Rodriguez was clouded by personal feelings, a timeline matters.”
“Her judgment wasn’t clouded. Rodriguez needed six to eight weeks. She documented everything. Followed every protocol. Made the right call.” My jaw clenches. “The only person whose judgment is questionable is Winters, and I have players who can prove it.”
“Roman.” Barrett’s voice drops. “If you’re going after Winters with this, you need to be absolutely certain. He’s been here fifteen years. He has relationships, institutional support. This isn’t going to be clean.”
“I’m certain. And I have everything I need.”
“Then keep me in the loop. Because when this goes down—and it will—I need to know what’s coming.” He stands. “Dr. Walker is the best thing that’s happened to our medical staff in years. If Winters wants to go after her, he’ll have to go through me too.”
After he leaves, I sit there thinking about what I’m about to do.
Winters is building his case. I’m building mine.
And somewhere in the middle, Marnie’s trying to do her job while we both prepare for war.
I pull out my phone.
Marnie
Landing soon?
Me: About an hour. Want me to come over?
Marnie
It’s late. You’re probably exhausted.
I don’t care. I want to see you.
Marnie
I want to see you too.