13. Chapter 14
Dane
The blog post has ten thousand impressions by seven in the morning.
I know because my phone won't stop buzzing. My agent. Two guys from my old team. A reporter I haven't spoken to in three years. And three texts from a number I don't recognize, all variations of the same thing: Is it true?
I set the phone face-down on the kitchen counter and drink my coffee.
I already know how this goes. I've been here before, different city, different story. The media finds a thread and they pull until something tears. They don't care. They just want the sound it makes.
The difference this time is Mara. I only care what effect it will have on her.
Bowman is waiting outside the locker room when I arrive at eight-fifteen.
No assistant. No clipboard. Just him in a gray suit with his hands in his pockets, looking like a man who practiced being calm in the mirror this morning.
"Dane." He falls into step beside me. "Walk with me."
We end up in his office, the one with the floor-to-ceiling glass and the view of the empty ice. He closes the door.
"You've seen it," he says.
"Everyone's seen it."
"The story isn't going away on its own." He picks up a printout from his desk and sets it back down without looking at it. "I need to know if what I’ve suspected between you and Mara is true."
"You need to mind your own business."
His jaw sets, just slightly. "You have a conduct clause in your contract, Dane. Two violations and I can restructure your deal. You know that."
I look at him. "You'd bench your best defensive player over a gossip blog."
"I'd protect this organization." His voice stays level. "I'd protect the coach's relationship with his team. Which right now is hanging by a thread because of you."
That's the part that lands. Not the threat. The part about Mara's father.
"So what do you want," I say.
"I want you to keep your head down. No contact with her in this building. No hallway conversations, no late nights at the rink." He straightens his cuffs. "She's being removed from conditioning. Don't make it worse for her."
I leave without answering.
Coach Ellison finds me still on the ice ten minutes after our morning practice. I’m running some extra drills because I want the locker room to clear out before I go in.
He skates over slow, and I keep running my drill because stopping feels like surrender. He plants himself at center ice and waits. I finally pull up in front of him.
"You're suspended for tomorrow's game," he says. "We’ll say it’s due to a minor injury."
"You're benching me for a blog post."
"I'm benching you for a pattern." His voice is without expression. "You've been warned twice. By me, by Bowman. And now my daughter's name is in a sports column with yours, and I have to explain that to people I've worked with for twenty years."
I don't say anything.
"You want to play on this team," he says, "you act like a professional. Full stop."
He skates off.
I’m wanting to just punch something that I know won't fix anything.
Mara finds me in the corridor off the north hall at noon.
She's walking like she's already planned an exit. Her face is controlled. The kind of controlled that means she's been holding it since she woke up.
"I've seen it," she says.
"I know."
"My phone has been ringing since."
"Mine too."
“I got another anonymous “Is it true.” text.”
“Same here. I have a feeling it McLeod but can’t prove it.”
She looks up at me. "What did Bowman say?"
"Conduct clause. No contact outside official programming." I watch her face. "What did he say to you?"
"He didn't call me." She exhales. "My father did."
The way she says it tells me everything.
"Let me go public," I say. "I'll tell them it's nothing, that the blog is wrong, that it's a misread situation. I take the heat and it goes away."
"It doesn't go away." Her voice is quiet but firm. "It just becomes a different story. 'Kincaid denies relationship with coach's daughter.' That's still a headline."
"Then I say it's real and I take responsibility for ?."
"No." She cuts me off cleanly. "I'm not a storyline, Dane. I don't want to be managed in the press. I don't want reporters deciding what my life means."
I close my mouth.
She's right. Her dignity is intact and certain, and I am watching her draw a line without raising her voice, and it is the most impressive thing I've seen in this building.
"So what do we do," I say.
She looks at the wall. "I don't know yet."
She leaves. I don't follow but I want to.
The next morning, I see Evan in the locker room.
I've been turning it over all night. The blog post. The timing. Evan's voice outside the equipment room. Yeah, I saw them go in.
He's at his stall, earbuds in, scrolling his phone. He pulls one earbud out when he sees me coming.
"Hey, man."
"Who'd you talk to."
He blinks. "What?"
"The blog." I stop in front of him. "The story dropped twelve hours after you saw us in the equipment hall. So, who'd you talk to?"
His face does something careful. The easy smile goes controlled. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're a bad liar, McLeod."
"I didn't." He stands up. "I didn't call anyone. Maybe someone else saw you two and?."
"Nobody else was there."
"Then maybe you should've been more careful." His voice shifts. Something harder underneath. "You knew the situation. You knew her dad, you knew the team, and you did it anyway. That's on you."
My hands stay loose at my sides. I keep them that way.
"You fed that story to someone," I say. "Because she didn't want you and you couldn't let it go."
The practiced smoothness slips for one second. Not guilt exactly. Just the bare fact of being seen, and not liking it.
"You don't know anything about it."
"I know you've been talking about her in this locker room. I know you've been planting things with guys on the team. I know exactly what you've been doing."
"Careful, man." His voice drops. "You sound like a guy who's in too deep and looking for someone to blame."
I take one step toward him. Just one. Then I stop.
He holds his ground, barely.
"Hey." Reeves is suddenly between us, one hand on my chest, another on Evan's shoulder. Two more guys materialize from across the room. "Dane. Walk it off."
I don't move for a long second.
Then I take a step back.
Evan shrugs Reeves off and straightens his shirt, playing it easy, playing it like he wasn't just holding his breath.
I turn to leave.
His voice catches me at the door.
Quiet. Just for me.
"She'll pick the team
over you." A pause. "Watch."
And all I can think is: he's right.