Chapter 33
JACKSON
Sofia's been in the NICU for four days when my lawyer calls with news, and I'm in the hospital cafeteria with my fourth cup of coffee in hand, exhausted from splitting time between the NICU and trying to figure out what's left of my career.
"Carson's dropping the assault charges."
"What?"
"He's dropping them. His lawyer called this morning. They're not pursuing criminal charges against you."
"Why?"
"Because three other women officially came forward.
" Papers shuffle in the background. "Two nurses from Pinewood, one from a hospital in Boston where he worked before.
All with similar stories: sexual harassment, assault, rape.
One of them has security footage, another has text messages where Carson basically admits to it. "
My grip tightens on the phone. Three more women. Three more lives he destroyed while the hospital looked the other way.
"Three more women."
"Three that we know of, could be more. The hospital's conducting a full investigation now, and Carson's been suspended without pay. And the prosecutor offered him a deal: plead guilty to sexual assault, accept prison time, or face trial with all four women testifying against him."
"He took the deal?"
"His lawyer advised it. With this much evidence, a jury would destroy him. He pleads guilty, gets five to seven years, and registers as a sex offender. It's the best outcome he's going to get."
Five to seven years. Not enough, not nearly enough for what he did to Maya, to those other women.
But it's something.
"What about Maya?" I ask. "Does she still have to testify?"
"There's a victim impact statement at sentencing; she can give one if she wants. But the criminal trial's off the table since he's pleading guilty, she won't have to face him in court unless she chooses to."
Relief floods through me, so intense my knees almost buckle. Maya won't have to sit in a courtroom and relive the worst day of her life while lawyers tear apart her testimony. She won't have to face Carson across a witness stand.
"Thank god."
"There's one condition. Maya has to agree not to pursue a civil suit against Carson or the hospital. They're apparently going to offer a settlement in exchange for her silence."
The relief evaporates. Of course, there's a condition, there always is.
"How much?"
"Half a million. Tax-free. Plus, they'll seal all records related to her case."
Half a million dollars. Enough to start over, enough to never worry about money again.
But also hush money, buying her silence.
"I need to talk to her."
"Do it soon. They want an answer by the end of the week."
I find Maya in the NICU, standing at Sofia's isolette. She's been here every day, sometimes for twelve hours straight, and Emma jokes that Maya's better at reading the monitors than half the nurses.
"Hey," I say quietly. "Can we talk?"
She turns, concern flickering across her face when she sees my expression. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I just need to talk to you about something."
She follows me to the family waiting room. Small, private, empty this time of day. I close the door behind us, and she immediately tenses, reading something in my expression.
"Carson's dropping the assault charges," I tell her. "He's taking a plea deal. Five to seven years."
The blood drains from her expression. "He's going to prison?"
"Yes. Three other women came forward; they have evidence. The prosecutor gave him a choice: plead guilty or face trial. He's pleading guilty."
"Three other women." She sits down hard on one of the chairs, like her legs won't hold her anymore. "He did this to three other women."
"That we know of, could be more."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing, and I can see her trying to wrap her mind around it. Three other women who went through what she went through, three other lives Carson destroyed.
"You're not going to jail."
The relief in her voice is palpable. "No. I'm not going to jail."
"Your career..."
"Is probably fine. Coach called yesterday, said once the legal stuff is resolved, I'm cleared to return to practice. No criminal record means I can keep playing."
"The captaincy?"
I shake my head, and it still stings even though I knew it was coming. "That's gone. But I can still play, that's more than I expected."
She touches the pendant through her clothes.
"There's something else," I say, and her hand stills on the pendant. "The hospital's offering a settlement. Half a million dollars in exchange for you agreeing not to sue them."
Her eyes widen. "Half a million?"
"Tax-free. Plus, they'll seal all the records: your name, the case, everything."
"That's hush money."
"I know."
"They're trying to buy my silence so they don't look bad."
"Probably. But it's also a lot of money."
The weight of the decision is written all over her face. Take the money and move on, or fight for something that might never bring real justice.
"Do I have to decide now?"
"End of the week. But Maya..." I crouch in front of her chair so we're eye level. "Whatever you decide, I support it. If you want to take the money, take it. If you want to fight them in court, we'll fight."
"I don't know what I want." She looks at me, vulnerability written all over her face. "What would you do?"
"I'd want to burn the whole hospital down. But I'm also not the one who has to live with the decision."
We sit in silence. From down the hall, we can hear the NICU monitors beeping, the quiet conversations of nurses and doctors, and the sound of tiny babies fighting to survive. It reminds me of how fragile everything is, how quickly life can change.
"The team wants you back?" she asks finally.
"Yeah. Coach said the suspension's lifted once the legal stuff is finalized, I can practice with the team starting next week."
"That's good. You need hockey, you've been miserable without it."
She's right. Hockey's been my identity for so long that losing it felt like losing myself.
"First practice is Monday," I say. "Want to come watch?"
"Maybe. Depends on how Sofia's doing."
She's gaining weight slowly, still on respiratory support but improving every day. The doctors are cautiously optimistic she'll go home around her due date.
We head back to the NICU together, our shoulders brushing as we walk. Emma's there with Sofia, hand through the porthole, talking to her daughter about everything and nothing. Chase is beside her, watching the monitors.
"Any changes?" Maya asks, slipping effortlessly into nurse mode.
"Oxygen sats are up," Emma says without looking away, her voice full of cautious hope. "Ninety-three percent. Dr. Stone said that's excellent for her age."
Maya checks the monitors and nods her approval. "She's doing great. Look at her, she's fighting."
I watch Maya with Sofia, explaining medical terms to Emma and Chase, reading lab results, translating doctor-speak into a language they can understand. She's in her element, this is who she's supposed to be, and seeing her like this makes me fall in love with her all over again.
I return to practice without Chase for the first time in weeks.
I wasn't supposed to be here until Monday.
That was the plan—Monday would be my first official day back, give me the weekend to settle in, get my head straight.
But when Chase mentioned the team had a late practice tonight, something pulled at me.
I wanted to surprise them. Show up when they weren't expecting it.
The rink feels like coming home. The cold air, the sound of skates on ice, the smell of sweat and equipment. All of it is familiar and grounding. Through the glass, I can see my teammates already on the ice, running drills under Coach's watchful eye. None of them knows I'm here yet.
I take my time getting my gear on, listening to the muffled sounds of practice through the wall. My hands know the routine. Laces tight, straps secure, helmet snug. When I'm finally ready, I grab my stick and push through the door to the ice.
The cold hits me first, then the sound. Blades cutting, pucks snapping, Coach's voice barking instructions. I step onto the ice, and everything goes quiet.
Just for a second. Everyone stops mid-drill, sticks frozen, heads turning. Then Marcus, the new captain, breaks away from the group and skates over, his face split in a huge grin.
"Holy shit. Anderson?" He stops hard in front of me, ice spraying. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you weren't back until Monday."
"Surprise," I say, tapping my stick against the ice.
"You're damn right it's a surprise." He laughs, then reaches out to knock his glove against my shoulder. "Welcome back, Cap. I mean, former Cap. Shit, that's weird to say."
"It's fine. Captain Marcus has a nice ring to it."
"It really doesn't." He taps his stick against mine. "Good to have you back, man. Team's not the same without you."
Before I can respond, the rest of the team swarms over. Jenkins crashes into me with zero grace, nearly taking us both down. Reeves is right behind him, grinning like an idiot. They're all talking at once, a mess of voices and ‘welcome backs’ and ‘holy shit you're here.’
"Thought you'd make us wait until Monday," Jenkins says, still hanging on my shoulder.
"Yeah, well. Got tired of sitting around."
"Bullshit," Reeves says. "You missed us."
I don't argue.
Coach blows his whistle, cutting through the noise. "Enough standing around. Anderson, you're rusty as hell. Let's see if you remember how to play."
I grin. "Let's find out."
We run drills. I'm slower than I was, out of shape from all the stress. But it comes back fast. The muscle memory, the positioning, the instincts. By the end of practice, I'm drenched in sweat and grinning like an idiot.
In the locker room, Coach pulls me aside.
"You did good out there. A little rusty, but that'll come back." He crosses his arms. "What you did, going after that doctor, was stupid. Could've cost you everything."
"I know."
"But I get it. Someone hurt someone you care about, and you wanted to make them pay. I can't fault you for that." He pauses, studying me. "Just don't do it again. This team needs you. Play hockey, not vigilante."
"Yes, Coach."
"Good. Now get out of here, your sister's got a baby to take care of, and your girlfriend probably wants to see you."
I freeze. "My girlfriend?"
"Maya. You think I'm blind? You've been swooning over her for months, the whole team knows."
"Emma doesn't."
"Then maybe tell her before she figures it out herself. Pregnant women are terrifying, postpartum women are worse."
He's right. Emma's getting suspicious—I can see it in the way she watches Maya and me together, the questions she asks, the calculating look in her eyes when we stand too close.
We were supposed to tell her before the playoffs started. But then the arrest happened, the news about Maya broke, and Emma went into early labor. In the chaos, we never found the right moment.
But it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out herself.
And when she does, I have no idea if she'll forgive us for lying to her for months.