Chapter 2
Carter
My phone explodes.
Teammates. Coaches. My father. The athletic director. Everyone has an opinion, and none of them are good.
I don't read it immediately. Finish my set first, bench press, two hundred and thirty pounds, eight reps. Control the things I can control. That's what my sports psychologist always says.
Finally, I towel off and open the Tribune website.
"Beneath the Ice: Toxic Culture in Thornhill Hockey"
By Lennox Hayes
I read it once. Then again. Then a third time because I can't believe what I'm seeing.
She interviewed former players, before I was captain. She dug up the academic probation shit from my freshman year when I was stupid and desperate to fit in. She made it sound like the team is some kind of toxic wasteland where women are treated like objects and violence is encouraged.
Some of it's true. Or was true. Years ago.
But she doesn't mention any of the changes I've made. The new team policies. The mandatory consent and respect training. The zero-tolerance stance on hazing that I've enforced so strictly that half the senior class hates me for it.
She wrote the story she wanted to write. The one that makes me look like a monster.
My phone rings. My father.
I almost don't answer, but avoiding Richard Lynch never works. He just calls back and back.
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen it?" His voice is tight. Controlled. Which means he's furious.
"Just read it."
"This is unacceptable. That girl has slandered you. Slandered the program. We need to respond. Legal response."
"Dad, it's a college newspaper article—"
"It's a public accusation of misconduct. Your draft prospects are at stake. Your reputation." He's pacing. I can hear it in his voice. "I'm calling the university president. This needs to be retracted."
"It's not getting retracted. She has sources—"
"Anonymous sources. Convenient. She's a hack with an agenda, and you need to destroy her credibility before she destroys yours."
My father has two modes, disappointed silence or aggressive offense. There's no middle ground.
"I'm handling it."
"How? By doing nothing?"
"By doing the follow-up series they're requiring. By giving her full access so she can see how wrong she is." The words taste bitter, but it's the truth. "Dean Whitmore already arranged it. She has to write redemptive pieces or the paper loses funding."
"Redemptive pieces." He spits the words. "She should be fired. Blacklisted from every journalism program in the country."
"That's not how—"
"Listen to me, Carter. You're projected second, maybe third round. But if this sticks, if scouts start asking questions about team culture, about your leadership..." He pauses for effect. "You'll drop. Or disappear entirely. Is that what you want?"
No. It's not what I want, but I also don't want to be the guy who ruins a journalist's career because she told an uncomfortable truth.
Even if that truth is incomplete. Outdated. Designed to make me look bad.
"I said I'm handling it."
"Handle it better. And Carter?" His voice drops. "Your sister read the article. She has questions, thinks you’re becoming like me, I mean that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
He hangs up.
I stare at my phone, that last sentence echoing in my head.
She thinks you’re becoming like me.
Maya. My little sister. The only person in my family who actually understands me. Who knows why I study psychology, why I care about changing the team culture, why I'm not just another hockey robot.
If she thinks I'm turning into our father...I pull up her contact and call.
She answers on the third ring. "I was wondering when you'd call." No hello, straight to it with her.
"I'm not like him." I get to the point with her.
"I didn't say you were. I said I have questions." She sounds tired. She's always tired these days. "The article, Carter. Is that stuff true?"
"Some of it was true. Years ago. Before I was captain. I've been changing things—"
"But did you know about it? When it was happening?"
I close my eyes. "Yeah. I knew."
"And you didn't stop it?" Now she sounds disappointed with me.
"I was a freshman. I didn't have the power—"
"You always have power. You just have to choose to use it." She's quiet for a moment. "I'm not attacking you. I'm asking because I need to know that my big brother isn't turning into the kind of man who ignores problems because they're inconvenient."
"I'm not. I swear. I've been working to fix this shit since I became captain." I need her to believe me.
"Then tell that journalist. Show her what you're actually doing instead of just being angry that she called you out."
"She didn't call me out. She assassinated my character."
"Did she lie?"
"She told half the truth." I reply quickly.
"Then tell her the other half." Maya sighs. "Look, I know you're pissed. You have every right to be, but maybe this is an opportunity. To show everyone including yourself, that you're better than Dad's reputation. Better than the Lynch legacy."
I want to argue. I want to defend myself, my father, the family name.
But Maya's the only person who can see through my bullshit. Who knows that beneath the captain persona and the aggressive play style, I'm terrified of becoming Richard Lynch.
Cold. Controlling. Unable to see people as anything other than assets or obstacles.
"I'll try," I manage.
"That's all I'm asking." She pauses. "I'm thinking about visiting soon. Spring break maybe. Get away from home for a bit."
My stomach drops. Maya hasn't been doing well. Not since last year. Since the attempt that we don't talk about but that haunts every conversation.
"You sure that's a good idea? The drive is long—"
"I'll fly and yes, I'm sure. I need to see you. Make sure you're okay." Her voice softens. "We both need to make sure we're okay."
"Yeah. Okay. Let me know when and I'll pick you up from the airport."
"Love you, Carter."
"Love you too."
She hangs up, and I'm left sitting in the empty gym with my thoughts.
My phone buzzes. Text from Coach Davis: Team meeting, 3pm. Mandatory. We need to discuss the article.
Great. Another round of defending myself.
I shower and head to my morning classes, Psychology of Motivation and Sports Ethics, ironically. The whispers start the moment I walk across campus.
Everyone's read the article. Everyone has an opinion.
By the time I get to the athletic center for afternoon practice, I'm ready to hit something. The team is already in the locker room when I arrive. The energy is tense. Angry.
"Captain." Tyler Morrison, my right wing, looks up from tying his skates. "We read the article."
"Yeah. I figured." I say lazily.
"We need to respond. Show that bitch she can't—"
"Don't." My voice cuts through the room. "Don't call her that. And we're not responding with anything except playing our best hockey."
"She trashed us. Made us look like criminals."
"She reported on shit that happened years ago. Some of it is accurate, some of it is outdated." I drop my bag and start changing. "The best response is proving her wrong. Not by arguing, but by being better."
"So we just take it?" Another voice. Jackson, a sophomore who's been pushing boundaries all season.
"No. We fix it. Starting now." I look around the room. "Anyone here still think hazing freshmen is acceptable?"
Silence.
"Anyone think harassing women is okay? That academics don't matter because we're athletes?"
More silence.
"Then we've already started changing. The rest is just showing it." I finish lacing my skates. "Now get on the ice. We have a game Saturday and I'm not letting some article distract us from winning."
The team files out, still grumbling but focused.
Coach Davis catches me before I leave. "Good speech. But Carter, you need to handle this journalist situation carefully. The university is watching."
"I know. I'm doing the interview series."
"And?"
"And I'm going to make her see how wrong she is. Show her what this team actually is." I know she will change her mind.
"Just don't make it worse. We can't afford more bad press." He claps my shoulder. "And for what it's worth? I know what you've done for this team. The changes you've made. That article didn't reflect that."
"Thanks, Coach."
Practice is brutal. I push everyone, including myself, harder than necessary. Drills until people are gasping. Scrimmages that get physical. By the end, everyone's exhausted and focused.
Good. Focused means they're not thinking about the article.
After practice, I check my phone. Message from the athletics department with Lennox Hayes's contact information and a schedule of required interview times.
I text her before I can overthink it.
Me: Got your number from the athletics department. We need to schedule our first interview. How's tomorrow, 4pm, rink?
I'm being an asshole. Four PM is right in the middle of her café shift, I looked up her work schedule because I'm petty like that.
We exchange messages, until we arrange a time. I pocket my phone and head back to the locker room to shower.
Tyler's still there, along with a few other guys.
"So what's the plan with the journalist?" Tyler asks. "We letting her into practices?"
"Dean's orders. She gets full access." I say.
"That's bullshit. She's going to twist everything we say." Tyler moans.
"Then we don't give her anything to twist." I slam my locker closed. "We show up, we play hard, we act professional. She wants a story? We'll give her a boring one."
"And if she digs up more shit? More 'anonymous sources' with complaints?"
"Then we deal with it, but I'm not letting her intimidate us into hiding." I grab my bag. "We've got nothing to be ashamed of. Not anymore." They don't look convinced, but they nod.
I leave before anyone can argue further. Back in my apartment, off-campus, single bedroom, the kind of privacy that comes with being a senior and having family money, I collapse on the couch.
The article is still trending on the Tribune website. The comments section is a warzone.