Chapter 3
Lennox
By the time six PM rolls around, I'm running on caffeine and spite.
The morning practice observation was brutal. Not because of what I saw, which was honestly pretty standard conditioning drills, but because I had to choose between my café shift and the interview requirement.
I chose the interview. Called in sick for the first time in two years. My manager wasn't happy, my bank account will be even less happy when I see the missed wages, but I'm not giving Carter Lynch the satisfaction of thinking he can intimidate me out of this assignment.
I arrive at the rink at 5:55, early enough to choose where we'll sit but not so early that I look eager.
He's already there. Of course he is, I roll my eyes, I have a feeling he is never late for anything.
Carter's sitting in the bleachers, wearing jeans and a Thornhill hoodie again, how many of them does he own? He looks annoyingly put-together for someone who just finished a full day of classes and practice. I climb up to where he's sitting, my recorder and notebook ready.
"Hayes. Right on time."
"I'm a professional. Unlike some people who schedule mandatory observations during their interview subject's work hours."
"That was just unfortunate timing." He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "But I appreciate your dedication."
I sit down two rows in front of him, forcing him to either come down to my level or talk to my back.
He comes down, sits next to me instead of across. Close enough that I can smell his cologne, something clean and expensive that probably costs more than my monthly grocery budget.
"So." I pull out my recorder and set it between us. "Let's start with basics. Tell me about your role as captain."
"You already wrote an article about my role. I figured you had that covered."
"That article was about team culture. This is about you specifically. Your leadership style. Your goals for the team."
"My goal is to win. That's what captains do."
"Win at what cost?"
His jaw tightens. "At the cost of hard work, discipline, and teamwork. Not whatever you're implying." He keeps his voice calm, which I thought my question would have annoyed him.
"I'm not implying anything. I'm asking questions." I click my pen. "In your three years as captain, how many formal complaints have been filed against team members for misconduct?"
"I don't have access to that information."
"But you're the captain. Surely you're informed when there are issues."
"Surely you could FOIA request that information from the university instead of asking me to speculate."
We're barely five minutes in and already at an impasse. I try a different approach. "What changes have you made to team culture since becoming captain?"
"Lots. Mandatory consent and respect training. Zero-tolerance policy on hazing. Academic accountability standards. Regular check-ins with players about mental health and wellbeing."
I write this down. "And how are those policies enforced?"
"Through team rules, coaching oversight, and me personally handling violations." He knows what he’s talking about.
"Can you give me an example of a violation you've handled?"
"No. Because that would violate the privacy of my teammates."
"Even anonymously?"
"Even anonymously." He leans back. "Look, Hayes, I know what you're trying to do. You want me to give you specific incidents that you can use to show the culture is still broken. But I'm not going to throw my team under the bus to satisfy your narrative."
"My narrative is the truth. If your culture has changed, show me. Give me something concrete instead of just claiming you've made improvements."
"Fine. Last month, two freshmen reported feeling uncomfortable with how some seniors were talking to them. I immediately held a team meeting, addressed it directly, and the behavior stopped. No hazing, no retaliation, no cover-up. Just leadership."
"And if I talk to those freshmen?" I know I might be pushing this subject with him, but it’s my job too.
"You won't. Because I'm not giving you their names. They trusted me to handle it discreetly, and I'm not violating that trust for your article."
Frustrating. But also... principled. Which I wasn't expecting.
"Alright. Different question. Your father played in the NHL. Is that pressure or inspiration?"
Something flickers across his face. "Both."
"Elaborate." I push for more.
"He set high standards. I'm trying to meet them while also being different from him. Better, in some ways." There is a slight change in his voice. Have I found the trigger for him?
"What ways?"
"That's personal."
"This is an interview. Personal is the point." I quickly point out, and the way he looks at me, I know it was the wrong thing to say.
"There's personal and there's private. My relationship with my father is private."
I sit back, reassessing. He's giving me nothing useful. Every answer is either deflection or refusal. It's like trying to interview a wall.
"This isn't going to work if you won't actually answer questions."
"I am answering questions. Just not the way you want me to." He turns to face me fully. "You want me to hand you ammunition. Admit to failures, expose problems, give you quotes you can use to prove your article was right. I'm not doing that."
"Because you're hiding something?"
"Because I'm protecting my team. There's a difference."
"Is there?" This time even my voice is low.
We stare at each other, and the tension ratchets up another notch.
"Let me ask you something," he says. "Why journalism? Why investigative reporting specifically?"
"That's not relevant—"
"You're asking about my motivations, my background, my relationship with my father. Fair is fair." He's not backing down. "Why do you care so much about exposing toxic culture in athletics?"
I shouldn't answer. This isn't about me, but something in his expression, genuine curiosity mixed with challenge, makes me respond.
"Because I was an athlete once. Soccer. Full scholarship, Division I track and I saw how the culture protected bad behavior.
How coaches looked the other way when star players did questionable things.
How women on the team were expected to just deal with comments, touches, attitudes that crossed lines.
" I meet his eyes. "I lost my scholarship to injury freshman year.
Watching from the outside, I realized how much I'd normalized.
How much everyone normalizes. So now I write about it. "
He's quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, for what I have no idea, because I learnt to hide that hurt away a long time ago.
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
"I don't want your pity—"
"It's not pity. It's understanding." He runs a hand through his hair. "You're right that athletics culture can be toxic. I've seen it too. Been part of it, in ways I'm not proud of, but I'm also trying to change it and your article made that harder."
"How?"
"Because now my team is defensive instead of reflective. They're circling wagons instead of examining behavior. You wanted to start a conversation, but you started a war instead."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"That's not…I didn't mean—"
"Didn't you?" He leans forward. "You published during game week.
Used anonymous sources who couldn't be verified.
Wrote a headline designed to provoke. If you wanted reform, you could have approached me first. Asked for an interview before you published, but you didn't. You went for maximum impact. "
"Because private conversations with people in power never work. They make promises, nothing changes, and the story gets buried."
"So instead you bury people publicly?"
"I exposed the truth." My voice is loud this time, because this interview was met to make him slip, but it’s not. It’s messing with me.
"You exposed half of the truth. The parts that fit your story.
" He stands. "You want the full picture?
Fine. You're going to get it. Every practice, every meeting, every conversation.
You're going to see exactly what this team is and when you write your redemptive series, you're going to have to reconcile what you expected to find with what's actually there. "
"I'm not afraid of the truth." I snap at him, he’s not making me feel like I’m wrong.
"Neither am I." He grabs his bag. "Next interview is Thursday. Two PM. My apartment. We're going to talk about my actual philosophy on leadership and culture change, and you're going to listen instead of just looking for gotcha quotes."
"Your apartment? That's not appropriate—"
"It's private. Professional. and it has my research for my senior thesis, which is directly relevant to your story." He's already walking down the bleachers. "Unless you're afraid to be alone with me?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Good. Then I'll text you the address."
He leaves before I can argue.
I sit alone in the empty rink, my recorder still running, capturing nothing but silence.
That did not go how I expected.
***
Thursday morning, I'm still annoyed about the apartment interview.
"He's trying to control the environment," I tell Isla during our café shift. "Make me uncomfortable so I'm less effective."
"Or he wants privacy for a serious conversation," Isla suggests, refilling the pastry case. "Not everything is a power play."
"With Carter Lynch? Everything is a power play." Why is he making me so angry?
"You sound obsessed."
"I'm not obsessed. I'm professionally engaged."
"Right. Is that why you spent two hours last night googling him?" She smiles like she means something else, but she is wrong.