Chapter 5
Lennox
I can't stop thinking about the dinner.
About Maya's knowing looks and Carter's rare smiles and the way the three of us felt less like journalist-subject-chaperone and more like friends.
It's been three days, and I'm still processing.
"You're doing it again," Isla observes during our Tuesday morning shift.
"Doing what?"
"Staring into space with a weird expression. You've been like this since Saturday." She refills the espresso beans. "What happened at that game?"
I tell her. The whole thing. Maya's invitation, the dinner, the conversation, the feeling that something shifted.
"So you're falling for him," Isla summarizes.
"I'm not falling for him. I'm just... reassessing."
"That's what falling looks like. Trust me. I'm an expert now." She grins. "Sebastian and I started with reassessing too. Then suddenly I was in his private theater watching noir films and realizing I was completely screwed."
"This is different. Carter and I are still adversarial. We argue constantly. He's still making my job difficult." If he liked me wouldn’t he make a move or something?
"Is he though? Or is he just being cautious?"
I think about the thesis he let me read. The apartment he welcomed me into. The way he played that game, like he was trying to show me something.
"I don't know anymore. Which is the problem."
"Why is that a problem?" Isla questions, I was hoping she didn’t.
"Because I'm supposed to be objective. I'm writing a series about his team, about him. I can't do that if I'm..." I trail off.
"If you're what? Starting to like him?" Isla leans against the counter. "Lennox, liking someone doesn't mean you can't be fair. It might actually help. You'll see the full picture instead of just looking for problems."
"Or I'll be biased in the other direction. Write puff pieces that ignore legitimate issues." I can not believe I’ve put myself in this position, where I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
"So don't do that. Write the truth. All of it. The good and the bad."
She makes it sound simple. It's not. But maybe she's right. Maybe seeing Carter as a full person, complicated, flawed, trying, will make my reporting better, not worse.
My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil.
Carter: Practice observation today, 2pm. Bring warm clothes. We're doing outdoor drills.
Me: Outdoor drills in March?
Carter: Character building. See you at 2.
I show Isla the text. She laughs.
"He's still being difficult."
"See? Adversarial."
"Or playful. There's a difference." Looks like Isla is all team Carter now, so I don't have a response to that.
***
At 2 PM, I arrive at the outdoor rink behind the athletic center.
It's cold. Really cold. The kind of cold that makes your face hurt and your fingers numb within minutes.
The team is already on the ice, running drills that look brutal. Suicide sprints, one-on-ones, full-contact scrimmages.
Carter spots me and skates over to the boards.
"Hayes. Glad you could make it."
"You made it mandatory. Where else would I be?" I can think of a lot of places I could be, but I’m not saying them out loud.
"I don't know. Somewhere warm?" He's smirking. "But I appreciate your dedication to journalism."
"I appreciate your dedication to making this as uncomfortable as possible." I smirk at him, and he laughs.
"Just showing you what hockey really is. Cold, hard, demanding." He skates backward, still facing me. "If you can't handle watching it, you shouldn't write about it."
"I can handle anything you throw at me, Lynch."
"We'll see."
He rejoins the team, and I settle into the bleachers with my notebook, trying to ignore the cold seeping through my jeans.
Practice is intense. Carter pushes everyone hard, but it's different from what I expected. He's not cruel or demeaning. He corrects technique, encourages effort, pulls aside players who are struggling to give them individual attention.
It's leadership. Real leadership.
I'm taking notes when someone sits down next to me.
Tyler Morrison. Carter's right wing. The one who's been the most hostile since my article was published.
"Hey, journalist."
"Hey, hockey player."
He doesn't smile. "You know, that article of yours? It fucked with our heads."
"That wasn't my intention—"
"Wasn't it?" He leans back. "You wanted to expose problems. Mission accomplished. But you also made us question whether we're the bad guys. Made the freshmen scared to talk to us. Made everyone walk on eggshells." I don't like the way the words are coming out, his tone is not nice.
"Maybe walking on eggshells is better than perpetuating bad behavior."
"Maybe. Or maybe you made it harder for us to actually change things because now everyone's defensive.
" He stands. "Carter's trying, you know.
Really trying. He implemented all those policies you mentioned in your article.
The training, the accountability, the mental health check-ins.
He fights with the coaching staff about it constantly. "
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because he won't. Because he's too proud to defend himself to you." Tyler heads toward the ice, then stops. "Also because Maya told me you're cool and Maya's a good judge of character. So maybe give him a fair shot. That's all."
He skates away before I can respond.
I sit there, processing, watching Carter run drills that are clearly designed to build teamwork and mutual respect, not just toughness. Maybe I did miss things. Maybe I was so focused on finding problems that I couldn't see solutions.
After practice, Carter skates over again.
"Survive?"
"Barely. My fingers might have frostbite."
"That's hockey." He pulls off his helmet, and his hair is damp with sweat despite the cold. "Want to grab coffee? Debrief the observation?"
"That's not usually part of the interview protocol."
"I'm adding it to the protocol. Coffee. My treat." He's already heading to the locker room. "Meet you outside in fifteen."
I should say no. I should maintain professional distance, but the words come out before I can stop them. "Okay. Fifteen minutes."
Why is being around him feeling so comfortable now?
***
We end up at a campus coffee shop I've never been to, one of the nicer ones that I usually avoid because it's too expensive.
Carter orders without looking at the menu. "Two medium lattes and two of those lemon scones."
"You don't know what I want." I tell him, wondering how he knows what coffee I like, because I know I’ve never mentioned it to him.
"You've had the same coffee order every morning for three years. Isla told me."
"Isla is a traitor." And I will be having words with her about it.
"Isla is helpful." He pays before I can argue and leads us to a corner table. "So. Thoughts on practice?"
I pull out my notebook. "It was... different from what I expected."
"Different how?"
"More constructive. Less toxic." I flip through my notes. "Tyler talked to me. Said you've been fighting with the coaching staff about culture changes."
"Tyler talks too much."
"Is it true?"
Carter's quiet for a moment, considering. "Yeah. It's true. Coach Davis is old school. Thinks toughness means breaking people down. I think toughness means building people up. We clash."
"Why didn't you mention that in interviews?"
"Because it makes me look like I'm blaming others for problems and as captain, everything is ultimately my responsibility." He takes a sip of his latte. "If the culture is broken, that's on me to fix. Doesn't matter if the coaches are part of the problem."
I go to speck, but no words are coming out, because from all the answers he would have given me, that one wasn’t the one. He isn’t the person I thought he was, or the one he shows everyone.
"That's... actually really mature."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm just... reassessing."
"You keep saying that. What does it mean?"
I meet his eyes across the table. "It means I think I got some things wrong. In my article. Not everything. But some things."
"Which things?"
"The part where I implied you don't care about changing the culture. The part where I made it sound like you're just perpetuating your father's legacy. The part where I..." I hesitate. "The part where I reduced you to a stereotype instead of seeing you as a person."
He's very still, not breaking eye contact either. "And now?"
"Now I'm trying to do better. See the full picture. Write something fair."
"Fair would be nice." He breaks off a piece of his scone. "Can I ask you something? Off the record?"
"Depends on the question."
"Why did you really write that article? Was it just about exposing problems, or was it something more?"
I should deflect. Should keep this professional, but I'm tired of deflecting.
"It was personal. When I lost my soccer scholarship, I watched my team move on without me.
Watched them keep hazing freshmen, keep letting star players get away with harassment, keep pretending everything was fine.
And I couldn't do anything about it because I was injured, powerless, and forgotten.
" I fidget with my coffee cup. "So when I got the chance to write about sports culture, to actually have a platform.
.. I wanted to make sure what happened to me, what I witnessed, couldn't just be swept under the rug. "
"That's not about me at all."
"No. It was about the system. You just happened to be the face of it." That's not a lie, if you ask anyone on campus about hockey, his name is always the first said. Hockey and him just fit together and my way to make a point.
"That's fair." He leans forward. "But can I tell you my side? The real version?"
"Yes."
"My freshman year, I saw the hazing. Participated in some of it because I didn't know better.
Or I knew better but I was too scared to speak up.
" His voice drops. "There was this kid, Trevor.
He quit the team mid-season because the seniors made his life hell.
I knew about it. I saw it happening and I did nothing. "
"Carter—"
"That's why I pushed for policy changes when I became captain.
Not because I'm some enlightened hero. Because I'm trying to fix my own mistakes.
Make up for the times I was silent." He meets my eyes.
"You were right about the culture being broken.
You were right that people with power need to do better.
You just didn't know I agreed with you."
We sit in heavy silence.
"Why didn't you say this in the interview?"
"Because admitting I was part of the problem makes me look weak and captains can't be weak. That's what my father always said." He laughs bitterly. "Turns out toxic masculinity is hereditary."
"It's not. Because you're breaking the pattern."
"Am I? Or am I just performing change while secretly still being the same asshole?"
"You're not the same. I've seen it. Maya sees it. Your team sees it." I reach across the table, almost touching his hand, something I should not be doing. "You're allowed to be both things. Someone who made mistakes and someone who's trying to do better."
He looks at my hand, so close to his. "What are we doing, Lennox?"
"I don't know. But it feels like something."
"It feels dangerous."
We stare at each other, and the air between us is charged with possibility.
Then his phone buzzes, shattering the moment.
He checks it, and his expression changes. "Shit."
"What?"
"My father. He's coming to campus this weekend. For the big game." He runs a hand through his hair. "He wants to meet with me beforehand. 'Discuss my future.'"
"That doesn't sound good."
"It's not. He knows about the article situation and wants to micromanage how I handle it." He stands. "I should go. Need to call Maya, make sure she knows to avoid him if he's here."
"Carter, wait—"
But he's already leaving, and I'm left sitting in the coffee shop with two half-finished lattes and the feeling that I just saw something vulnerable he didn't mean to show.
I pull out my phone and text Isla: I think I'm in trouble.
Her response is immediate: What kind of trouble?
Me: The Carter Lynch kind.
Isla: Called it. What are you going to do?
Me: No idea. But I need to figure it out fast.
Because writing an objective article about someone is hard enough.
Writing one about someone you're starting to care about might be impossible.