Chapter 9
Lennox
The article publishes on Monday morning.
I've rewritten it four times, trying to find the balance between honesty and fairness. Between exposing problems and acknowledging progress.
The headline reads: "Rebuilding the Ice: One Captain's Fight to Change Hockey Culture"
It's not what anyone expected.
I open with the original issues, the hazing, the harassment, the toxic elements that existed. But then I show the changes. The policies Carter implemented. The resistance he faces from coaches and old-guard players. The personal cost of trying to reform a system from within.
I quote his thesis. Include observations from practices. Let his teammates speak, on the record this time about how the culture has shifted.
It's fair. It's honest. It's the full story.
And I'm terrified of how people will react.
My phone starts buzzing at 6 AM. Comments flood in. Most positive, some critical, a few accusing me of being "too soft" on Carter.
One comment stands out: This is what good journalism looks like. Holding people accountable while acknowledging growth. Thank you for the nuanced take.
I screenshot it and send it to Carter: First review is in.
His response is immediate: Just read it. You're brilliant. Thank you for seeing me.
Me: I only wrote what I saw.
Carter: That's why it's brilliant. Coffee after your shift?
Me: Your place?
Carter: Always.
I spend my café shift fielding questions from customers who've read the article. Most are supportive. A few hockey fans are angry that I "went soft" on the team.
"You can't win," Isla observes. "First they hated that you were too harsh. Now they hate that you're too fair."
"Welcome to journalism."
"At least Carter's happy with it."
"Carter's biased."
"So are you." She grins. "But in a good way this time."
When my shift ends, I head straight to Carter's apartment. He opens the door before I can knock, pulling me inside and kissing me thoroughly.
"Hi," I say when we come up for air.
"Hi. I'm proud of you."
"For what?" I ask.
"For writing something that’s complicated. That's honest. That's real." He pulls me to the couch. "Most journalists would have doubled down on the original narrative or completely flipped. You did neither. You just told the truth."
"The truth is messy."
"The best truths usually are." He kisses me again, softer this time. "So what now?"
"Now we figure out if we can actually date without the secrecy."
"About that." He looks nervous. "Maya knows."
"How?"
"She called this morning, said she could 'hear it in my voice' that something changed. I caved and told her."
"And?"
"And she's thrilled. Keeps saying 'I told you so' on repeat. It's annoying." But he's smiling. "She wants to video call later to officially interrogate you."
"I can handle Maya."
"That's what I said. She laughed at me."
We spend the afternoon tangled together on his couch, talking about everything and nothing. It's easy in a way that shouldn't be possible after everything we've been through.
"Can I ask you something?" I say eventually.
"Always."
"What happens after this season? You'll get drafted, go to whatever NHL team picks you. I'll be here finishing my degree. Long distance is hard."
"So is being apart from you." He plays with my fingers. "I've been thinking about that. What if I deferred the draft a year?"
"Carter, you can't—"
"I could do a fifth year. Finish my masters in psychology. Stay here with you while you finish journalism." He meets my eyes. "I know it's early to be planning like this, but I don't want to lose you because of timing."
"That's a huge decision."
"You're a huge reason." He kisses my palm. "But it's not just you. I've been thinking about coaching. About working with athletes on mental health. The extra year would let me get more experience, build connections."
"You've really thought about this."
"I think about everything when it comes to you."
My heart does that complicated thing again. "I think about you too. Constantly. It's annoying."
"Good annoying or bad annoying?" he asking with a joke.
"The best annoying."
We're interrupted by his phone ringing. Maya's name flashes on the screen.
"Ready for the interrogation?" he asks.
"Bring it on."
He answers on video, and Maya's face fills the screen. She's in her room, surrounded by art supplies and photography equipment.
"Finally! I've been dying to talk to you both." She grins at me. "Lennox! Tell me everything. How did it happen? When? Was he a gentleman or did he—"
"Maya!" Carter's face is red.
"What? I need details!"
We spend thirty minutes talking to Maya, who's delighted about the relationship and has approximately one million questions. She's funny and sharp and clearly adores her brother.
"Okay, serious question," she says eventually. "Dad knows, right? I got a very angry voicemail this morning about Carter 'making poor choices' and 'being distracted by inappropriate relationships.'"
Carter's expression hardens. "Yeah. He knows."
"What did he say?"
"That I'm throwing away my future. That Lennox is using me. The usual."
"And what did you say?" She asks Carter.
"That I don't care what he thinks anymore."
Maya's quiet for a moment. "Good. That's really good, Carter. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks. That means more than you know."
"Just promise me something? Both of you?" She looks between us seriously. "Don't let him ruin this. He's going to try. He always tries when someone threatens his control. But you guys are good together. Don't let his bullshit break that."
After we hang up, Carter pulls me close.
"She's right. He's going to push back harder."
"Let him. We'll deal with it together."
"Together," he repeats, like he's testing the word. "I like the sound of that."
***
The next two weeks are the best of my life.
We're not hiding, but we're not broadcasting either. Just existing as a couple, figuring out how this works.
Carter comes to my dorm sometimes. I go to his apartment more often because it's private and has better coffee. We study together, though "studying" often turns into make-out sessions that derail all productivity.
"You're a terrible influence," I tell him one night when we've abandoned homework entirely in favor of sex on his kitchen counter.
"You're the one who started it." He kisses me, which makes me smile. "You were eating a banana suggestively!"
"I was just eating a banana!"
We're laughing and kissing and completely gone for each other.
His teammates notice. Some are supportive, Tyler actually apologizes for being hostile early on. Others are skeptical, worried I'm still looking for problems to expose.
"They'll come around," Carter assures me. "Once they see you're not the enemy."
"Am I not?"
"You never were. You were just asking questions they didn't want to answer." He’s always trying to make me feel better.
My friends are supportive too. Isla and Ivy love hearing about the relationship, living vicariously through my newfound happiness.
"You're disgustingly in love," Ivy observes one night. "It's adorable and nauseating."
"I'm not in love—"
"Lennox. You have his hoodie on right now. You've been smiling nonstop for two weeks. You're in love."
"Okay, maybe a little."
"Have you told him?"
"No. It's too soon."
"Is it though?" Isla asks gently. "Because from what you've told us, he's clearly in love with you too."
I think about that constantly. The way Carter looks at me. The way he touches me like I'm precious. The way he's planning his future around me.
But saying it out loud feels huge. Permanent. Terrifying.
So I keep it inside, even though I feel it constantly.