Chapter 25 #2
“Callahan.” He grinned and gave my shoulder a light punch. “Never thought I’d see you in those colors.”
“Turquoise looks good on me,” I shot back, smiling despite myself.
He chuckled, gliding backward, his breath fogging in the chilly air. “So what the hell is going on in Miami, eh? I saw the photos of your bedroom, you kinky bastard.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Fuck off, Murph.”
I shook my head, but a grudging smile tugged at my mouth. That was hockey. We could chirp each other mercilessly and still share beers after.
With a final grin, we split apart. The camaraderie evaporated the second I turned away, replaced by a clean, hard focus.
When the buzzer sounded and warmups ended, we skated off and headed back to the locker room for final prep.
Coach Murray gave his speech, and I locked in. We tightened straps, grabbed helmets, and lined up at the tunnel. Then I was back on the ice, ready to make my mark.
As I took my position, I felt a dozen gazes on me.
My former teammates, guys I’d battled beside for years, stood across the line as opponents now.
There wasn’t hostility in their eyes, but there was fire.
Competitive hunger. The kind that said they wanted to prove something against the guy who’d once been their captain.
The puck dropped, and the game snapped into motion.
I lost myself in it, my body moving on instinct as I hunted the puck. The roar of the crowd faded into noise. My focus narrowed to the ice under my skates, the angle of a stick, the shift of shoulders, the swirl of jerseys around me.
Adrenaline surged hot through my veins. This was what I lived for. The push and pull of bodies in motion. The split-second decisions that turned chaos into opportunity.
As the minutes ticked by, I found my rhythm with the Fusion. We started reading each other, anticipating routes, filling lanes, closing gaps. Toronto didn’t make it easy. The boards rattled with hits. The fans stayed loud and alive, feeding off every collision and near miss.
They came at us hard, checks edging toward nasty as they tried to rattle us. And when that didn’t work, they switched tactics. Their bench chirped about the sex dungeon photos every chance they got, tossing jabs to knock me off my game.
I took it in stride and tuned it out. Puck. Positioning. Angles. Shut down their rush. Clear the front of the net. Do the job.
Third period, in the shooting lane, I read the release a split-second early and dropped. The puck hammered off my shin pad and skittered harmlessly away. I forced my face to stay blank like it didn’t hurt like hell.
My muscles burned. My lungs screamed. I pushed anyway.
The final buzzer sounded, cementing our win. During the postgame handshakes, I traded fist bumps with the guys in red and white. They offered congratulations and plenty of good-natured ribbing, just like old times.
Back in our locker room, it was all cheers. Dex dumped water over my head, Hunter whooped right in my face, and even King was laughing as he slapped my shoulder.
“Nice game, Callahan!” King called from across the room, flashing me a grin. “Guess we’ll keep you.”
I was still riding the high as I left the locker room, freshly showered and back in my game day suit. The win still hummed under my skin, mixed with bone-deep satisfaction.
I’d done it. Proven myself on Toronto ice, in front of fans who used to cheer my name.
The arena corridor was a mess of voices and camera flashes, but I ignored it all and pushed through until I spotted my family.
“There he is, the man of the hour!” Dad crowed, hauling me into a hug. “Hell of a game, son. Hell of a game.”
Mom stepped in next, arms out. “You were magnificent.” She squeezed me tight like she could anchor me to the moment.
Dad clapped me on the back, his face split with a grin. “That block in the third period? Fantastic.”
Liam bumped knuckles with me. “Nice work, Mase. Even if you’re wearing the wrong jersey.”
I smirked. “Scoreboard says I’m wearing the right one.”
Emma, normally the loudest of the bunch, hung back with her phone clenched in her hand. Her face had gone pale, lips pressed into a thin line.
“What’s up, Em?” I asked, the victory high already slipping away at the look on her face.
She jerked her gaze up, then flicked it to Gideon, who was staring at his phone. They traded a quick look that iced my blood.
“Nothing,” she said too fast. “Great game. Really stuck it to your old team.”
Before I could push, my mother looped her arm through my father’s. “We should get going, dear. It’s a long drive home, and your dad has an early meeting tomorrow.”
“You’re not coming out to celebrate?” I tried to keep it light, but the disappointment still crept in. I hadn’t seen them in months, and breakfast had been too brief.
“Next time we’ll plan better,” my mother promised, kissing my cheek. “Maybe when we come down to Miami.”
I nodded, swallowing it. “Drive safe. Text me when you get home.”
As my parents said their goodbyes to Gideon, Emma caught my arm, her grip tight. She thrust her phone in front of me. A video was paused on Vanessa’s face.
My stomach dropped.
“What is this?” I asked under my breath.
“It’s going viral,” Emma whispered. “She did an interview with some sports gossip site before the game.”
The headline screamed at me: Hockey Star’s Ex Tells All: The Truth Behind the Sex Dungeon Scandal.
“What the hell?” I snatched her phone and hit play.
Vanessa’s voice spilled out, sweet as poison, and my palms went clammy.
“...and that designer, Lila Prescott? She’s the one who leaked those photos. For money, for attention, who knows? But she’s the one behind it all...”
Rage slammed into me, sharp and immediate. “That lying bitch,” I snarled, my hands curling into fists.
Emma’s eyes darted toward the exit. “I should go. Mom and Dad are waiting.” She squeezed my arm. “Call me later?”
I handed her phone back with a stiff nod, the win and the crowd and the lights suddenly feeling like they belonged to someone else.
As my family headed out, Gideon steered me toward an empty conference room off the main corridor. Once inside, he pulled up the video on his phone and hit play.
Vanessa looked stunning, of course—dark hair perfectly styled, makeup flawless. But there was a chill in her eyes that I’d never noticed before.
“Yes, I was shocked when I saw the photos,” she told the interviewer. “Mason was always so private when we were together. It seemed completely out of character.”
“And you were with him for how long?” the interviewer prompted.
“We were in a serious relationship for over a year,” Vanessa lied smoothly. We’d hooked up a handful of times, always casual, never exclusive.
“So these photos came as a surprise to you?”
Vanessa’s expression softened into something practiced and sad. “I did some digging after I saw them. Turns out they were leaked by this interior decorator he hired in Miami. Lila Prescott, from Samantha Grace Interiors.”
Gideon sucked in a breath. “Oh shit.”
My blood ran cold. Lila’s name. On Sports Scoop. Because of Vanessa.
“And why would she do that?” the interviewer asked, thrilled with this new information.
“Money, obviously.” Vanessa shrugged delicately. Her eyes glinted with malice, but her voice stayed saccharine. “And attention. Her business is small, struggling. What better way to get publicity than a sex scandal involving a famous athlete?”
The interview kept going, but I couldn’t listen anymore. “Turn it off,” I growled.
Gideon complied, setting his phone aside. “It gets worse. She implies Lila seduced you as part of a plan to get famous.”
“That’s fucking bullshit,” I exploded, pacing the small room. “Lila had nothing to do with those photos leaking. And the last thing she wants is to get famous.”
“I know that,” Gideon said, steady. “But the public doesn’t.”
I stopped, the reality of it slamming into me. “How did they even find Vanessa? Why would they go to her for a statement?”
Gideon glanced down at his phone and tapped the screen like he was lining up facts. “My guess? The media circus around your return, plus your ‘no comment’ stance on the photos, made them dig deeper. They saw those old Apex shots Vanessa’s been posting and reached out.”
My jaw locked. Rage and panic clawed for space in my chest. “Fuck. She just had to smear Lila on top of all the lies.”
Gideon looked sick. “I’m so sorry, Mason. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t pulled that stupid prank…”
I waved him off. “It’s not you, it’s her. She’s doing this to get back at me.” I reached for my phone, ready to call Vanessa and rip her apart.
Gideon moved faster than I expected, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t. That’s exactly what she wants. More drama, more attention. Think, Mason. If you call her angry, you validate her.”
I glared at him, but he didn’t flinch. Deep down, I knew he was right. Vanessa would record it, twist it, and somehow make things worse.
“She’s dragging Lila into this mess.” My throat went tight. “Lila, who had nothing to do with any of it.”
Gideon unlocked his phone again, his fingers flying. “You know how this works. They don’t care about the truth. They care about a juicy story.”
Heat crowded my chest until it was hard to think. I wanted to punch something. I wanted to find Vanessa and shake her until she took back every poisonous word. Mostly, I wanted to get to Lila first and pull her out of the blast zone.
“How bad is it?” I asked, forcing the question through clenched teeth.
Gideon grimaced. “It’s spreading fast. Sports blogs, gossip sites, Twitter. ESPN will probably pick it up by morning.”
“What do we do?” I hated the helpless edge in my voice. “How do we fix this?”
Gideon exhaled, his expression sharpening into PR mode. “Honestly, there’s no quick fix. The story’s out there, and people are going to run with it. Best we can do is contain it.”
“Contain it,” I echoed, incredulous. “Gideon, this could ruin Lila’s reputation. Not to mention the design company. And it’s all because of me.”
“We need to get out in front of it,” Gideon said. “You go on record, clear Lila’s name, and… declare her your girlfriend.”
I stared at him. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Think about it. It protects Lila and puts this to bed.”
“What? No.” The refusal came out sharp, immediate. “Absolutely not. Not like that.”
Gideon blinked, caught off guard by my reaction. “Why not? It makes sense. It discredits Vanessa’s claims about your relationship, takes heat off the design firm, and—”
“And it drags Lila deeper into this shitshow,” I cut in. “She hates this kind of attention, Gideon. You know that. She practically had a panic attack when I suggested posting a photo of us online.”
Gideon studied me, something like understanding dawning in his eyes. “You really care about her, don’t you? This isn’t just a casual thing.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, and the truth landed in my chest with a heavy thud. “I do.”
Gideon nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Then we’ll figure something else out.”
“I need to call her.” I patted my pockets for my phone. “I need to warn her, explain—”
“Whoa.” Gideon caught my elbow. “I get it, you want to protect her, but blindsiding her right now might not be the best move. Give it a day. See if it dies down. No point panicking her if the story fizzles.”
It felt wrong, sitting on my hands. Not warning Lila. But I trusted Gideon’s instincts. He’d steered me through more than one PR nightmare.
The thought of Lila waking up to her name plastered across gossip sites made my stomach turn. “Are you sure? I’m worried about her.”
Gideon’s expression softened. “Give me tonight to monitor it. If the heat shifts her way, we’ll reevaluate.”
I closed my eyes and forced a slow breath through my nose. Gideon was right, even if it made my skin crawl. I couldn’t afford to let my emotions drive this. Not when Lila was the one in the line of fire.
“Okay,” I said, my voice raw. “I’ll give you tonight.”
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, swearing under my breath when I saw Lila’s name on the screen.
Lila: Congrats on the win, hotshot! Wish I could’ve been there to see it!
I stared at the screen, at her easy excitement, her total unawareness of what Vanessa had just kicked loose. The worst part was knowing I’d brought this to her doorstep. My past. My mess. My inability to keep my life in order. And now Lila was going to pay the price.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to respond. In the end, I settled for a simple reply.
Me: Thanks, Lila. That means a lot. Can we talk tomorrow?