Chapter 14 #2
I washed the dishes aggressively, trying to scrub away the panic.
Someone knew. It was out there.
We had gotten sloppy. And now, the clock was ticking.
Max
She was lying.
I knew Imogen. I knew the way she bit her lip when she was hiding something. I knew the way she got hyper-active when she was scared.
She was scrubbing that bowl like it had personally offended her.
I sat on the couch, watching her. The carbonara sat heavy in my stomach.
Something had happened.
I pulled out my phone. I didn't check YikYak—I didn't have the app. I checked my messages.
Nothing from Coach. Nothing from my agent.
But there was a text from Jinx.
Jinx: Dude. Tell me it's not true.
My heart stopped.
Max: What?
Jinx: The photo. On Yak. You and the Princess. You look... cozy.
I closed my eyes.
Fuck.
I stood up. I walked to the kitchen island.
Imogen was drying the bowl. She wouldn't look at me.
"Show me," I said.
She froze. "Show you what?"
" The phone, Imogen. Show me what Chloe sent you."
She turned around slowly. Her face was pale. She looked terrified.
"Max, it's nothing. Just stupid gossip. It’ll blow over."
"Show me."
She handed me her phone with trembling fingers.
I looked at the photo.
It was damning. Not because of what we were doing—touching a shoulder was innocent enough—but because of the energy. You could see it. The intimacy. The secret.
"Who took this?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous.
"I don't know," she whispered. "It's anonymous."
"Sarah," I realized. "The volleyball girl. She was there."
I handed the phone back to her.
"This is bad," I said. "If Coach sees this..."
"He won't," Imogen argued. "He's old. He doesn't read YikYak."
"His assistants do. The scouts do. They look for character flaws, Imogen. And sleeping with the Dean's daughter while your performance is slipping? That’s a character flaw."
"Your performance isn't slipping!" she cried. "You played great in practice yesterday!"
"It doesn't matter!" I slammed my hand on the counter. She flinched.
I immediately regretted it. I took a breath, forcing the Warden back into control.
"It's about perception," I said quietly. "If they think I'm focused on you, they think I'm not focused on the game. And your father... if he sees this..."
"He won't do anything," she said, reaching for my hand. "We can deny it. We can say I was... picking a bug off you. We can say we're friends."
"Friends don't look at each other like that," I said, looking at the photo again.
"We can fix it," she insisted. "We just have to be more careful. No more public touches. No more Engineering lounge visits."
"Imogen," I said, looking at her. "Maybe we need to... cool it. Just until the draft."
Her face crumbled. The hurt in her eyes was instant and devastating.
"Cool it?" she whispered. "You mean break up?"
"No," I said quickly, grabbing her shoulders. "No. I mean... we really have to hide. We can't be careless. We can't let this happen again."
"I won't," she promised. "I'll be a ghost. I swear."
I pulled her into my arms. I held her tight, burying my face in her hair.
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe we could outsmart them.
But looking at that photo... looking at the evidence of my own weakness...
I knew it was only a matter of time.
The trap was set. And we had just walked right into it.
The Next Day
Imogen went to lunch with her father.
I went to practice.
The locker room was quiet when I walked in. Too quiet.
Usually, there was music. Shouting. Towel snapping.
Today, silence.
I walked to my stall. Jinx was there, tying his skates. He didn't look up.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," Jinx muttered.
I looked around. The other guys were avoiding eye contact. Miller was whispering to the backup goalie.
They had seen it. They all knew.
I sat down and started to dress. I put on the armor. Shin pads. Chest protector.
I was strapping on my leg pads when the door to the coaches' office opened.
Coach Sullivan stepped out.
"Vane," he barked. "My office. Now."
I closed my eyes for a second.
This was it.
I stood up. I walked past my teammates. I walked past Jinx, who finally looked up at me with an expression of pure pity.
I walked into the office.
Coach sat behind his desk. On his computer screen, blown up to full size, was the photo.
And next to it, an email from Dean Sterling.
Subject: Meeting Regarding Scholarship Status.
My stomach dropped to the floor.
"Sit down, Max," Coach said. His voice wasn't angry. It was disappointed. Which was worse.
I sat.
"I warned you," Coach said. "I told you to lock it down."
"It's not what it looks like," I started, the lie tasting like ash.
"Don't," Coach held up a hand. "Don't insult my intelligence. And don't insult the Dean's."
He tapped the email.
"He wants you in his office at 2:00 PM. He's bringing the conduct board."
"The conduct board?" I felt sick. "Why?"
"Because," Coach said, leaning back. "Apparently, there's a clause in your housing agreement about 'fraternization with the mentorship subject.' It’s a conflict of interest, Max. And since you're receiving financial aid based on that mentorship..."
He let the sentence hang.
"Am I kicked off the team?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Not yet," Coach said. "But the Dean is angry. He thinks you took advantage of his daughter. He thinks you manipulated her."
I laughed. It was a dark, humorless sound. "Manipulated her? She's the one who..."
I stopped. I couldn't blame her. I couldn't throw her under the bus.
"She's innocent," I said. "This is on me."
Coach looked at me. He softened, just a fraction.
"Listen to me, son. You're walking into a firing squad. The Dean holds all the cards. If you want to save your career... if you want to play in the playoffs... you have to give him what he wants."
"What does he want?" I asked.
Coach sighed.
"He wants you to cut her loose. Publicly. Permanently. He wants you to say it was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. And he wants you to move back into the dorms."
I stared at him.
Break up with her. Deny her. Leave her.
"And if I don't?"
"Then you pack your bags," Coach said. "You lose the scholarship. You lose the draft. You go home to Grafton."
The room spun.
Ambition vs. Affection.
The future I had built vs. the woman I loved.
"2:00 PM," Coach said. "Don't be late."
I walked out of the office.
I walked out of the locker room.
I walked out into the snow.
I pulled out my phone.
Imogen: Lunch was weird. He didn't show up. His secretary said he had an 'emergency meeting.' I'm coming home.
Home.
I looked at the word.
I looked at the snow falling on my boots.
I knew what I had to do.
And I knew it was going to destroy us both.