Chapter 21 IVY #2
"Have you issued a statement? Anything to defend yourself?"
I sink onto her couch, pulling a throw blanket around my shoulders even though I'm not cold.
"With what evidence? My word against footage that looks real enough to convince millions of people? I can't fight this. Not without Declan," I whimper.
"He still hasn't called?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"That bastard." Her voice is low, dangerous. "When I see Declan Hawthorne, I'm going to personally castrate him with a rusty spoon after I key his Mercedes. Maybe set his penthouse on fire."
"Sloane..."
"I'm serious. What kind of man says he loves you and then disappears the second things get hard?" She's pacing now, gesturing wildly. "You gave him your trust, your body, even your career. And he ends up ghosting you?"
"Maybe he realized I wasn't worth the trouble."
"Don't minimize what he did," she says, wagging a finger at me. "He abandoned you when you needed him most. That's not love. It's not even basic human decency."
My shoulders slump. I blink away tears. Declan abandoned me after everything we shared.
My phone buzzes. For a second, I think it might be him. That he'll have an explanation that makes this hurt less. But it’s not.
King:
I saw the video. I know you're going through hell right now. Want to talk?
Warmth floods my chest. At least someone cares.
"I need to take this," I say, retreating to Sloane's bedroom before she can ask questions I don't want to answer.
Closing the door, I sit on the edge of the bed. Then I type, pouring everything about.
King responds. His messages are steady and supportive, reminding me that the video is obviously edited and that I'm a brilliant researcher who won't be defined by this scandal.
King:
You're stronger than this. The truth always comes out eventually.
Ivy:
What if eventually is too late? What if my career is over before the truth matters?
King:
Then you rebuild. You're Dr. Ivy Chandler. You earned your doctorate at twenty-six. You revolutionized concussion assessment protocols. One scandal doesn't erase that.
Tears fill my eyes. I pull in a raged breath as the screen blurs.
King sees me in a way Declan never did.
We text back and forth for over an hour, his words a lifeline in this drowning chaos. He doesn't offer empty platitudes or tell me everything will be fine. He acknowledges the reality of how bad this is while reminding me I'm capable of surviving it.
When we finally say goodnight, I feel I can survive all this. There are people who believe in me, and that's enough.
I return to the living room to find Sloane at her laptop, her expression grim.
"You need to see this."
"No, I don't."
"You need to see this," she repeats, turning the screen toward me.
My face fills the display. The headline reads:
“Disgraced Researcher's Connection to Hockey Star: A Timeline of Deception”
The article is comprehensive, showing my relationship with Declan, Marcus's attempts to protect his sister from making career-ending mistakes, and building speculation about other players.
There are quotes from anonymous sources, implying that my entire research project was designed to get close to players and suggesting that I falsified data from the beginning.
It's a character assassination disguised as journalism. A quote buried in the fifth paragraph makes my blood run cold:
"Mr. Hawthorne declined to comment on his relationship with Dr. Chandler, stating only that he wishes her well in her future endeavors."
Future endeavors. Like he didn't spend nights tangled together with me, getting to know my body intimately.
The laptop screen blurs. My breathing goes shallow. Somewhere distant, I hear Sloane saying my name, but the words don't penetrate the ringing in my ears. He wished me well and moved on after saying he loved me.
"Ivy?" Sloane's hands are on my shoulders. "Breathe. Come on, babe, breathe."
I am breathing too fast and too shallow. My chest is tight, my vision tunneling. It's a panic attack.
Sloane guides me to the couch, pushing my head between my knees and talking me through breathing exercises until the world stops spinning.
"I'm okay," I finally manage.
"You're not okay, and that's fine."
She sits beside me and pulls me to her side with a hug. She takes me to the bedroom and talks to me until I fall asleep.
The next few days blur together in a haze of news alerts and legal consultations.
Dr. O'Connell emails daily updates on the ethics investigation.
They're reviewing evidence. I should prepare for a hearing in three weeks.
My landlord emails an eviction notice citing the media disruption.
My parents call exactly once, my mother's voice tight with disappointment and my father's questions distant. Marcus doesn't call at all.
But King's supportive texts are there every night when everyone else has disappeared.
I wish I chose him instead of Declan.
On the fourth day of hiding at Sloane's, the house feels so suffocating that I venture out for coffee wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. I find a small shop six blocks away, order a latte, and tuck myself into a corner booth.
I'm halfway through my drink when Evangeline Ashford sits down across from me. She's as polished as I remember, with designer clothes and perfectly styled platinum blonde hair.
"May I join you, Dr. Chandler?" she says in a cultured voice.
"You already have."
She signals the barista for coffee, then turns her full attention to me.
"I won't take much of your time. I just wanted to warn you."
My stomach clenches. "Warn me about what?"
"Gregory Stallworth, Declan's agent. He's the man orchestrating your destruction.
" She says it matter-of-factly, like she's discussing weather patterns instead of my imploding career.
"The ethics complaint, the photos, the edited video; that's all Gregory.
He did the same thing to me last year when I tried to date someone my father disapproved of.
He fabricated evidence of infidelity and leaked it to the press, destroying my relationship before it could threaten his control over Daddy's political influence. "
Distressed, I start rubbing my temple. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I see myself in you. You're a brilliant woman falling for someone in Gregory's orbit." She sighs. "I couldn't save myself. My father's too powerful, and Gregory is too embedded in our lives. But you might be able to save yourself now that you know your enemy."
Thoughts churn in my head at her words.
"If Gregory did this, then Declan knew. He was a part of this?" The last sentence came out in a low, distressed whisper.
She shakes her head firmly.
"Declan's a lot of things, but he's not cruel.
Gregory is. And he'll destroy anyone who might make Declan choose something other than hockey and the empire Gregory's built around him.
" She stands, leaving cash on the table for her untouched coffee.
"Save yourself, Dr. Chandler. Stay away from Declan Hawthorne before Gregory finds new ways to destroy you. Some men aren't worth the cost."
She leaves.
I sit there for a long time trying to make sense of everything that has happened and plan for my future. Eventually, the barista gives me subtle signals that I've overstayed my welcome, and I go back to Sloane's apartment.
I need to save my career. First, I need to collect my research materials from the office. They represent two years of work. I can't let them disappear into storage.
On Friday morning, I drive to the Raptors training complex for what I hope isn't the last time. The security guard recognizes me. His smile disappears, and he looks away.
"Dr. Chandler. I'm not sure you're supposed to be here."
"I just need to get my research materials. Five minutes. I'll be in and out."
He hesitates, then waves me through. "Make it quick."
The facility feels hostile as I pass players in the hallway. Connor makes eye contact, then looks away. Tyler offers an awkward nod.
My office is exactly as I left it. Research materials are organized on shelves. My coffee mug is still sitting on the desk with an old ring of dried liquid at the bottom.
I start packing methodically, boxing up drives, notebooks, and equipment that represent countless hours of work. Everything fits into three boxes.
I'm sealing the last box with packing tape when I hear multiple voices down the hallway, including one that makes my heart stutter even though I know better.
Declan.
My body moves before my brain can stop it, drawn toward his voice like a compass finding north. I follow the sound of the moving voice until I get to the training room. Declan is in there talking to Coach Petrov about game strategy.
Coach's phone rings and he walks out of the training room and toward his office. Luckily, he's so engrossed in arguing with the other person on the line that he doesn't see me.
I should leave now. I turn away. Time to grab my boxes and go before...
"Ivy."
Declan's voice comes from right behind me. I spin around. His eyebrows are raised in surprise, guilt written all over his face.
"What are you doing here?"
I chuckle bitterly and step back, needing space to breathe.
"Of course, you'd ask that because I no longer work here. It doesn't matter to you that my career has been destroyed since yours is fine."
"Ivy... I can explain."
"Explain what?" I glare, channeling hurt into anger because fury is safer than heartbreak. "How you disappeared when I needed you most? How you went from saying you love me to wishing me well in my future endeavors in the press? How you let them destroy me while you stayed silent?"
He opens his mouth then closes it without saying a word. He runs a hand through his hair, face tensing in frustration.
"I was trying to protect you."
A bitter laugh escapes my lips.
"By abandoning me? You decided I wasn't worth the fight and walked away, Declan. At least have the balls to admit it instead of giving excuses."
He steps closer, jaw tight. There are dark circles under his eyes. He goes into a long monologue about losing his phone and all he did before getting it back a few days back.
Everything he says is about him. Only him.
"Gregory had my phone for days. I had to stay away from you, so he wouldn't keep destroying your career," he concludes.
"Well, guess what? He did. And you didn't bother to fight back to warn me," I snap.
"I was buying time to build a case against him."
"You were buying time while my life crumbled to dust because you still have your team and your comfortable penthouse where you can hide from consequences." Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "I have nothing. And you helped take everything from me by doing nothing."
He stretches his hand toward me. I step back.
"Ivy, please..."
I square my shoulder, swipe at my eyes angrily.
"We're done." I force the next words to come out of my mouth. "Whatever this was, practice or real, it's over. I want you gone from my life."
"Ivy, don't do this." His voice is filled with pain.
But I'm already going toward my office. Something crashes on the wall, followed by a frustrated shout from Declan. But I keep walking, then grab my boxes and leave through the side entrance where fewer people will see me crying.
I drive back to Sloane's apartment in a daze, my vision blurring with tears I can't seem to stop. By the time I pull into her building's garage, I'm sobbing so hard I can barely breathe. She finds me there later, still sitting in my car, surrounded by boxes that represent everything I've lost.
"Oh, babe." She pulls me out of the car and into her arms as I completely break. "I've got you."
But she hasn't. She doesn't even understand the magnitude of what has happened to me.
Nobody does.