57 - Haven
HAVEN
It didn’t break all at once. That was the strange part.
It started as noise— low-level, in the background, easy to ignore. A mention here. A headline there. A couple of phones buzzing simultaneously across the table while we were halfway through breakfast.
“Yo!” said Zack. “What the hell is this?”
He was the first one to notice. I didn’t look up right away. Something in the tone of his voice — sharp, confused, not joking for once — told me not to.
“What?” Sebastian said, leaning over.
Zack turned his phone around.
“Sentinel goalie’s under review,” he read. “League investigating ‘irregular play patterns.’” He blinked. “What the hell is an ‘irregular play pattern?’”
“That’s you,” joked Asher. “Every time you’re out on the ice.”
My stomach dropped. Not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice.
But on the inside, my belly was in knots.
“Give me that,” Ares said, stepping in.
He took the phone. Read it once, then twice.
His jaw flexed, and he looked toward me.
“It’s nothing,” someone said from the other end of the kitchen.
“Yeah, just more media bullshit,” added another.
But it wasn’t. We all knew it wasn’t.
Because then another phone lit up, then another, and another.
“… no way,” Caleb muttered.
“Dude — there’s clips,” Dorian said, already scrolling. “Like… actual clips.”
That’s when I stood. I couldn’t help it.
“Show me.”
It came out steadier than I felt. Dorian handed me his phone without hesitation. It played out, across the screen. Clip after clip. Angles from different games. Different nights. Same result.
Sutherland—
Hesitating. Overcommitting. Telegraphing his moves.
Letting in goals he could’ve easily stopped.
Not once, not twice. A clear, damning pattern. Impossible to explain away.
“Oh, that’s bad,” Sebastian said quietly.
Ares didn’t say anything. Grayson kept on eating his toast.
“They’re saying it might be tied to betting,” Caleb added, reading from somewhere over my shoulder. “Like — internal stuff. League’s involved.”
“Holy shit,” Zack muttered.
The room buzzed with gossip after that. Semi-chaotic bits and pieces pulled from different feeds.
“They’re pulling him,” Asher said. “Effective immediately.”
“What?” Zack blinked. “Like— done done?”
“Pending investigation,” Asher clarified. “But yeah. He’s out.”
Silence followed, broken only by low chatter. I handed Dorian’s phone back to him carefully, like it might burn me if I held it too long.
“That’s why,” Grayson said.
Everyone turned.
“That’s why he was off.”
Ares exhaled slowly. Sebastian twisted in his seat.
Grayson finally turned his attention my way. His eyes were sharp, but not accusatory. Almost like he was searching.
The others noticed, right away. They followed his gaze.
“You saw something,” Zack said.
My heartbeat picked up a little.
This was it. The moment I’d been holding off.
The one I knew was coming.
“I didn’t just see it,” I said quietly.
The room stilled. Even Zack.
“I put it together,” I went on. “The patterns. The games. The timing.”
I looked to Grayson. He didn’t interrupt.
“And then?” Ares asked.
I swallowed. Then told the truth.
“I sent it to him.”
Silence swept over the kitchen. Complete and total.
“You what?” Zack breathed.
“I sent him a compilation,” I said. “All of it. Every missed save that didn’t make sense. Every game where it didn’t add up.”
Sebastian blinked.
“Before the game?”
I nodded.
“That’s why,” I said. “That’s why he fell apart.”
No one spoke. No one even moved.
Then—
Ares let out a low whistle.
“Jesus, Maxwell…”
“That’s…” Sebastian started, then stopped. “That’s actually insane.”
Zack looked between all of us. “Wait— so you basically broke their goalie before puck drop?”
“I didn’t break him,” I said quietly. “He broke himself.”
Grayson was still looking at me, but now there was something else in his eyes. Not anger. Not even surprise.
More like understanding.
“You gave him a choice,” he said.
“What?”
“You didn’t expose him,” Grayson went on. “Not then. Not publicly.”
He paused for a moment.
“You showed him what he had to do.”
“I think he already knew,” I nodded. “He had to.”
“Yeah,” Ares muttered. “But you made sure he couldn’t ignore it.”
“No,” I agreed. “I guess not. But you know what?”
For some reason I thought about the first time I’d walked into the kitchen, and no one would even look at me.
Right now, I had everyone’s attention.
“I couldn’t ignore what they did to you.”
Anger swelled. The same anger that made me want to send Sutherland his own footage.
“He stole from you,” I said icily. “Games. Victories. Time. All that practice you put in, all your hard work. Thrown away for his own fucking greed.”
I shook my head. My mouth twisted with barely-controlled rage.
“No,” I said again. “I couldn’t let that slide.”
Phones buzzed again. This time I pulled out my own and clicked on the news alert.
There was footage now.
Sutherland.
Walking out of an arena.
His head was down, his shoulders tight. Reporters were following him, asking questions he wasn’t answering.
He looked… smaller. So much more insignificant.
My chest tightened a little, as he walked through a crowd that no longer cared about him.
For a moment, I didn’t see a villain. I saw a guy who made a choice.
A bad one. A selfish one. One that cost a lot of people something they didn’t deserve to lose.
People I loved.
“Holy shit,” muttered Asher. “He’s done.”
They were all watching, all staring into their own phones. It had all happened so fast.
On the screen, Sutherland paused — just for a moment. Like he could feel something behind him.
Then he kept walking.
And this time—
He didn’t look back.