CHAPTER 2 #3
“Eight years ago, I married Aaliyah Grant. I asked her to marry me. I asked that our marriage remain private when I entered this league.”
Reporters began typing.
“She did not use me to build her career. She refused introductions, access, interviews, and information that could have benefited her professionally. She avoided covering me whenever possible.”
His eyes found mine.
“I did not make her career. I made it more difficult.”
My throat tightened.
A reporter shouted, “Why did you hide her?”
Lars looked toward the cameras.
“Because this league turns people into products. It sells violence, rivalry, sex, and scandal. I knew what it would do to her.”
Another voice called, “Were you ashamed of being married to a Black woman?”
His expression hardened.
“No.”
“Then why keep her secret?”
He gripped the sides of the podium.
“The league thought I was protecting my reputation.”
The room went silent.
“I was protecting my wife from the league.”
The sentence landed like an explosion.
Cameras flashed.
Questions erupted.
“Are you still together?”
“Why have you lived separately?”
“Did she receive information through you?”
“Did the Norsemen pressure you to conceal the marriage?”
Lars raised one hand.
The room quieted slowly.
“My wife has been called racial slurs. She has been accused of trading sex for access. Her employer suspended her before reviewing a single piece of her work. The Norsemen have not publicly defended her.”
Howard whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
Lars continued.
“Until the organization issues a public apology, condemns the racist and sexual harassment directed at her, and corrects the implication that she built her career through me, I will not play.”
Every sound vanished.
Even the cameras seemed to pause.
Then everyone began shouting at once.
Howard rushed toward the podium.
“Lars, that is not—”
Lars stepped back.
A reporter yelled, “Are you officially refusing to honor your contract?”
“Yes.”
“Effective immediately?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the team suspends you without pay?”
“Yes.”
“What if they terminate your contract?”
Lars looked directly at me.
“Then they terminate it.”
The room tilted.
Graham emerged from behind the curtain.
His face remained composed, but fury burned beneath it.
“This press conference is over.”
Lars left the podium.
Reporters surged forward.
Security moved to block them.
I stood frozen against the wall as he crossed the room toward me.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
“What they should have done.”
“You cannot stop playing because of me.”
“I did not ask permission.”
“That is a multimillion-dollar contract.”
“I know how much they pay me.”
“You could lose everything.”
He stopped in front of me.
Around us, the league was detonating.
Phones rang.
Executives shouted.
Reporters screamed questions over one another.
Lars leaned down until only I could hear him.
“I already know what it feels like to lose everything.”
My chest tightened.
His eyes moved across my face.
“You left three years ago.”
“That was not the same.”
“No,” he said. “It was worse.”
Graham’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Lars. Conference room. Now.”
Lars straightened.
I grabbed his arm.
“You need to retract it.”
“No.”
“You need to speak to your agent.”
“No.”
“You cannot burn down your career to prove a point.”
His gaze sharpened.
“This is not a point.”
“What is it?”
He looked at me as though the answer should have been obvious.
“You are my wife.”
The words hit harder in private.
I stepped back.
“And what happens when they apologize?”
“They will not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know Graham.”
My mind returned to the anonymous files.
The medical waivers.
Derek Cole.
Lars’s signature.
The hidden number.
The photographs.
A horrible possibility began forming.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“Lars.”
Before he could answer, an arena employee hurried toward us.
“A package was delivered for Ms. Grant.”
Security immediately intercepted the small padded envelope in his hands.
There was no return address.
My name was printed across the front.
AALIYAH HALVORSEN
Not Grant.
Lars took the envelope.
“Don’t touch it,” I said.
He looked at security.
“Open it.”
They carried it to a nearby table and carefully cut through the seal.
Inside was a cracked hockey helmet.
Old.
Black.
A faded Norsemen logo on the side.
A name had been written across the interior padding.
DEREK COLE.
Beneath it lay a folded note.
Security opened it.
I read the message from across the table.
ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHY DEREK NEVER PLAYED AGAIN.
Lars went completely still.
I looked at him.
“What does this mean?”
He stared at the helmet.
His injured hand began to tremble.
Barely.
But I saw it.
I had known him long enough to recognize every weakness he tried to hide.
“Lars.”
He curled his hand into a fist.
Graham appeared behind us.
For the first time since I had known him, the color had left his face.
That was when I understood.
The leaked marriage was not the scandal.
It was the distraction.
And whatever my husband had just sacrificed his career to protect me from, Graham West already knew exactly what it was.