6. Levi
While the game is in full swing, I find myself confined to the security office, unable to focus on anything except the photographs that the obnoxious photographer took the previous night—pictures of Dover with the blond guy.
The images are spread out on the laptop in front of me, and each one makes my blood boil a little more.
I want to punch something—no, more than that, I wish I’d actually punched the photographer when I’d had the opportunity.
The urge is almost overwhelming, but all I can do now is clench my fists and glare at the evidence of someone else’s invasion of privacy.
Meanwhile, social media is already ablaze.
Comments are pouring in from every direction, some supporting Dover, others condemning him, all centered around speculation about his sexuality.
It’s infuriating to watch strangers dissect his private life as if it’s some kind of public spectacle.
Why the hell do these people think they have the right to pass judgment on someone else’s personal choices?
The arrogance and ignorance on display are enough to make my temper flare dangerously close to the boiling point with every new comment I read.
I can’t help but worry about how Dover will react once he finds out about all this.
Will he be devastated, angry, or just resigned to the fact that something like this was bound to happen eventually?
Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he just shrugged it off.
Off the ice, Dover tends to be incredibly laid back, almost unflappable in the face of drama or gossip.
But when he’s on the ice, he transforms into a different person—fiercely competitive, intensely focused, and unwilling to let anything distract him from the game.
I wonder which side of him will emerge in response to this mess.
A thought suddenly crosses my mind—it strikes me as rather convenient, perhaps even suspicious, that a photographer just happened to be present at the exact moment when Dover and the other guy were out back together. It’s almost as if the timing was too perfect to be a mere coincidence.
As I mull this over, another possibility occurs to me—what if the blond guy orchestrated the entire situation to set Dover up?
The idea that this could have been a deliberate act makes my blood boil.
If it turns out that the blond guy did, in fact, set Dover up, I swear I won’t let it go unpunished.
I’ll make sure that asshole pays for what he’s done.
No one gets away with messing with a Viking player, especially not the one I’m completely obsessed with.
My loyalty and protectiveness won’t allow it.
This raises the important issue of what I’m going to do about Dover.
I’m constantly thinking about him, and I’m absolutely sure I feel something for him.
It’s equally clear to me that he is feeling it for me and wants to be with me as well.
But my conscience has been holding me back, stopping me from doing what I really want to do because of the huge twelve-year age difference.
This age gap has been weighing heavily on my mind and has been a source of internal conflict.
At this point, I have to ask myself if I still care about that difference.
I’m tempted to say that it doesn’t matter anymore, that I’m ready to move beyond it and follow my heart.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not totally sure that I’ve gotten to that point yet.
There is still a part of me that hesitates, unsure if I’m ready to ignore the concerns that have held me back for so long.
“Okay,” Rosie says, her voice snapping me out of my thoughts and anchoring me firmly in the present moment.
She pulls up a chair and sits down right next to me, her concern evident in the way she leans in.
“What is really going on with you, Levi? I’m worried about you.
You can’t afford to be this distracted right now.
” The gentle, caring expression on her face is enough to break down my defenses, making it impossible for me to keep pretending that everything is fine.
I hesitate for a moment, then finally admit, “The guy who was in your group last night—”
Rosie’s eyes widen in recognition. “Oh!”
But I hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “Let me finish,” I say softly, and as I speak, I reach out and give her wrist a gentle squeeze, hoping to reassure her as much as myself. “I think he may have been the one who set Dover up with the photographer.”
She frowns, confusion flickering across her face. “What photographer?”
I grimace, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach as I recall the details.
“Dover and that guy slipped out of the bar through the back entrance. I decided to leave through the front doors, but as I was walking out, I saw a man with a really expensive-looking camera sprinting out of the alley. He was being chased—first by Dover, then by the guy who was with him.”
Rosie’s expression softens as she pieces it together. “You mean Graham—the guy who was with Dover last night.” She pauses, considering. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Dover was all that interested in him. I think he was just trying to be polite, nothing more.”
“I figured that out,” I say, offering a wry smile that lingers on my lips.
“But what I can’t understand is how a photographer ended up in the alley at just the right moment.
I left immediately after Dover did, and I didn’t see anyone else head out the back, which tells me the photographer must have already been waiting outside.
That kind of timing isn’t a coincidence—someone must have tipped him off about what was going to happen and when. ”
“Do you know the name of the photographer?” she asks, her tone curious but measured.
“Lucas Taylor,” I reply, recalling the name I’d found five minutes before.
“Let me find out Graham’s full name and see if I can connect the two of them somehow.
It shouldn’t be too difficult to track down any links between them, especially if they’ve worked together before or have mutual contacts.
” Rosie stands up from her seat, her posture alert as she hovers nearby, clearly ready to get started on her investigation.
I shift the conversation, asking, “How’s the game going?” My question is casual, but I’m genuinely interested in the score.
She glances at her phone before responding, “I don’t know. It’s still the first period, so there’s not much to report yet.” Her voice carries a hint of impatience, as if she’s eager for both the game and her search for information to progress.