Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“You’re late,” I say. As grateful as I am to see her, I can’t help but eye her with caution. I’m almost afraid of the news she’ll bring.
She hesitates, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. “I had to talk to one of the players.”
I tilt my head as everything inside me stills. “One of the players?”
Rina shifts, her gaze darting away before returning.
“Was it Steele? You can tell me.”
Rina opens her mouth, closes it, and then groans. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here right after my conversation with him.”
“I’ll get you a coffee,” Callie says, already rising. “Extra large.”
Rina sinks into the seat beside me and mutters, “Thanks, babe.”
My stomach clenches. “Rina, just tell me what’s going on. You know how Steele is. He wants to shield me from everything.”
“He’s going to be so pissed if I mention any of it to you,” she states, unbuttoning her coat.
I lean in, my voice low. “Please. Just tell me what’s going on. I need to know.”
She glances around before her shoulders wilt. “One of Steele’s longtime sponsors pulled out this morning. Said the optics of the photo didn’t align with their brand, and they’ve withdrawn all advertising from the arena.”
For a moment, I just blink, unable to form a single thought. “What?”
Sloane places a hand over mine while Callie returns and sets the coffee in front of Rina.
“He lost a sponsor?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
“He didn’t want you to know,” Rina says gently. “He just wants to protect you as much as he can.”
My stomach bottoms out. “What can I do to fix this?”
Rina hesitates. “I don’t think there’s a magic fix, Lilah. But… What if we did a quiet interview? One-on-one with someone we trust. A female journalist with integrity. Someone who won’t twist your words.”
It’s not even something I need to think about. As much as he wants to look out for me, I want to stand up for him just as fiercely. “I’ll do it.”
Callie squeezes my arm while Sloane passes me a napkin for the tears I didn’t realize had gathered in my eyes.
“Let’s take control of the story,” Rina says firmly. “We’ll write the ending ourselves.”
For the first time in days, I feel the smallest spark of hope.
45
STEELE
The locker room hums with post-practice energy. Guys are peeling off gear, towels are being snapped, and someone’s speaker is blasting a mix of throwback rap and classic rock. The smell of sweat and wintergreen fills the air, and the laughter that bounces off the walls feels more like a relief than routine.
For the first time all week, my mind feels calm.
Not because the noise has died down, but because I left it all on the ice.
I tug off my sweat-soaked jersey, the fabric sticking to my back like a second skin, and toss it into my locker. My muscles are fatigued in the best way.
Wrung out, sore, and spent.
But my head?
Clear.
What helps more than the adrenaline rush is the support, unspoken but solid, from the guys around me.
Earlier, Knox clapped me on the shoulder as he passed by and said, “Don’t sweat it, Cap. People love the drama. It’ll blow over in no time.”
Laiken, in his usual stoic way, stood in the corner, taping his stick. When I walked by, he looked up just long enough to say, “You’re good. We know what kind of man you are. Let the bullshit run its course.”
Their quiet confidence in me hit harder than I expected.
This team and these guys have my back.
And that means everything.
I nod at Oliver and Jaxon, who are mid-argument about whether a protein shake qualifies as lunch. River’s got his feet up, already chugging one, as if that settles it.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and push out into the hall. My phone buzzes in my pocket just as a familiar voice calls out from behind me.
“Sanderson.”
I glance up and find Hugh striding my way. The team owner is dressed to kill in a tailored navy suit that probably cost more than my first car. He’s all smooth edges and sharp confidence, but today, he looks almost pleased, which is a far cry from his expression the other morning in his office.
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Glad you came around and talked to her. I knew that was the route to take.”
My brows pull together. “Talked to who?”
“Lilah,” he says, glancing at his silver Rolex. “The interview should be starting any minute. And doing it here at the arena was a smart PR move.”
My stomach plummets. “What interview?”
Hugh’s eyes narrow. “The one Rina scheduled a couple hours ago. You didn’t talk to her about it?”
No. No, I fucking didn’t.
And I had no intention of bringing it up either.
Because she shouldn’t have to go on record to explain what’s between us to the world. Not after everything she’s already been through.