Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“He was still breathing when they walked away,” she says. “They just assumed he’d sleep it off.”
Gentry aspirated overnight. His body was found by a rink employee the next morning.
Initial investigations stalled due to a wall of silence from the team. But prosecutors were later able to press charges after two key witnesses came forward. The identities of those witnesses were protected to prevent harassment or intimidation, but according to my sources, their testimony was critical in securing plea deals for two players and junior hockey bans for others.
Mila says she had dated Gentry briefly and overheard her own brother discussing the incident the night it happened. When she told her parents, they urged her to stay quiet.
“They called it stupid boy fun. They told me it was a tragic accident. But I knew better,” she says. “I knew they left him to die.”
Another teammate, unnamed in this story, also testified. According to Mila, he’d gone to the police first, quietly, but the case didn’t progress until she corroborated the story.
“He was brave,” she says. “He did the right thing before anyone else. But the team turned on him. Just like my family turned on me.”
Today, Mila lives out of state and works remotely. She has been terrorized by threats purporting to cause her harm—emails, messages, voicemails from burner numbers.
“I don’t know who’s behind it but it’s clear they want revenge,” Brennan said. “I live in constant fear.”
When asked why she chose to speak out now, she admitted it was for her own protection. “Because if something happens to me, I want people to know why.”
A spokesperson for the Wraiths declined to comment, as did the league.
The words blur.
Not because they’re poorly printed. Because I stopped breathing somewhere in the middle of the paragraph that begins with “Another teammate, unnamed in this story…”
I clench Callum’s phone so tightly, I’m afraid it will crack. My eyes lock onto the photo provided along with the article—Gentry. Fifteen years old. Smiling with his helmet tucked under one arm. He doesn’t know this photo will outlive him. He doesn’t know people will forget his name while remembering the headlines.
“Did you know about this?” Callum asks.
My eyes lift to his and I shake my head. “She never said a word.”
“It won’t be long before someone figures out you’re the other witness.” Callum scrubs his hand through his hair. “Now that Mila’s outed herself.”
“I can’t believe she fucking did that,” I growl, anger flushing through me and settling into my bones.
“I’ll alert our PR department. We need to be prepared to issue a statement.”
“I have to go,” I mutter. “I won’t be here for practice today.”
“Penn—” he starts, sounding concerned, but I’m already walking away.
No, storming away, deliberate and with fury boiling over… burning my blood.
It’s out there now. Mila put it out there and the fucking spotlight is now shining bright.
It doesn’t matter that she didn’t name me. Callum’s right—someone will put it together. Hell, fucking North figured it out easy enough and King knows the full truth.
Any good reporter with half a brain will find the old court records, cross-reference rosters, timeline the witness statements. And even if they don’t, it won’t take long for someone who was there—any of the Wraiths—to piece it together and send the whole thing spiraling.
By the time I shove open the door to the players’ garage, I’m vibrating with a need to strike out at Mila.
She’s got to answer for this, then she can pack her bags and get the fuck out of my house.
CHAPTER 11
Mila
The house is too quiet and it’s fraying my nerves. I tried to listen to music, but that was too loud, and it grated my nerves as well.
I’ve been pacing the length of the kitchen for the last twenty minutes, my coffee long cold, my phone a permanent fixture in my hand. Every few seconds, I refresh the news sites to see who else has picked up the story.
It’s been live for hours and is spreading like wildfire.
The reactions are coming in fast. My phone buzzes constantly, lighting up with texts, DMs and email alerts like it’s being electrocuted. I scroll, thumbing through them with a mix of dread and detachment, like watching a car crash in slow motion.
Most are reporters from other news outlets wanting an interview. Major network news shows wanting to get me on air and even some willing to pay for an exclusive. It’s revolting and I’ve deleted every single one of them.
I talked to Jillian late last night after I got home from the game, rushing upstairs after declining Penn’s odd request to join him for a beer. In any other circumstance, I would have accepted, eager to forge a stronger connection with an old friend turned ally, but I was too fearful of the shitstorm that would be hitting today.