Page 10

Chapter 10

Ryker

I slammed the door behind me, the echo reverberating through my empty apartment. My jacket landed on the nearest chair, and I kicked off my shoes without caring where they ended up. The press conference replayed in my head like a bad movie, each moment reminding me of how Paige’s presence gnawed at me.

Why did I feel the need to defend her? The question lingered, twisting like a knife in my gut. She wasn’t anything special—just another na?ve face trying to make her mark.

I hated her for it. Hated how she made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Vulnerability was a weakness my father drilled out of me long ago. Yet, here I was, letting a rookie PR manager get under my skin.

The television remote felt heavy in my hand as I flipped through channels mindlessly. Practice started tomorrow. That thought brought a semblance of relief. Physical exertion would drown out the noise in my head, erase any trace of the mistakes I made this summer. Mistakes that had Paige’s face etched all over them.

Maybe I’d never have to deal with her again once the season kicked off. She’d be swallowed by the daily grind, becoming just another cog in the machine.

And what about trying to get rid of her? The thought slithered into my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. I shook it off, focusing on the TV screen as some sitcom characters exchanged meaningless banter.

Get rid of her? As if it were that simple. But part of me knew it wasn’t about simplicity or convenience. It was about control—something Paige had managed to wrestle from me without even knowing it.

The sitcom’s canned laughter filled the room, doing little to drown out the cacophony inside my head. I needed to sleep, to reset before practice began. Maybe then I could put all this behind me—bury it under layers of sweat and determination.

The TV droned on as I sank even more into the couch, its cushions swallowing me whole. Tomorrow would come soon enough, bringing with it a new set of challenges. Ones that wouldn’t involve Paige and her infuriating ability to see through my facade.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

I kept flipping through the channels, my mind a mess. The usual sports recaps and sitcom reruns did nothing to settle me. Then I landed on Hockey World News . Mike and Dave’s voices filled the room, drawing my attention.

“Welcome back,” Mike started, his laidback tone almost grating tonight. “Tonight, we’re dissecting that press conference from earlier today that the Detroit Serpents hosted. For those just joining us, video footage of a brawl between members of the Serpents and fans at a local bar was released, and it doesn't look good for a team already riddled with scandal. Ryker Kane took responsibility for the assault."

Dave cut in. “But was it enough, Mike? Was it genuine? Or just a PR move?”

I leaned forward, the remote clutched in my hand. The camera cut to a clip of me at the press conference. My own voice echoed through the room: “ I take full responsibility for what happened. It’s on me to make sure we’re better moving forward. ”

Mike nodded thoughtfully as the clip ended. “Kane’s words sounded sincere, but actions speak louder, right? Can he really turn things around?”

Dave didn’t miss a beat. “He’s under immense pressure. The fans expect results, not excuses. It’s easy to say you’ll do better—harder to actually do it.”

“Do you think he can?” Mike asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I think he has the skill,” Dave replied, his voice firm. “But skill isn’t enough. He needs support—from his team and his staff.”

Paige’s face flashed in my mind unbidden. I tightened my grip on the remote.

Mike chimed in again. “Speaking of support, there’s been a lot of buzz about Paige Adams's role in all this. She’s new but seems to be making waves.”

Dave chuckled lightly. “Yeah, from what I heard, she handled that sponsorship meeting like a pro. And she’s been pretty visible lately, especially at the press conference.”

Visible was an understatement. She was everywhere I turned.

“Think she’ll help or hinder Kane?” Mike asked.

“That depends,” Dave said slowly. “On how much Kane lets her in and how well they work together. You know he's always been standoffish. He's not exactly the friendly type, which was why I was surprised to see him at that bar in the first place. Kane and socialization? I never thought I'd see the day."

“It does beg the question,” Mike said, his tone serious. “What caused him to snap? Going into the season, has someone finally found a way to pierce that impenetrable armor?”

Dave leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “Looks that way.”

I clenched my jaw; the words hanging heavy in the air. They had no idea what they were talking about. My so-called armor wasn’t something anyone could just pierce. It was years of hardening myself against failure, against letting anyone in. But there I was, feeling every bit exposed.

Mike continued, “The Serpents have made some moves over the summer, trying to balance out the veterans and young kids. They picked up the Russian Reaper, as well as notorious anger management candidate, Declan Kincaid, and stoic Ethan Hart. But even with that, the likelihood of making playoffs looks slim.”

“Yeah,” Dave agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “There’s been a lot of changes in the roster, but chemistry takes time to build. And with Kane’s... let’s say interesting behavior lately, it’s a big question mark.”

They weren’t wrong about the chemistry; it was something we struggled with last season and something we’d need to figure out fast.

Mike tapped his notes with his pen. “Do you think the veterans can guide these young players well enough to make a difference?”

Dave shrugged. “It’s possible, but it depends on leadership. And right now, leadership looks shaky. Kane’s got the skill and experience, no doubt. But his mindset—if it’s compromised by whatever’s going on with him—could be a huge problem.”

Mike glanced at Dave. “So what’s your prediction for this season? Playoffs or another year of rebuilding?”

Dave sighed heavily. “Honestly? Unless something changes drastically—like Kane finding a way to get past whatever’s eating at him—it’s probably another year of rebuilding.”

The conversation hit like a punch to the gut. They made it sound so simple: get my head straight and everything else would fall into place.

“Paige Adams,” Mike said suddenly, as if remembering an important detail. “Do you think her presence is affecting Kane more than we realize?”

Dave nodded slowly. “Could be. She’s new blood, and from what I hear, she doesn’t back down easily. There was also speculation that she dated Brendan Kane her first year of college."

"Really?" Mike smirked. "Brendan Kane. I haven't heard that name since the NCAA Championship a few years ago. I wonder what happened to him."

"Injury, I think," Dave remarked.

"Ah, them's always the breaks."

My chest tightened at their speculation about Paige and my brother and what happened.

“Whatever it is,” Mike concluded, “we’ll see soon enough how it all plays out on the ice. Now, let’s talk trade rumors. I hear Toronto isn’t resigning The Southern Serpent.”

The show moved on to other topics but left me staring blankly at the screen. Their words echoed long after I turned off the TV: leadership looks shaky... unless something changes drastically...

Something had to give before everything came crashing down around me.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating against the wood. I glanced at the screen. Brendan.

I answered, my voice flat. “Yeah?”

Silence stretched before his voice cut through, sharp and demanding. “What the hell is Paige doing working for your team?”

My grip tightened on the phone. “It’s none of your business.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he snapped. “You didn’t think to mention this to me?”

“I didn’t know it was relevant,” I replied, struggling to keep my voice even.

His laugh was bitter. “Relevant? She was part of my life for years. You know what she means to me.”

I gritted my teeth. “First, you dated for a year. That's it. Don't make more of her than she was. And now? She’s just another PR manager. Nothing special. After what she did to you, I didn't think you gave a shit."

“Bullshit,” he shot back. “You wouldn’t be this worked up if that were true.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough,” he said, his tone hardening. “Paige isn’t someone you can just dismiss. She’s good at what she does, and if you can’t see that?—”

“She’s a distraction,” I interrupted, pacing the room now. “We don’t need distractions. Especially considering what she did to you."

"I want to talk to her," Brendan said, his voice steely. "I deserve that much."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confusion seeping into my tone.

"Set up a meeting," he demanded.

"Like hell I will," I snapped back. "Fuck. Does this girl have magic pussy or something? She left you at the altar and then dated U of M's assistant coach, and you want a meeting?"

"She dated Mark Dawson?" Brendan’s voice faltered.

My chest tightened. I assumed people knew. "I don't?—"

"Tell me," he insisted.

"No," I quipped, trying to regain control. "You shouldn't be hung up on her, anyway. Good fucking riddance."

"I saw you, you know," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I saw your press conference. I saw the way you looked at her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said in a low voice, my grip tightening on the phone.

"Yeah, you do," he continued, his tone accusing. "You've always fucking wanted her, Ry. Even when she was mine. Or did you forget the fight?"

"How could I?" I retorted bitterly. "My baby brother socked me in the face for no fucking reason."

"You were hitting on her."

"I was talking to her."

"I know you, Ryker!" he bellowed through the phone. "Or do you forget? You don't talk to anyone unless it benefits you in some way. You were trying to take her from me, just like you took hockey away from me."

"Your injury wasn't my fault," I said through gritted teeth.

"It is when she left me for you," he snapped back.

The line went silent for a moment as his words sank in, cutting deeper than any blade could.

"That's not true," I finally said, but my voice lacked conviction.

"Isn't it?" Brendan's voice was quieter now, filled with years of pain and bitterness. "She left me because of you."

I had no answer for that. My mind raced, struggling to reconcile the accusations with the reality I'd constructed for myself all these years.

"You can't run from this forever, Ryker," he said softly but firmly. "One day you'll have to face what you've done."

"I didn't do shit," I said, my voice tight. "I don't know why she left, but it sure as hell wasn't because of me."

He blew out a breath. "Dad saw too, you know," he said. "The press conference."

My teeth clenched involuntarily. Of course, he saw. Deep down, I knew my father would watch.

"He's not happy," he continued. "He expected more from you. Always so controlled. So poised. To see you go feral on a fan? He thinks you're pathetic. That some nobody could get a rise out of you."

"It's called protecting your team," I snapped back. "Your family."

"Family?" Brendan scoffed, the word dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't think you knew anything about that."

"I've made her life a miserable living hell," I said lowly into the phone, the bitterness palpable. "I fucking hate her for the embarrassment she caused you. Don't you get that? I'm trying to get her fired. I'm protecting you?—"

"Too little, too fucking late," he interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. "She always thought you had a good head on your shoulders. ' Ryker's so skilled .' ' Ryker has such a high hockey IQ. ' ' You could learn a lot from him .' Blah, blah, fucking blah."

My chest squeezed painfully at his words. She said that about me?

"Don't be surprised if you hear from Dad," he said, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "And Ryker, I'll go around you to see Paige. I'm asking you to set up a meeting. As your brother."

The thought of him making a scene gnawed at me, something I couldn't afford right now.

I stayed silent as I weighed my options.

"I'll see what I can do," I muttered reluctantly.

"Fine," he said curtly before hanging up.

The silence in the room was deafening as I lowered the phone, my mind racing with everything Brendan had thrown at me.

Everything Paige had thrown at me without even trying.

I exhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts and failing miserably. Tomorrow was the first day of practice, another day of pushing through the chaos and finding some semblance of control.

But tonight? Tonight was about figuring out how to navigate this mess without losing myself in the process.

I needed a plan, but more importantly, I needed to find a way to keep Paige—and everything she represented—from unraveling what little stability I had left.

And that meant setting up a meeting with him and hoping like hell it wouldn't make things worse.

I stood up, the weight of my brother’s words heavy on my shoulders. My mind was a storm, each thought crashing into the next. I needed to hit something, anything, to release the pent-up frustration threatening to consume me. But I couldn't afford another scandal involving me hitting someone. The gym at The Snake Pit would have to do.

Grabbing my keys, I headed out into the night. The cold air hit my face as I stepped outside, despite it being early August. My car roared to life as I sped through the streets of Detroit, each turn bringing me closer to some semblance of relief. It was typically a twenty-minute drive, but I managed to cut that down to fifteen.

The Snake Pit loomed ahead, its familiar neon sign casting a dull glow. I parked and made my way inside, the silence of the rink eerie without the usual hustle and bustle of practice. The gym lights flickered on as I entered, illuminating the empty space.

I tossed my bag onto a bench and wrapped my hands with tape. Each wrap was tight, almost painfully so, but it was a welcome distraction from everything else. I needed this. Needed to focus on something physical.

The punching bag hung in the corner, waiting for me. I squared up and let loose, each punch fueled by years of suppressed anger and resentment. Brendan’s accusations echoed in my mind with every hit.

You always wanted her.

She left because of you.

The bag swung violently with each blow, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to erase the years of guilt and confusion that had built up inside me.

It wasn't true.

I knew that.

He wanted someone to blame, and he found me.

And I… well, I hated her for what she did to Brendan, for what my brother did to our relationship.

Family came first. That was what Dad said.

How could she get between us like this?

Sweat poured down my face as I continued, my muscles burning from the exertion. But it felt good—better than facing the mess that awaited me outside this gym.

She’s just another PR manager.

My fists pounded against the bag harder at that thought. Paige was more than that; she always had been. But admitting that meant admitting vulnerability—something I couldn’t afford.

Eventually, exhaustion took over. My punches slowed until they were mere taps against the leather surface. Breathing heavily, I leaned against the bag, closing my eyes for a moment.

In this quiet space, away from everyone else’s expectations and judgments, I could almost pretend everything was fine. Almost.

I wiped my face with a towel and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—practice with the team, managing Paige’s presence—but for now, this moment of solitude was enough.

I packed up my things and headed back out into the night, feeling marginally lighter than before. This fight wasn't over—far from it—but for now, I'd found a way to keep pretending.