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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T he sharp scent of ice and sweat filled the arena as Travis laced up his skates, the familiar tug of the laces grounding him even as his mind raced. The cold air bit at his face, but it wasn’t enough to cool the anxiety gnawing at his chest.

The locker room buzzed with the usual pre-practice chatter—sticks being taped, gear clattering, jokes thrown across the benches. But underneath it all was a tension that hadn’t been there before. The team was on edge, and so was Travis.

He tried to focus on the upcoming game, on the drills they needed to run, the strategies they needed to perfect. The finals were within reach—so close he could taste it—and yet, the shadow of what had happened off the ice loomed large over everything.

The bando.

The arrests.

The drugs.

And Sarah.

She’d said she’d figure it out, that she wasn’t going to blow up his team’s reputation. But the pressure from her editor was real, and Travis knew better than anyone that sometimes the story won out over personal ties.

He trusted her. He had to. But that didn’t make the knot in his stomach loosen any.

Logan sat across from him, unusually quiet, his gaze focused on the floor as he taped his stick. The cocky grin that used to be permanently plastered on his face was long gone, replaced with something hollow and tired. He’d just come off his suspension to then be caught clubbing again. He hadn’t had any drugs on him. He wasn’t driving under the influence. But he’d been there. He’d invited half the team.

Travis wanted to say something—anything—but what was there left to say? Logan had made his choices. They all had.

But now, those choices were threatening to throw away everything they’d worked for.

The sound of skates slicing into the ice echoed through the arena as they hit the rink for practice. The drills were sharp, fast-paced, but Travis could feel it—the team wasn’t in sync. Passes were off, shots were sloppy, and the energy that usually electrified their practices was missing.

Logan missed a pass from Jake and cursed under his breath, slamming his stick against the boards.

“Logan!” Travis barked, skating up beside him. “Focus.”

Logan shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He knew he’d screwed up.

Travis skated back to the center, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Come on, guys. We’re better than this. We’re three games away from the Cup. You think this is how champions play?”

The team mumbled responses, but no one met his eyes.

Travis’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t just about hockey anymore. It was about trust. About accountability. About not letting one bad decision define them.

They ran through the rest of practice with gritted teeth and forced focus, but the weight of everything unsaid hung heavy in the air.

After practice, the locker room was unusually quiet. The usual post-practice banter was replaced with the soft sound of gear being packed away and skates being unstrapped.

Travis sat on the bench, staring at his gloves, before finally speaking up.

“We need to talk.”

The guys looked up, some pausing mid-motion, others pretending not to hear.

But Travis wasn’t letting this slide.

“We’re three games from the Stanley Cup,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “But it doesn’t matter if we’re not playing like a team. And right now? We’re not.”

Jake sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, man, we get it. But it’s not like we can change what happened.”

“No,” Travis agreed, standing up. “But we can change what happens next.”

His eyes landed on Logan, who met his gaze with a stubborn tilt of his chin.

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Travis continued. “But you’ve got to own up to them. If you’re not willing to take responsibility, then you don’t deserve to be on this ice.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

Logan clenched his jaw, but after a long moment, he nodded. It wasn’t an apology, but it was something.

Travis looked around at the rest of the team. “We’ve got a choice. We can let this define us, or we can fight for the Cup like we’ve fought for everything else. But it starts with accountability.”

The room was silent, but Travis could feel the shift—the weight of his words settling in, the guys realizing that this wasn’t just about winning anymore.

It was about doing the right thing.

After the guys had cleared out, Travis made his way to Coach’s office, his heart pounding in his chest.

Coach was sitting behind his desk, reviewing notes from practice, but he looked up when Travis knocked on the doorframe.

“Got a minute?” Travis awaited in the doorway.

Coach nodded, setting his papers aside. “What’s on your mind?”

Travis stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, then dove in.

“It’s about the team,” he started. “About what happened.”

Coach’s expression hardened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“We can’t ignore it,” Travis continued. “The guys who were at the bando, who got caught… they need to be held accountable.” He studied the coach for a minute. “Even if it means missing the finals.”

Coach leaned back in his chair, studying Travis carefully. “You know what that would mean, right? We’re down key players. Our chances?—”

“I know,” Travis cut in, his voice firm. “But winning doesn’t mean anything if we’re not doing it the right way.”

Coach was silent for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Travis’s words.

Finally, he nodded.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Accountability has to start somewhere. We have three games until the cup.”

Travis felt a surge of relief, but it was bittersweet. They were risking everything, but at least they were doing it with integrity.

“I’ll handle it,” Coach added, his voice resolute. “The guys will face the consequences.”

Travis nodded, standing up. “Thanks, Coach.”

As he walked out of the office, Travis felt the weight of the decision settle on his shoulders. The road ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but at least he knew they were on the right path.

And now, all he could do was hope that Sarah’s trust in him would be matched by his trust in her.