Page 25

Twenty Five

Ava

T he morning light streaming through the newsroom windows only deepened the gnawing tension in my chest. My coffee sat untouched beside me, a lukewarm prop in a scene of unraveling chaos. The email thread with Jake blinked on my laptop screen, an unrelenting reminder of the bombshell that was just out of reach. He was untangling the labyrinth of files from the anonymous email, digging deeper into the hidden web of financial records. The air around me felt taut, electrified, as if the newsroom itself could sense the storm brewing.

I refreshed my inbox again, my pulse hammering as I willed the update to appear. When my phone buzzed, the sound shattered the fragile silence in my head. I grabbed it, nearly fumbling in my haste.

“Jake,” I said, my voice tight with anticipation. “What did you find?”

There was a pause on the other end, long enough to set my nerves on edge. “You’re going to want to sit down for this,” he said finally, his tone grim.

“Just tell me,” I pressed, leaning forward in my chair. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“One of the accounts tied to the betting activity has regular deposits from Glen Riker,” he said, his words cutting like a knife. “The assistant coach. He’s been on the payroll for years, funneling money through offshore accounts. But that’s not the worst of it.”

“What could possibly be worse than that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jake exhaled sharply, like he was bracing himself for the blow he was about to deliver. “Andrew McKay. Logan’s agent. His name shows up in the same transaction logs. He’s the middleman, Ava. He’s been brokering deals between the syndicate and players. Riker and McKay—they’re running this thing from the inside. McKay is most likely Darren's contact.”

The room tilted, and for a moment, I thought I might lose my grip entirely. Glen Riker, the assistant coach who was supposed to guide and support the team. Andrew McKay, the agent Logan trusted to look out for his best interests. Two men who had direct access to the Hellblades, two men who had sold them out.

“Are you absolutely sure?” I asked, my voice shaking with the effort to keep it steady.

“As sure as I can be without dragging them into court,” Jake said. “The records are airtight. Deposits, withdrawals, even communications linking them to known mobsters. This isn’t just a scandal. It’s treachery.”

The word hit me like a slap. Treachery. It was the only word that fit. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, but the betrayal felt too enormous to grasp.

“And the managament with the Hellblades? Is it only Glen?” I asked, forcing myself to focus. “How deep does this go?”

Jake hesitated. “Deep. If they’re targeting players like Darren, you can bet this isn’t isolated to one team. But Riker and McKay? They’re the key. They’re not just enabling this—they’re the masterminds of it.”

I gripped the edge of my desk, my knuckles white. “Jake, this... this could destroy the team.”

“It could destroy a hell of a lot more than that,” he said. “Be careful, Ava. You’re walking a tightrope here. One wrong move, and you’re going to piss off some very powerful people.”

“I know,” I said, my throat dry. “Thanks, Jake. I owe you.”

“You owe me more than coffee for this one,” he said, his tone softening just enough to remind me that he was still Jake, the guy who always had my back. “Stay safe.”

I hung up and stared at my phone for a moment, the weight of the conversation crashing down on me. This wasn’t just a story anymore. It wasn’t just a career-making exposé. This was Logan’s world, his team, his life. And it was being torn apart from the inside.

My thumb hovered over Logan’s name in my call log. I hesitated, knowing that what I was about to tell him would change everything. But there was no choice. He had to know.

I hit call.

The line rang twice before he answered. “Ava?” His voice was rough, distracted, like he was already in the middle of something.

“I need to see you,” I said, standing and grabbing my bag. My pulse thundered in my ears. “It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’m at the rink. Practice is just about to start. Can it wait?”

“No,” I said, already heading for the elevator. “I’ll explain when I get there.

***

The Hellblades’ practice facility buzzed with energy as I walked in. The sharp scrape of skates cutting into ice echoed through the air, blending with the rhythmic thud of pucks against the boards and the clipped shouts of coaches barking orders. The atmosphere was alive with focus and intensity, a well-oiled machine of athletes in their element.

I spotted Logan immediately, standing near center ice. He moved with effortless precision, his focus so sharp it was almost intimidating. Watching him like this—completely immersed in his world—sent a pang through me. This wasn’t just his career or his passion. It was his identity. And everything he knew was at risk.

I hesitated, my breath fogging up the glass as I debated how to approach him. He skated toward the bench, water bottle in hand, and I waved to catch his attention. His eyes locked onto mine, concern flickering across his face as his expression shifted. He said something to one of his teammates, then skated off the ice and made his way over to me.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked as he approached, tugging off his gloves and tucking them under his arm. His cheeks were flushed from exertion, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Even in the middle of practice, he exuded a calm, commanding presence that somehow made my nerves worse.

“Not here,” I said, lowering my voice and glancing around. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

His frown deepened, but he nodded, leading me down a hallway and into a small conference room just off the locker room. The door shut with a quiet click, muffling the sounds of the rink behind us. In the sudden stillness, the weight of what I had to say felt almost unbearable.

“Ava,” Logan said, his voice soft but edged with worry. “What’s going on?”

I gripped the strap of my bag like it might steady me, drawing in a slow breath. “It’s about the betting scandal,” I began, my heart pounding. “I’ve been digging deeper, and Jake found something. Something big.” Logan’s jaw tightened, his shoulders squaring as if he were bracing for impact.

“What did he find? Wait who the hell is Jake?”

"Ugh," I groaned barely keeping the eyeroll aside, "We've gone over this, he is a fact checker," I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat. Once I said it, there was no going back.

“It’s Glen Riker,” I said finally, forcing the words out. “Your assistant coach. He’s tied to the gambling and Darren. Jake found records—financial transactions, offshore accounts. Riker’s been taking money for years, likely skimming from the bets and intimidating rookies like Darren to increase his odds of winning.”

Logan stared at me, his expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, his brows knit together, and his jaw clenched.

“Riker?” he repeated, his voice low and simmering with disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” I said, my throat tight. “But it’s all there. And there’s more.”

“More?” His tone sharpened, and his eyes locked onto mine.

I swallowed hard, knowing the next revelation would cut even deeper. “It’s Andrew Mckay as well, your agent. He’s involved too. He’s been acting as a middleman, connecting the bets to players, finding easy targets. Logan, they’ve been working together.”

Logan froze, his entire body going rigid. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned away, bracing his hands on the edge of the table. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the surface, the tension radiating off him in waves. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the overhead lights.

“They’re supposed to have our backs,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “Riker... Andrew... They’re supposed to protect us. How the hell could they do this?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly, stepping closer. “But we can figure it out. Together.”

Logan let out a bitter laugh, straightening to face me. “Figure it out? Ava, this isn’t just about figuring it out. This is my team. My family. And now I find out two people I trusted, two people who are supposed to look out for us, have been stabbing ME in the back? Selling us out?”

The anguish in his voice twisted something in my chest. “Logan,” I said, keeping my tone steady, “I know this is personal. It is for me too. But we can’t let them win. We can’t let them tear everything apart.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just some bad headline or a couple of bad apples. This could destroy everything. The team, the league... It will ruin lives.”

“And that’s exactly why we have to stop them,” I said, my voice firm. “Logan, you’re not in this alone. We’ll take them down, but we have to be smart about it. If we go public too soon, if we don’t have enough evidence, they’ll bury us—and everyone else involved.”

He stared at me, his jaw tight, the muscle ticking in his cheek as he processed my words. The anger in his eyes didn’t fade, but it shifted—hardened—into something else. Determination.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “We do this right, or we don’t do it at all. But Ava...” His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unflinching. “When this comes out, there’s no going back. You know that, right? This isn’t just about headlines or exposés. This is war.”

“I know,” I said, my chest tightening at the weight of his words. “But it’s a war worth fighting.”

Logan nodded, his shoulders squaring as he seemed to find his footing again. “One step at a time,” he said, echoing the mantra I’d told him the day before.

“One step at a time,” I agreed.

Logan walked me out of the practice facility, the tension between us now a shared weight. We didn’t say much, there wasn’t much left to say—but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came with knowing you were on the same side, facing the same battle.

As we reached the exit, the heavy metal door creaked open, letting in a rush of cold Chicago air. Logan held it for me, his hand lingering on the edge as I stepped outside. The crispness of the air hit my face, but before I could thank him, a voice cut through the moment.

“Logan,” Glen Riker called out, his tone sharp with forced casualness. “What’s she doing here?”

Logan’s jaw tightened at the sound of his assistant coach’s voice. He let the door swing shut behind us, turning to face Glen, who had emerged from the hallway leading back to the rink. His expression was neutral, but the tension in his posture said otherwise.

“She’s here for work,” Logan said evenly, his voice calm but laced with an edge. “Why?”

Glen’s gaze shifted to me, his smile tight and unconvincing. “No reason. Just didn’t think closed practice was open to media, that’s all.”

I folded my arms, meeting his gaze head-on. “I wasn’t covering practice. I needed to speak to Logan about something personal, his grandad couldn't reach him and was worried. I just wanted to let Logan know,” I laid it on real thick for this mother fucker.

“Huh?” Glen’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone casual but probing. “Better get grandad a better calendar with our schedule so there aren't future interuptions,” The snark dripping from his every word.

Logan took a deliberate step forward, positioning himself between Glen and me. “Without me there would be no team, and if my girlfriend needs to speak to me, at any point, she can.”

Glen held Logan’s gaze for a long moment, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Finally, he forced another tight smile and shrugged. “Fair enough. Just looking out for the team.” he shrugged and walked away as if nothing just occured.

“Appreciate it,” Logan said, his tone clipped.

Glen lingered for a beat longer before nodding and heading back down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the concrete. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, glancing at Logan.

“That was subtle,” I said dryly.

Logan huffed out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Glen doesn’t do subtle. He’s fishing.”

“For what?”

“For anything he can use to cover his ass,” Logan said, his voice low. He shook his head, his expression hardening. “The guy’s been playing this game a lot longer than Darren. He knows how to sniff out threats, and I’m guessing he sees you as one.”

“Well,” I said, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel, “then I guess I’m doing my job.”

Logan looked at me, his eyes softening slightly. “Just... be careful, Ava. Glen’s not stupid. If he’s on edge, it’s because he knows something’s coming. And people like him? They don’t play fair when they feel cornered.”

“I will,” I said, my voice steady despite the knot forming in my stomach. “And I’m not backing down. Not now.”

His hand brushed mine briefly, a silent reassurance. “Good. Because neither am I.”

We stood there for a moment, the cold air swirling around us, before Logan finally nodded toward the parking lot. “Go. I’ll handle things here.”

I hesitated, then gave him a small smile. “See you soon, Bennett.”

As I walked to my car, I could feel Glen’s lingering presence in the back of my mind like a shadow I couldn’t shake. The battle was just beginning, and if Glen Riker thought he could intimidate me, he was in for a rude awakening.