Page 27

Twenty Seven

Logan

T he morning after the party, the weight of Darren’s drunken state still sat heavy on my chest. I couldn’t shake the image of him in my penthouse, slurring his words, his face flushed with booze and panic. He looked like a kid who’d just seen the end of the world, and the worst part was, I still didn’t know how to fix it.

I’d managed to get him into an Uber with Jaymie as backup, promising Darren that we’d figure it out, that he wasn’t alone. But his words “They already know. They already know everything.” —kept echoing in my head, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Who the hell were they, and why hadn’t I seen this coming?

Practice in the afternoon also felt off. Darren was quieter than usual, sticking to himself and avoiding eye contact with anyone. The guys noticed, too, throwing him concerned glances in the locker room, but no one said anything. Not yet.

“Everything okay with Rivers?” Connor asked as we geared up. His tone was casual, but the weight behind his words wasn’t. I was hoping everyone would have forgotten what he had said. Fuck.

“He’ll be fine,” I said, not meeting his gaze. “Just a rough night.”

Connor didn’t push, but the tension in his expression didn’t ease.

I tried to focus on the ice, on the drills and the plays, but my head wasn’t in it. Every time I looked at Darren, I saw the cracks starting to form—the way he flinched when the coaches barked instructions, the way his shoulders hunched like he was carrying something too heavy for one person. And then there was Riker, pacing behind the bench like he always did, barking out orders like he had a personal stake in the outcome of every drill. My stomach churned every time I caught his eye, the suspicion I’d been trying to bury threatening to bubble over.

I didn’t know how much longer I could keep quiet.

By the time I hit the showers, I was ready to punch something. The assistant coach had already left the rink before I could confront him, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I needed to clear my head, so I headed straight for the gym, hoping the burn of weights would drown out the noise in my brain.

It didn’t.

When I finally left the facility, the cold Chicago air hit me like a slap to the face. I was halfway to my car when my phone buzzed. Seeing Andrew’s name on the screen didn’t do much to improve my mood, but I answered anyway.

“Bennett,” Andrew said, his voice smooth and calm, like he wasn’t holding a grenade in his pocket.

“I’ve been hearing things.”

“Yeah? Join the club,” I snapped, unlocking my car and sliding into the driver’s seat. “What’s going on?”

“Riker resigned this morning,” Andrew said, and just like that, the air seemed to vanish from the car. “Effective immediately. There is some sort of investigation.”

“What?” I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white. “Why?”

“No official reason given,” Andrew said, his tone measured, like he was trying to downplay the bombshell. “But if I had to guess, it’s just damage control to him leaving. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Riker just resigned out of nowhere, and I’m supposed to sit here and act like everything’s fine?”

“Logan,” Andrew said, his tone sharpening. “You’re not the one under investigation. The league’s looking into it, and the best thing you can do is keep your head down. Let them handle it.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him that sitting tight wasn’t exactly my style, but something in his tone stopped me. He sounded too calm, too sure, like he knew more than he was letting on.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I asked, my voice low.

There was a beat of silence, and then Andrew sighed. “Just trust me on this, alright? Don’t do anything stupid.”

He hung up before I could press him further, leaving me staring at the screen, my pulse pounding. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it.

***

The next bombshell came two days later.

I was in the middle of practice when the head coach called us off the ice, his expression grim as he gathered us in the locker room. “Listen up,” he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “The league’s launching a full investigation into Glen Riker. There has been more information brought to light that has intrigued the commissoner. You’re going to hear a lot of noise in the media, but I need everyone to stay focused. We’ve got games to win, and I’m not letting this distract us.”

The room erupted into a mix of questions and protests, but all I could think about was Darren. He was sitting on the edge of the bench, his head down, his hands gripping his stick like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

When practice ended, I found him in the weight room, staring blankly at the floor.

“You okay?” I asked, sitting down beside him.

“No,” he said flatly, not looking up. “But I don’t think that matters right now.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there, the weight of everything hanging heavy between us.

I reached for my phone to send a quick text to Ava

Have you seen the news about Glen??

Message undeliverable.

What the fuck?

I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail.