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Twenty Eight

Logan

I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating against the nightstand, the insistent buzz cutting through the haze of restless sleep. For a second, I thought maybe it was Ava—some part of me still half-expecting her to fix this, or even acknowledge my existence, or to tell me she’d found a way to undo the damage. But when I reached for my phone, blinking against the too-bright screen, her name wasn’t there.

It was worse.

2 days had gone by, the team had cancelled practice and laid low.

There had been zero word from Ava.

Now headlines covered the media pages, pictures of raunchy nights out, gala events. It was on every station and every surface. The aliens could see the nation wide fucking coverage.

ESPN: HELLBLADES AT THE CENTER OF NHL GAMBLING INVESTIGATION

The Athletic: ANONYMOUS SOURCES POINT TO MASSIVE BETTING RING

Chicago Daily Times: HOW DEEP DOES THE CORRUPTION GO?

I scrolled through article after article, my stomach knotting tighter with every headline. Every sports site, every insider account, every goddamn talking head on social media was ripping the team apart like vultures on a fresh carcass. And right there, bold as day, was Ava’s name in the byline of the Chicago Daily Times —front and center, exposing just enough to blow everything wide open.

She hadn’t named Darren. She hadn’t named me. But that didn’t mean shit.

The Hellblades were officially the league’s latest scandal, and she’d gone behind my fucking back to make it happen.

I ripped the blankets off and launched myself out of bed, fists clenched, chest burning with heat I didn’t know what to do with. Anger pulsed beneath my skin like a live wire. The walls of my apartment felt too tight, too close, like I was being smothered in my own damn space. I paced, fast and aimless, blood roaring in my ears. The fallout was already playing in my head on loop—reporters swarming the locker room, teammates looking at me like I’d let this happen, coaches scrambling to spin it before it sunk the whole damn season.

And Darren.

Fuck.

He was barely keeping it together as it was. And now this?

She said she cared. I fucking trusted her.

And she burned it.

I grabbed my phone again, dialing his number. Straight to voicemail. I tried again. Same thing. My gut twisted. The kid had been unraveling for weeks, and now? Now he was at the center of a scandal that would follow him for the rest of his career—if he even had one after this. I forced down the rising panic and grabbed my keys. There was nothing I could do from here. But at the rink? I could at least try to contain the damage.

***

By the time I got to the Hellblades' practice facility, the tension was suffocating.

Connor was standing outside the locker room, arms crossed, his expression grim as I approached. “Tell me you’ve seen it.”

I let out a sharp breath. “Yeah.”

“It’s a fucking circus in there,” he muttered, jerking his head toward the double doors. “Half the guys don’t know what to believe, and the other half are looking at each other like someone’s about to sell them out next.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady the frustration boiling just under the surface. “Where’s Darren?”

Connor’s jaw clenched. “Didn’t show.”

I cursed under my breath. “Anyone talk to him?”

“I tried. He’s not answering.”

That wasn’t good. That was the kind of not good that had my pulse spiking in a way I didn’t like. Darren had barely been holding it together before all this. If he was ghosting the team now? He was either spiraling, or someone had gotten to him first.

Connor must’ve seen the storm brewing behind my eyes because he clapped a hand on my shoulder, grounding me for a second. “We’ll find him.”

I nodded tightly, but my hands were already curling into fists as I pushed the locker room doors open.

Silence. Then, the sound of guys shifting on the benches, murmurs cutting off mid-sentence as I stepped inside. Every pair of eyes turned to me, some unreadable, some accusatory, all waiting for me to say something.

Jaymie was the first to break the silence, his voice edged with tension. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know what you think it looks like.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nathan Kessler—veteran, asshole—leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe like someone in this room is responsible for this shitstorm.”

I turned my glare on him, barely reining in the urge to snap. “If you’re looking at me, you can cut that shit out right now.”

“Can I?” Kessler scoffed. “You’re the one who’s been real close with a journalist lately.”

I took a step forward, blood hot, fists already curling, and Connor was suddenly between us, a hand on my chest. “Not the time, Bennett,” he muttered under his breath.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing myself to step back. I wasn’t going to do this here. Not when the team was already splintering at the seams.

Coach walked in then, his expression like fucking stone. “Enough.” His voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Everyone, suit up. We have a game tomorrow, and I don’t give a shit about the media firestorm outside these doors. You play your game, you do your job, and you let management handle the rest.”

His gaze landed on me last. Cold. Unforgiving. “Bennett. My office. Now.”

I followed him out without a word, ignoring the way the team’s murmurs picked up the second the door shut behind me.

Coach rounded on me the second it clicked closed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t—” I started, but he cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“You didn’t what , Bennett? Think? Because that’s sure as shit what it looks like.” He stepped closer, voice low but lethal. “You’re on this team to play hockey. To lead. To be a goddamn professional . And instead, I’ve got every major sports outlet dragging the Hellblades through the mud and your reporter girlfriend’s name stamped right on the story.”

I clenched my jaw, my fists aching.

“You wanna date someone in media? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face. You don’t get to have it both ways—pillow talk and plausible deniability.”

His stare sharpened, deadly. “You’re supposed to be a role model on this team. Act like it. Because if you keep putting yourself ahead of the room, ahead of the game, your ass is gonna be grass, just like hers.”

The silence that followed hit harder than the words.

“You’ve got one shot to clean this up,” he finished, voice quiet now, but no less dangerous. “Don’t waste it.”

***

I didn’t get a chance to breathe before the reporters swarmed the hallway after practice. Microphones, cameras, questions being thrown at me like fucking bullets. I ignored most of them, but one stuck.

“Logan, do you think Ava Carlisle had ulterior motives when she wrote the story? Some people are saying she used you for access.”

I stopped in my tracks. That anger I’d been trying to bury? It fucking exploded.

I turned, leveling a glare at the reporter who’d asked. “Don’t.” My voice was sharp, final. “Don’t stand here and act like you suddenly give a shit about integrity when you’re the ones twisting this story into whatever gets you the most clicks.” Before they could push further, I shoved past them, heading straight for my car. I needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to me.

Ava.

***

She was waiting when I got to her apartment.

Like she knew I’d come. Like she knew what I was going to say.

I barely got the door shut behind me before the words were spilling out. “You should have told me.”

She exhaled, rubbing at her temple. “Logan—”

“No.” I took a step closer, my voice sharp. “You should have warned me, Ava. You should have given me a chance, you promised it would be when I said so,”

She looked up then, her hazel eyes flashing with something that wasn’t regret—it was conviction. “And if I had? What would you have done, Logan? How long would I have to sit with it? To hold off while Darren kept getting dragged deeper into this mess?”

I clenched my jaw. “I could’ve protected him.”

“No, Logan,” she said quietly. “This was so much bigger than what you or your money could fix. This wasn't a party in need of a new dress.”

I flinched like she’d hit me.

“You don’t get to be angry at me for doing my job,” she continued, her voice softer now but no less firm. “I didn’t name you. I didn’t name Darren. But this story was never just about the Hellblades. It’s bigger than that. And if I didn’t put it out there, someone else would have. I protected you from it as much as I could,”

I stared at her, my chest rising and falling, everything in me screaming to argue. To tell her she’d ruined everything.

But the worst part?

I wasn’t sure if she had—or if she’d just done what I was too much of a coward to do myself.

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you for this. Darren didn't show for practice, this is my life. Where do we go from here?” he gestured between the two of them, hands flying off the handle.

Ava’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes flickered—like she’d been expecting that.

She nodded once, then whispered, “I don't know but, your anger isn’t more important than the truth, Logan. ”

And that was it.

No apologies. No defenses. Just the brutal reality of what stood between us.

I turned and walked away.

And this time, she didn’t try to stop me.