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Thirty Three

Ava

I thought I would feel more afraid.

That making this choice—choosing to burn everything down—would come with more hesitation. But as I sat on the couch, Logan beside me, scrolling through the dozens of emails and documents we had collected, I didn’t feel afraid.

I felt ready.

Logan exhaled beside me, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes before dropping them to his lap. “So that’s it. We’re really doing this.”

I nodded. “We have to.”

We’d spent hours talking through every possible scenario. What could happen. What we could lose. What Darren would have to face when his story became national news, he was still at the center… the rookie who got caught up in way more than he could handle.

Logan leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I called my lawyer,” he admitted. “Just to make sure there wasn’t some angle we weren’t thinking about.”

“And?”

“And he told me exactly what I already knew: once we do this, there’s no undoing it.” He turned his head toward me. His eyes weren’t uncertain, but they were heavy. “Are you sure?”

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Logan nodded once, then sat up straighter. “Alright. Then we go all in.”

By morning, I had secured an exclusive.

Chicago 7 News.

A station big enough to make noise, but local enough to hit the heart of the Hellblades’ fanbase first. If we dropped this bomb anywhere, it had to be here, in the city that would feel its impact the most.

“They’re sending a crew to film the segment tomorrow,” I told Logan, pacing in front of his kitchen counter. “It’ll air on primetime the night after. They are probably reviewing thumbdrive was we speak”

Logan sat at the table, flipping through a thick stack of printed documents—emails, financial records, damning evidence pulled from the thumb drive, incase it all went sideway. Atleast we had a back up drive, smart thinking on Ava's part and the hardcopies. His face was unreadable, his jaw tight. “Two days,” he murmured. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“We need to tell the team,” I said carefully. “The people we trust, at least.” Logan closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

That night, we gathered everyone at Logan’s apartment.

Connor and Jaymie were the first to arrive, followed by a handful of Logan’s teammates, guys he trusted, guys he knew wouldn’t turn on him. Darren sat in the armchair near the window, quiet, but more present than I had seen him in days.

Logan stood in front of the group, arms crossed, expression hard. “Thanks for coming,” he started, then blew out a breath. “I’m just going to get to it. The league is covering up something big. And in two days, we’re exposing it.”

He laid the printed papers on the coffee table, spreading them out for everyone to see. The emails, the money trails, the evidence of threats against Darren.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Jaymie picked up one of the papers, skimming it quickly. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

Connor crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “How did you even get this?”

“I had sources,” I said. “And Darren had the rest.”

At his name, Darren lifted his head. His voice was steady, but I could see the tension in his hands where they rested on his knees. “It’s all real. I know I got drunk and ranted, but its all true.”

That was when the mood shifted.

Up until that moment, there had been disbelief. Doubt. But hearing it from Darren, seeing the exhaustion in his face, the raw honesty in his voice—changed everything.

Some of the guys swore under their breath. Others just shook their heads, as if trying to process how deep this all went.

Connor, always the level-headed leader, asked the hardest question.

“What happens next?”

I swallowed, glancing at Logan before answering. “Once the accounts go public, there’ll be investigations. Maybe even arrests. At the very least, people are going to lose their jobs. The Hellblades might never be the same.” I looked around the room, at every face watching me. “And Logan’s reputation is going to take a hit. There’s no avoiding that.”

Connor’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “And if we don’t do this?”

Logan spoke this time. His voice was sharp, certain. “Then we let them keep getting away with it. Abusing young players and pushing US, around. There would be no league without the players”

No one argued.

Because even if this meant destroying everything Logan had built, even if it meant shaking the foundation of the league itself, there was no other choice.

***

Later, after everyone had gone home, Logan and I sat on the couch in the dim light of the living room.

For the first time all day, the weight of it pressed down on both of us.

He was quiet, his hand resting on my thigh, fingers absently tracing circles against my leggings. “Ava?”

I turned my head toward him. “Yeah?”

He stared down at his hands, expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was lower, more raw than I’d ever heard it.

“If I lose hockey… if I lose this life… do I still know who I am?”

My chest ached at the vulnerability in his voice.

I had seen Logan in so many different moments—fierce on the ice, cocky in a post-game interview, soft when he didn’t realize I was watching—but I had never seen him like this. Open. Uncertain. Scared.

I reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. “You’re more than the game, Logan. You always have been.”

His eyes flicked across my face, lingering on my lips, like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to believe me but wasn’t sure how.

I shifted closer, pressing my forehead to his, my hand resting against his cheek. “You are more than them. More than what they say about you. More than your stats, or your contracts, or any of it.” I swallowed hard, needing him to hear this. Really hear it. “You’re the guy who didn’t abandon Darren when everyone else did. You’re the guy who would rather risk everything than let them hurt me. That’s who you are.”

His breath was uneven, his shoulders rising and falling like he was fighting something inside himself. “But what if…” He hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you, too?”

The words hit me in the center of my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

Logan let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around mine. “I can deal with losing hockey. I don’t want to, but I can. I can survive that. But losing you? I don’t know how to come back from that, Ava.”

My throat burned.

I had spent so much time trying to remind him that he was more than the game, more than his career, but I hadn’t realized he was afraid of something even bigger.

He wasn’t just scared of losing his dream.

He was scared of losing me.

I shook my head, cupping his face between both hands. “You’re not going to lose me.”

His jaw tensed under my touch. “You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can,” I said fiercely. “Because I’m right here, Logan. I’m in this with you. I’m not going anywhere. ”

His hand slid up my arm, fingers threading through my hair, his eyes dark and stormy and so full of something I wasn’t sure I had the strength to hold. “Ava…”

I kissed him before he could say anything else.

Because words weren’t enough—not for this. Not for the way my heart felt like it was breaking for him, for how much I wanted him to see what I saw.

His hand curved around the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into him, like he needed this—me—to keep from falling apart. And maybe I needed it, too. Because nothing else in the world felt steady, nothing felt certain.

But this?

This was real.

When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine again. His breath was warm, steadying, but his voice still held the weight of everything pressing down on him.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

I smiled softly, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “For what?”

“For reminding me that I have something to fight for.”

I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair. “You always have.”

He exhaled, slow and deep, then pressed one last kiss to my forehead before pulling away.

The clock on the wall ticked quietly, the weight of the moment settling between us. Logan straightened, his expression hardening into something steady.

“We’re doing this.”

I nodded. “We are.”

And when the cameras rolled, there was no turning back.