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Thirty Four

Logan

I had known this was coming.

We’d prepared for it, talked through every worst-case scenario, but nothing—not the late-night strategy sessions, not the warnings from my lawyer, not even my own gut instincts—could have braced me for the bomb.

The broadcast hit like a nuclear war.

Chicago 7 News aired the exclusive at exactly 8:00 PM, and by 8:03, my phone was vibrating nonstop with texts, calls, and notifications. The speculation articles were one thing, but account numbers connected to names and games turned this into a whole different level. The interview played on every major network within the hour. By midnight, it was trending worldwide.

The media went into a full-blown frenzy.

Some headlines painted me as a hero. A whistleblower exposing the league’s dirty secrets. Others called me reckless. A troublemaker. An arrogant player who had thrown himself into something bigger than he understood.

Logan Bennett: Savior or Saboteur?

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Fans were divided. Some were in my corner, flooding social media with support. Others? Not so much. I’d seen the words traitor and sellout more times than I could count. Some people didn’t care if the allegations were true—they only cared that I had shattered the illusion of their perfect, untouchable sport. The league scrambled to contain the damage.

The NHL released an official statement within hours. They were “committed to the integrity of the game” and would be “launching a full investigation into the allegations.” Which was bullshit. They were only reacting now because they had no choice. Darren was placed under official protection. For now, his name wasn’t in the reports, redacted from anything public-facing, but that wouldn’t last forever. He was too deep in it. Eventually, the world would know what he had been forced to do to survive.

And then there were the arrests. First, it was small names, low-level bookies and intermediaries. But it didn’t take long for the FBI to dig deeper. Executives. Agents. Even former players. One by one, the names started to pile up, and the full extent of the betting ring began to unravel.

It was massive. So much bigger than we had even guessed. I should have felt some kind of vindication. Some sense of relief that the truth was finally out. That we had done the right thing. Instead, all I felt was the weight of what I had lost. Because the moment the Hellblades organization released their own statement, I knew my time with the team was over. They had to make an example out of me. I was too big of a name, too entangled in the mess. Less than twenty-four hours after the broadcast, they put me on indefinite suspension while they conducted their own internal investigation.

And just like that, I was no longer an active Hellblade.

No longer a player.

No longer anyone .

I sat on my couch, phone face-down on the table in front of me, watching the chaos unfold on the muted TV screen. My own face stared back at me from one of the broadcasts, an old game clip playing in slow motion. I looked untouchable in that clip. Powerful. Fast. A force on the ice. But that guy? That guy was gone.

My teammates had backed me when we made this decision, but even they were struggling to process the fallout. Some of them hadn’t texted me back since the news broke. Even the ones who did weren’t sure what to say. I didn’t blame them. They had families, contracts, futures to think about.

I was a liability now.

Ava sat beside me, her knee touching mine, silent but steady. She had been with me all night, refusing to leave even when I told her she didn’t have to watch me fall apart in real time. I hadn’t responded to her, but she hadn’t left. Not when the Hellblades dropped their statement. Not when the first reports of my suspension started rolling in. Not even now, when I was sitting here, sinking into the brutal reality that I might never step on NHL ice again.

Ava’s phone rang.

She glanced at the screen before turning to me. “It’s Frank.”

I exhaled through my nose. I already knew how this was going to go. She hesitated, then answered, putting it on speaker.

Frank’s voice came through, dry and unimpressed. “Congratulations, Carlisle. You just blew up the league. Now what?”

Ava’s fingers curled into fists on her lap. “We exposed the truth. That was the goal, wasn’t it?”

Frank let out a slow chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t play dumb, Ava. You’ve been circling this story for months . Don’t tell me you didn’t realize how deep it went.”

Ava blinked, her back going rigid. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I didn’t know something was off? I pointed you in the right direction on purpose ,” Frank said smoothly. “I knew there was more to uncover. But even I didn’t expect you to go nuclear with it.”

Ava’s grip on her phone tightened. “You knew. And you didn’t say anything.”

Frank sighed. “I didn’t have proof. Just whispers. Rumors. I needed you to dig it up.” He paused, like he was giving her a moment to process that. “And now? The whole damn thing is on fire.”

I clenched my jaw. “So what, Frank? You just used Ava as your attack dog?”

Frank ignored me. “You’re in it now, Carlisle. You’re not just some journalist covering a story. You are the story.” His voice dropped lower. “And you better be ready for what comes next.”

Ava’s voice was icy. “You don’t think I knew what I was getting into?”

“Oh, I think you knew.” He chuckled again, this time almost approving. “But a green reporter never fully understands the cost, good luck being trusted in this town again.”

A beat of silence. Then, more serious: “They’re not going to let this go quietly. You both need to keep your eyes open.”

The call ended with a sharp click.

Ava set the phone down slowly, her shoulders tight. I could see it—the weight pressing down on her, the way she was holding it all in, trying to be strong for me.

I squeezed her hand, running my thumb along her knuckles. “You okay?”

She let out a short laugh. “I should be asking you that.”

I shook my head. “You are asking me that. I just need to hear you’re okay, too.”

She looked at me then, really looked, and whatever she saw in my face made some of the tension ease from her shoulders. “I have your back, Logan.”

Something in my chest tightened.

For so long, I had convinced myself I could survive anything as long as I had hockey. That I could take the hits, keep getting back up, as long as the game was still there waiting for me.

Now, I wasn’t sure if I would ever play again.

But sitting here, with Ava beside me, her fingers warm and steady in mine, I realized something.

I wasn’t alone.

Maybe I had lost my place in the league. Maybe I had lost my shot at history. But I hadn’t lost her.

And right now, that felt like the only thing keeping me upright.

I took a slow breath. “So what now?”

She squeezed my hand. “Now, we fight.”

And for the first time since this whole thing started, I knew with absolute certainty—

I wasn’t fighting alone.