Page 18

DECLAN

T hree days. Three impossibly long days since Victoria walked out of that hotel room in San Francisco. Three days of staring at my phone, hoping for more than the brief moments of connection she’s been giving me. Three days of seeing her face in my dreams, only to wake up reaching for someone who isn’t there, my chest hollow with her absence.

“O’Rielly!” Coach Belanger’s voice snaps me back to reality. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

I blink, realizing I’ve completely zoned out in the middle of our team meeting. Twenty pairs of eyes are fixed on me, expressions ranging from concern to amusement.

“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter, straightening in my seat. “Won’t happen again.”

Coach sighs, his expression softening slightly. “As I was saying, management wants this situation handled quietly. The PR team has prepared a statement about team members focusing on their personal lives away from the cameras. No names, no details.”

My jaw clenches. The ‘situation’ he’s referring to is me kissing Victoria after that goal—and the social media firestorm that followed. The comments, the hashtags, the speculation have only gotten worse since we returned to Sugar City. Sports blogs are running polls about whether I’m dating her on a dare or if it’s some publicity stunt for the ballet program.

And Victoria is bearing the brunt of it all. According to Olivia, who’s also been in touch with her daily, the Fletcher Dance Academy has lost nearly a quarter of its students in just three days. That’s Victoria’s livelihood, her passion, her purpose, all being torn apart because of my impulsive moment.

“And you’re all to avoid any questions about personal relationships during tomorrow’s media day,” Coach continues, looking pointedly at me. “Stick to hockey. There’s been a lot of attention on players’ relationships this season, and management wants the focus shifted to our on-ice performance. We want this to blow over so we can get back to doing what we do best.”

“Blow over,” I repeat, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “And what about Victoria? Does management have a plan for fixing her reputation too? For getting back the students she’s lost because of me?”

Coach’s expression tightens. “That’s unfortunate, but not the team’s responsibility. Ms. Fletcher knew the risks of being associated with professional athletes.”

Something inside me snaps. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Not the team’s responsibility? She was here working for us when this happened!”

“Declan—” Luc starts, a warning in his voice.

“No,” I cut him off, anger and frustration boiling over. “This is bullshit. Management wants to protect the team’s image while Victoria’s life falls apart? She didn’t do anything wrong! I did. I’m the one who messed this up for her. So if there’s any damage control being done, it shouldn’t be focused on me or the team. It should be on her!”

Coach Belanger’s face reddens. “O’Rielly, sit down. Now.”

“Fine,” I snap, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. “I’ll sit down. At the press conference I’m about to call.”

A shocked murmur runs through the room.

“You most certainly will not!” Coach thunders, stepping into my path as I move toward the door. “Management has been crystal clear on this?—”

“I don’t give a damn what management thinks. Victoria is losing everything because of me, and I’m not going to sit here and do nothing while some PR team tries to make this disappear. I love her, Coach.”

The room falls silent at my declaration. I hadn’t planned to say it. Hell, I’ve only said it out loud to Victoria. But the truth of lives in my bones, fires my very soul. I love Victoria Fletcher, have ever since the first time she entered the arena.

“Son,” Coach says, his tone softer now, “I understand you have feelings for Ms. Fletcher, but a press conference without management approval could jeopardize your position on this team.”

“Then it jeopardizes my position,” I say simply. “Some things are more important than hockey.”

I can practically see the shock ripple through the room. Declan O’Rielly, who’s never put anything above the game, who lives and breathes hockey, is willing to risk it all for a woman he’s only known for a few weeks.

“I’m with him,” Calvin says suddenly, rising to stand beside me. “What’s happening to Victoria isn’t right. The team rallied behind Olivia when our relationship came to light. Standing by Victoria is the least we can do.”

“I’m with him too,” Emile adds, joining us. “Calvin is right. She’s been nothing but good for this team.”

One by one, my teammates stand, a physical declaration of support that tightens my throat. Even Callum, who barely speaks during team meetings, rises silently to his feet.

Coach Belanger looks around the room, clearly realizing he’s lost this battle. “You’re all determined to commit career suicide over this?”

“Not career suicide,” Luc says, standing directly in front of Coach. “Taking a stand for someone who’s part of our team. Official staff or not.”

“So...just career self-harm, then?” I mutter under my breath, earning a half-smile from Emile beside me.

For a long moment, Coach stares at us, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, a grudging smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I’ve been wanting to stick it to those body shaming assholes for years. When I went public with my relationship with Sara’s mother back in my playing days, we got hateful notes telling us our relationship was wrong. But love doesn’t have a size.” He glances around the room. “Some of your partners have faced the same garbage, including my daughter. But what they’re doing to Victoria crosses a line.”

He steps aside, clearing my path to the door. “PR team will have my ass for this, but go on. Do what you need to do, son.”

I’m momentarily stunned. “You’re really okaying this?”

“Would you change your mind if I didn’t?” he counters.

“No.”

“Then why waste both our time?” He claps me on the shoulder. “Just make it count, O’Rielly.”

I nod, emotion threatening to choke me. “Thank you, Coach.”

Ninety minutes later, I stand at a podium in the press room, cameras flashing, microphones aimed at my face. The team’s PR director watches from the side, resigned to the fact that this is happening with or without official approval.

I take a beat and run a hand through my hair, wishing I’d taken time to look less like a man who’s barely slept in three days. But maybe that’s fitting. Let them see exactly what loving and losing Victoria has done to me.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’ve called this press conference to address what happened in San Francisco three nights ago, after my goal against the Sharks.”

I take a deep breath, scanning the sea of familiar faces—beat reporters who’ve covered me for years, bloggers who analyze my every move on the ice, cameras that will broadcast my words across the country.

“As many of you witnessed, I kissed Victoria Fletcher, the Nighthawks’ ballet instructor, during the celebration of my goal. What followed has been nothing short of disgusting.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and I can almost feel the PR director wincing behind me.

“The comments online, the hashtags, the ‘jokes’ at Ms. Fletcher’s expense—none of that reflects who we are as a team or who I am as a person. And it sure as hell doesn’t reflect who Victoria Fletcher is.”

I grip the edges of the podium, leaning forward slightly.

“Victoria Fletcher is a phenomenal ballet instructor who left her thriving studio in Peach Springs to help our team improve. The spin move that led to that goal? I perfected it because of her training. The team’s reduced injury rate this season? That’s her ballet program at work.”

The door the team uses opens, and a small flutter of panic clenches my chest. But then I see my teammates filing in silently, lining up along the wall in a show of solidarity that nearly breaks my composure. Luc nods at me, a silent message of support.

“But more importantly, Victoria Fletcher is the woman I love.” The words hang in the air, but I feel no hesitation, no doubt. Only certainty. For the first time, I’m saying these words publicly, and it feels right. More right than anything I’ve ever said into a microphone. “I’ve been sitting by while internet trolls and so-called ‘fans’ tear her apart for nothing more than being kissed by me.”

I pull my phone from my pocket, holding it up. “I’ve seen the comments. The one-star reviews on her studio’s page. The disgusting messages sent to her personal accounts. And I have one thing to say to the people behind those comments: You are no fans of mine.”

The room has gone completely silent now, every eye fixed on me.

“Anyone who would attack a woman because of her appearance, who would try to destroy her business, who would make her feel anything less than the incredible person she is—you don’t deserve to call yourselves Nighthawks fans. You don’t deserve to wear our colors or chant our name.”

I feel a presence beside me and glance over to see Luc has joined me at the podium. He leans toward the microphone.

“The Nighthawks stand with Victoria Fletcher,” he says firmly. “And we stand with Declan. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to return their season tickets.”

Calvin steps forward next. “We’ve seen the comments. We’ve seen what you’re doing to Victoria’s business. And we’re here to tell you it stops now.”

One by one, my teammates step up to the microphone, each adding their own statement of support. Even Callum, notoriously media-shy, adds in his two cents.

“Victoria made me a better goalie,” he says simply. “Anyone who disrespects her disrespects this team.”

I feel a swell of gratitude so intense it’s almost painful. These men—my friends, my brothers—standing up for Victoria and me without hesitation.

When the last of them has spoken, I step back to the microphone. “I have one more thing to say. Until every single one of those negative reviews on the Fletcher Dance Academy’s page is removed, I won’t be stepping onto the ice.”

A collective gasp runs through the room. Even some of my teammates look surprised at this declaration.

“Declan,” Luc murmurs beside me.

“I mean it,” I say, speaking directly into the camera now, hoping somehow Victoria might see this. “Hockey means everything to me. But Victoria means more. So until this is made right, I’m out.”

The PR director finally pushes forward, taking control of the situation. “That’s all the time we have right now. Thank you all for coming.”

She practically shoves us through the door as reporters shout questions, cameras flash, and the room erupts in chaos. But all I can think is, I hope you’re watching, twinkle toes. I meant every word.

In the hallway, she rounds on me, her expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration. “What the actual fuck, O’Rielly. Management is going to have kittens. Actual kittens.”

“Let them,” I reply, already pulling out my phone. “I’ll name one Victoria if it helps. But I meant everything I said out there, and I’m not taking it back.”

“I know you meant it,” she sighs. “That’s what’s going to make this a PR nightmare.”

My teammates gather around, clapping me on the back, offering words of support. But my mind is already elsewhere, already racing toward what comes next.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell Luc, pulling my car keys from my pocket.

“Go where?” he asks, though I think he already knows the answer.

“Peach Springs.” I’m already moving toward the exit. “I’ve said what I needed to say to the world. Now I need to say it to her.”

Luc nods, understanding in his eyes. “Drive safe, brother.”

I throw my bag into the passenger seat of my car and program the GPS for Peach Springs. The route shows a three-hour drive ahead of me, but I wouldn’t care if it was thirty. I need to see Victoria. Need to hold her, to tell her face-to-face what I just told the entire hockey world.

As I reach the parking lot exit, a familiar black SUV screeches to a halt, blocking my path. Calvin jumps out, followed closely by Olivia.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Calvin demands, arms crossed over his chest.

“Peach Springs,” I say, not bothering to hide my impatience. “Get out of my way, Cal.”

Olivia steps forward, her expression sympathetic but her body language determined. “Declan, you can’t just drive three hours in this state. You’re running on adrenaline and emotion.”

“I don’t care.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I need to see her.”

“We know,” Calvin says, his stance softening slightly. “That’s why we’re here.”

I frown, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Olivia and Calvin exchange a look before she pulls out her phone, swiping to what appears to be a text conversation. She holds it up for me to see.

“Management definitely isn’t happy about your press conference,” she explains. “But they’re also not stupid. They know the media shitstorm that would follow if they punished you for standing up against body shaming. So they’ve... authorized something to help you resolve this as fast as possible.”

I scan the message on her screen, my eyes widening as I process what I’m reading.

“You’re serious?” I ask, hardly daring to believe it.

Calvin grins, reaching for my car door. “Dead serious. But we need to move now. Luc’s already making the arrangements.”

For the first time in three days, I feel myself genuinely smile. I shut off the engine and grab my bag from the passenger seat.

“The helicopter will be ready in twenty minutes,” Olivia says, already on her phone again. “Management wants me to remind you that they still don’t approve of your theatrics—just your point.”

Victoria, I’m coming, I think as I follow Calvin and Olivia across the parking lot. And I’m coming a hell of a lot faster than I thought.