Page 71 of Sweet as Puck

I needed to do some damage control.

But where did I even start?

How did they even figure out who I was?

I kept reading, and it became obvious. My social media profiles were open. I’d never bothered locking down my posts to my family and friends because no one had ever been interested in who I was. I’d posted about the podcast and how we wanted the world to know the truth. I’d added the link to my profiles. I’d been talking about the Seals’ tour and had posed for photos with team members, tagging them. The team had tagged me and Delaware’s Warehouse too. All anyone had to do was look through the Seals’s social media feed, and I’d be right there.

There was thread after thread doing exactly that. They were dissecting how I’d become involved with the tour. Someone had added my LinkedIn profile, too, which explained where I was working now. Our PR department had drawn up short pieces about how Delaware’s Warehouse was synonymous with bringing ice hockey to Australia, and we’d all shared it.

Speculation hadn’t started yet about my surname being Delaware.

Oh wait, there it was.

Now I was a nepo baby too.

There was talk of Tristan’s podcast as well. Speculation was running rife about its truthfulness. But people had seen Tristan in the background of the photos that were popping up. His image was plastered alongside mine. If nothing else, maybe he’d get a few more downloads.

The sinking feeling in my gut squashed any lingering happiness I’d been feeling after speaking with Alec and Monroe last night. Monroe hadn’t stayed long with him—he wanted Alec to get some sleep after the game—but I could hear Monroe’s smile through his soft words to me as I lay in bed.

I clicked out of the feeds. I couldn’t read any more.

My breath wobbled as I sucked in a breath and dashed away the tears. My heart hurt. If they put together who Monroe was, he’d have tens of thousands of people looking into his history. He didn’t need to relive it again. He was already doing it every day with the podcast.

I sent off a text to Harry, the head of our PR department. I needed to speak with Keeley too. We were all going to need to do some damage control.

But first I needed to speak with Alec. I dialled his number, but he didn’t answer. I left a message.

Then I sent him a text.

I knew Monroe was having breakfast with Zali. The two of them were taking a few hours this morning to catch up. I hated interrupting him, but this wasn’t something that could wait.

I rang him.

Again, no answer.

Where the heck was everyone, and why weren’t they answering their phones?

I rang Zali, then Tristan. Her phone rang out, and Tristan’s was turned off altogether. My heart pounded and I chewed on my lip until I broke the skin, the sting a welcome distraction.Dread sank its claws into me, and panic welled up, threatening to overwhelm me. Goodness gracious, what should I do?

***

Two hours.

It took two hours for Monroe to knock on my door. Alec followed moments later, like they’d timed it perfectly, but he banged with enough force, I thought the hinges would give out.

I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t even know whether it was anger, frustration, or fear that I’d ruined everything. But it was overwhelming. My hands shook and my voice sounded like I’d swallowed a whole roll of sandpaper. My stomach was in knots.

My knees were about to give out. I curled up on the couch in my suite and hugged a cushion to my chest. All I wanted was their arms around me so I could block out everything I’d read.

“What. The. Fuck?” Alec hissed as he rounded on Monroe and me. He pointed at both of us in turn. Alec’s face was pale, and there were tension lines around his eyes. The usual playful glint in them was gone. His hands were shaking and his lips were turned down, a frown line between his brows. He didn’t look angry—if anything he looked devastated, shocked to his core—but his short, sharp tone and the way he rounded on us said otherwise.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I didn’t understand. What was he talking about?

“How could you not have told me?” he continued. “Seriously, I can’t believe you hid it from me.”

“Hid—” I started. My brows knit and my gaze ping-ponged between the two of them. Did Monroe know what he was talking about?

“Stop yelling,” Monroe growled, his voice leaving no room for dispute.