“Here’s the key to the house. It’s yours. I’ll call you in a few hours when I know more.”
* * * *
I’m vibrating with tension by the time I pull up to Coach’s house. The meeting goes pretty much how I expect it to—grim faces, a lot of serious tones as he and Kelsey catch me up on where the NHL is at. They’ll do their investigation, they’ll figure out it’s false, and I’ll be reinstated. Until then, I’m out. It doesn’t help that I’ve already had one suspension this season for fighting.
The video call with the commissioner is similarly harsh.
It’s possible that, true or not, this makes me an extremely undesirable player to keep on a team. I can only hope that Coach will continue to see the value I bring to the Wolverines and not ship me off to be someone else’s problem.
Is now a good time to bring up the fact that I might be in love with his daughter?
I sit in my truck afterward, the back of my head resting against the seat, eyes closed. My phone has been vibrating nonstop for the past hour. The guys are blowing up our group chat, demanding updates, asking if I’m okay, if there’s anything they can do.
But what the hell am I supposed to say?
No, I didn’t tell Coach or Kelsey about my dad.
Yes, I figured he would just go away.
No, he obviouslydid not.
Yes, I’m out of the games until they complete the investigation.
No, I have obviously never done gambling of any kind. And I sure as fuck would never bet on the Wolverineslosing.
And on and on it goes.
Every message feels like a weight pressing on my chest. I scroll through them until the screen blurs and my stomach churns. I want to throw the phone straight through the windshield. He said I bet on us losing. And that makes every game we lost at the beginning of the season look suspicious. Every fight I got into a huge red flag. My stomach churns with the stress of it all.
Monroe’s texts also remain unopened and unreplied to. Not because I don’t want to—I do—but here she is, vibrant and beautiful, the light finally coming back intoher eyes. She’s moving back up into a life she can be proud of, a fresh start for her, and I’m free falling into the worst place I’ve ever been, both professionally and mentally.
My team is on their way to the Stanley Cup playoffs—and I’m not going to be on the ice to even help them get there. If the investigation takes longer than a few weeks, I could miss them entirely.
The spiral is dark and I feel myself retreating inward.
‘I think you might be my boyfriend.’
Her words from her birthday party echo in my head, and they only make the ache in my chest worse. Some fucking boyfriend. What if I lose her over this? What if she decides she doesn’t want to be tied to someone with a career scandal hanging over his head? I wouldn’t blame her. She barely let herself believe in us to begin with. Our relationship feels tenuous at best. Will it even survive this?
That thought feels worse than losing my NHL career and I’m sick with the idea of losing her. The nausea threatens to boil over and I rub my temples with my fingers.
I’m still in the driveway when Kelsey walks out and taps a manicured finger against my window. I roll it down.
“I’ve got a guy for that thing you asked me to look into. Friend of a friend. Works fast and quiet,” she says.
“Did he agree to do it?” I ask.
She nods. “Yep. He’s going to call you shortly with some information.”
“Thanks, Kels.”
“I want a big bonus this year, McKnight.”
I chuckle but agree. “Whatever you want,” I promise. She walks away, sliding into her black Audi and driving away. She does deserve a big, giant bonus. I make a mental note to double whatever I gave her last year if I get out of this mess and still have a job.
My phone rings again in my hand. An unknown number lights up the screen. A familiar sense of anxiety creeps up my chest. Even though I know it’s Kelsey’s guy on the other end, and not my dad, I’ve become accustomed to ignoring every number not already saved in my phone.
“Hello,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.