26. Tom

Chapter 26

Tom

I slumped in my office chair, staring at the wreckage around me. Papers, shattered glass, and broken frames littered the floor. My fists throbbed, knuckles raw from pounding the desk in a blind rage. Ally’s words echoed in my head, each one a nail driven deeper into my chest.

I thought back to the night we spent together, how she’d clung to me as if I were her lifeline. I’d felt invincible then, like maybe I could be more than the sum of my failures. But now, knowing what she went through alone—losing our child—stripped that illusion away.

The anger boiled over again, but it was different this time. It wasn’t just directed outward; it turned inward, gnawing at me from the inside. How could I have been so blind? So consumed by my own pain and ambition that I missed what was right in front of me?

My future had been taken from me once before when my knee gave out on that ice. But this—this was different. This wasn’t about lost glory or unfulfilled potential. This was about being there for someone when they needed me most and failing spectacularly.

I saw her face in my mind, those blue eyes full of unshed tears as she told me about the miscarriage. She’d been so strong, carrying that burden alone while I remained blissfully ignorant, wrapped up in my own damn world. The regret hit like a freight train.

All those years pushing Nick to be better than me, hoping he’d succeed where I failed—had it all been for nothing? I couldn’t even protect Ally from my own family’s venomous games. Janet’s involvement only twisted the knife further; she knew how to exploit every weakness.

A photo on the floor caught my eye—a shot of Nick in his early playing days. His face was full of hope and promise before our relationship turned cold and distant. I picked it up; the glass cutting into my hand unnoticed as blood smeared across the image.

I wanted to be a better man for Ally, to show her that I could be more than just a harsh coach or a bitter father. But what good was wanting if it always ended up like this? A room full of broken things, and another person hurt by my inability to let go of the past?

The sorrow weighed heavy on my chest, mingling with the anger until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. All that remained was an overwhelming sense of loss—for what could have been and for what was irreparably damaged.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting the silence fill the room as I grappled with emotions too tangled to sort out.

I hated that I couldn’t do anything to fix it. I felt helpless, and that was a feeling I despised more than anything. The anger, the sorrow—they were emotions I could deal with, but helplessness? That was a different beast entirely.

Just as I was about to spiral further into my thoughts, my phone rang. The screen showed an unknown number. For a moment, I considered letting it go to voicemail. But then, with a resigned sigh, I answered.

"Morgan," I said gruffly.

"Mr. Morgan? My name is Seraphina Hanson," came the voice on the other end. "I'm the owner of the Newport Seagulls. Is this a bad time?"

I straightened in my chair, pushing away the chaos around me. "No," I replied, curiosity piqued.

"Good," she continued. "I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in having a conversation about your future."

The word hit me hard, carrying weight it shouldn’t have. Future—something I'd barely considered beyond the next game or training session. Yet here it was, being thrust into my lap when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

"I would love to fly you out and show you around our facilities so you can see them yourself," she said. "Maybe discuss your plans about where you see yourself next season. Would you be open to that?"

At this point, anything seemed better than sitting in this room filled with broken memories and shattered dreams. "I'd be open to anything," I admitted.

"Great," Seraphina said, her tone warm and inviting. "I'll have my assistant coordinate the details with you shortly."

As the call ended, I sat back and stared at the phone in my hand. An opportunity—a potential escape from everything that had gone wrong here. But even as the prospect of a new beginning hovered in front of me, the weight of what I'd lost lingered heavily on my shoulders.

For now, though, it was something—a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark landscape. And maybe that was enough to start pulling myself out of this pit I'd dug for myself.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling some of the tension ease from my muscles.

For now, it was enough just to have an option on the table.

At that moment, the door to my office creaked open.

Janet strolled in like she owned the place, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She took in the mess with a frown, then turned her icy gaze on me.

"Another one of your tantrums?" she remarked callously.

Seeing her reminded me of everything Ally had suffered, including the blackmail not only from Nick but from Janet. The bile rose in my throat.

"You have a lot of fucking nerve coming here," I said in a low voice, every word dripping with barely-contained rage as I stood up.

Janet cocked her head to the side, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm here to get what's owed to me. Since your little flavor of the week refuses to play, I thought I'd go directly to you myself. She got rid of your?—"

"She lost the baby," I cut in through clenched teeth. " My baby. And if you're here to get money out of me, you can fuck right the fuck off. Your games are done now."

Janet's eyes widened for a split second before she regained her composure. She opened her mouth to speak, but my glare intensified, cutting her off before she could start.

"Don't fuck with me, Janet," I warned, my voice dropping even lower. "I'm not in the mood."

Janet sneered, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Oh, you actually care now? Funny, when I was pregnant and lost the baby, you didn't seem to care at all. I had to suffer through that alone."

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I swallowed hard and forced myself to meet her gaze. "You shouldn't have had to."

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. "What?"

"No woman should have to suffer through that alone," I said, the words coming out with more conviction than I expected. "Even if you are a bitch. Even if I hated every fiber of who you are, you don't deserve that."

"It wasn't just me," she said, stepping forward. "It was your baby, too."

I looked away, the weight of her words pressing down on me.

"Why do you suddenly care?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Why? Because some girl half your age spread her legs?—"

"I swear, Janet," I interrupted, my fists clenching at my sides. "I've never hit a woman, but if you don't shut the fuck up about her?—"

"Why do you care about her?" Janet's voice was shrill now. "What does she have that I—" She cut herself off, realization dawning in her eyes.

"Ally never tried to force me to do anything," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "She never tricked me or trapped me."

Janet scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh please, spare me the romantic bullshit. She's just another distraction for you."

"No," I admitted, taking a step closer to her. "She's not just a distraction. But even if she were, at least she’s honest with me. She doesn't play games with people's lives."

"Games?" Janet's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You think this is a game? Everything I've done has been to survive in this fucked-up world you've created."

"And what about Nick?" I shot back. "Did you ever think about what your actions would do to him? Or was it always just about getting back at me?"

Her face hardened, and for a moment, we stood there in silence, the air thick with years of unresolved tension and bitterness.

"You always think you're so righteous," she finally spat out. "But you're just as flawed as the rest of us."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm inside me. "I never claimed to be perfect," I muttered, my voice barely holding back the rage.

"Oh, bullshit," Janet snapped. "You know what's frustrating? Miscarriage is so much more common than you think. And you're sitting around, moping. Get over it, Tom. Okay? Get over it. Tons of women have suffered, not just her. And yet, you completely destroy your office because why? You found out?"

"Just because it's common doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt, Janet," I snapped back, my patience wearing thin.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "You're hurt now? Come on, Tom. You didn't even know?—"

"I love her," I interrupted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I love her, and she had to suffer through that alone. Because of Nick. Because of me, of what I'd done. And I can't... I can't fucking do anything about it now. I fucked it up."

"Fuck her and fuck it all," Janet said coldly. "You're acting like this is the first time?—"

"I never loved you!" The confession burst out of me like a dam breaking. "I never loved you. I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry, but I can't fucking change my feelings."

She started laughing, a cruel sound that grated on my already frayed nerves. "And you love her? When Nick introduced her, she wasn't even the prettiest girl he's been with. I was glad when they broke up and even happier when I found out about the two of you. You ruined everything with Nick. You know that, right? He hates you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I refused to let her see the impact. "Nick is an asshole and never deserved her anyway," I said through clenched teeth. "But that doesn't change how I feel about Ally."

Janet's laughter faded into a sneer as she looked at me with disdain. "You think this is about feelings? It's about power, Tom. Control. And right now, you've lost both."

The truth in her words stung, but it also ignited something within me—a determination to reclaim what I'd lost and make things right with Ally, no matter what it took.

But for now, facing Janet was all-consuming.

"Get out," I growled.

"Gladly," she retorted before turning on her heel and strutting out of my office.

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving me alone in the wreckage once again.

Brooke stood in front of the whiteboard, her gaze sweeping over the team. She had a natural command about her, even though she wasn’t more than nineteen. Her father's position as dean lent her authority, but it was her own no-nonsense attitude that made the boys pay attention.

“All right, listen up,” she started, her voice cutting through the locker room chatter. “The Halloween Masquerade is coming up, and as you know, it's not just a party. It’s a charity event, and your participation reflects on the entire university.”

The guys shifted uncomfortably on the benches, a few exchanging glances. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, my thoughts wandering back to Ally. The noises she made as I tasted her this morning echoed in my mind. A smirk tugged at my lips. Fuck, I could still taste her on my tongue.

“Coach Morgan?” Brooke’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“Yeah?” I replied, meeting her eyes.

“I trust you'll ensure the team understands the importance of this event?”

“Absolutely,” I nodded, forcing myself to focus. “They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“This isn’t just about showing up and looking good. We’re raising money for local youth hockey programs—giving back to the community that supports you.”

Adrian Windsor sighed, like the whole fucking event was beneath him. “Are we supposed to wear costumes?”

“Yes,” Brooke confirmed with a slight smile. “And make sure they're appropriate. Remember, you're representing Crestwood.”

The boys groaned collectively, but nodded in agreement.

“Anything else?” I asked Brooke.

“Just make sure they’re there on time and ready to engage with guests,” she replied. “We need everyone to mingle and show their support for the cause.”

I nodded again. “You heard her, boys. No fucking around.”

Brooke tapped her pen against the clipboard, scanning the room with the precision of a drill sergeant. “I need a head count for the Masquerade,” she said. “Remember, each participant is entitled to a plus one.”

She approached Damien first. He leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. “I might need a plus three,” he remarked, eyes glinting with mischief.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms tighter against my chest. Typical Sinclaire.

Brooke didn't miss a beat, turning her attention to Adrian. “I’m assuming one?”

Adrian shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Two,” he muttered.

“Fuck, she’s got brass balls,” Keaton muttered to Windsor. “Huh, Windsor?”

Adrian merely nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

Brooke continued her rounds, methodically asking each player and jotting down their responses. Finally, she stopped in front of me, pen poised over the clipboard.

“Well, sir?” Her voice cut through the locker room chatter.

I blinked, realizing the entire team was now looking at me expectantly. “What?” I asked, straightening up.

“Will you be bringing a plus one?” she repeated.

Ally’s face flashed across my mind—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like this.

“Yes,” I finally said, more certain than I felt.

The players erupted into good-natured ribbing and catcalls. Even Brooke’s lips twitched with amusement as she marked it down on her clipboard.

“All right then,” she said crisply. “Everyone knows what’s expected of them. Let’s make this event a success.”

The boys grumbled. As they began to disperse, I caught Brooke’s eye and gave her a nod of thanks. She returned it with a slight smile before moving on to her next task.

There was a good chance bringing Ally to the Masquerade was going to complicate things even further. But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand—making sure my team stayed in line and represented Crestwood well.

One thing was certain: this Halloween Masquerade was shaping up to be more than just another charity event.

I watched Brooke disappear down the hallway before turning back to my team.

“You heard what she said,” I barked out. “Don’t embarrass me—or yourselves.”

The guys muttered their affirmations before dispersing to hit the showers or head home.

"Look, coach," Keaton muttered. "You should keep an eye on your plus one. I can't help it if she can't keep her hands off of me."

I smirked. "My grandmother wouldn't touch you with a six-foot pole, Douglas."

The boys laughed.

"Now," I said. "Get the fuck out and have a good day. And remember, don't fuck up at this Masquerade, assholes. I'm not afraid to bench your asses."

I remained for a moment longer, savoring the memory of Ally’s touch from that morning before shaking it off and heading towards my office.

In all honesty, I was looking forward to the event—the first time I ever felt that way. It was like an official coming out. Everyone would know she belonged to me, and nothing could get in between us.