24. Henry

24

Henry

M orning skate left me drenched in sweat, my legs burning, muscles screaming for mercy. I pushed myself until exhaustion crept in, but it wasn't enough to drown out the frustration boiling inside me. My uncle’s threats gnawed at my thoughts, his actions like a cancer. As I left the ice, the chill air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool my temper.

In the locker room, I peeled off my pads and jersey, letting them drop to the floor with a wet thud. My teammates laughed and joked around me, but their voices felt distant. I shoved my gear into the duffel bag, yanked on a fresh shirt, and jammed my feet into sneakers. The mirror above the sink reflected a face hard with anger and resolve. No time for reflection now; I had something to take care of.

I slung the duffel over my shoulder and headed down the narrow hallway to Morgan's office. His door was ajar, light spilling into the dim corridor.

"Can we speak?" I leaned against the doorframe, trying to keep my voice steady.

Morgan looked up from his desk, eyes narrowing as he saw me. "Come in," he said, closing a folder on his desk and motioning to the chair opposite him.

I dropped into the chair, setting my bag on the floor beside me. The room smelled of old books and fresh coffee—comforting in a way that nothing else seemed to be right now.

"You look like hell," Morgan observed. "What's going on?"

Morgan leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His presence filled the room, larger than life. His dark hair was slicked back, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw. He tapped a stick—yes, an actual hockey stick—against the side of his desk, his eyes narrowing as he took me in.

"I can't make the game tonight," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

The bat stopped mid-tap. Morgan's eyes flashed. "Are you kidding me? You realize what's at stake here?"

"I know," I said, feeling the weight of the duffel pressing against my leg. "But my uncle's forcing me to attend a board meeting that’ll decide on the future of my inheritance."

Morgan’s eyes went wide. "Well, fuck."

I nodded once, feeling the strain in my neck. "My grandfather entrusted me with his legacy. I can't… I can't let him down. I have to fight for it."

His face hardened. "And what about fighting for the Championship? That’s something you've been working towards your whole life."

My chest tightened at his words. The ice rink had always been my sanctuary, but this was different. This was blood and family, a promise I couldn’t break.

"I can’t let him down," I repeated.

Morgan's eyes bored into mine, searching for any sign of hesitation. "This doesn't have to do with the pictures, does it?"

I frowned, confusion creasing my forehead. "Pictures?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Look," he said, rubbing his temples. "I overheard Sinclaire talking in the hallway earlier..."

His voice trailed off, and he huffed, frustration evident in his eyes.

"Should probably just show you."

He sat up straight and started typing furiously on his keyboard. I watched as he navigated through folders and files with practiced ease. Finally, he turned the monitor so I could see it.

"They broke today, apparently," he said, his tone flat.

My heart pounded in my chest as I leaned in closer to the screen. There they were—pictures. Freya, naked. Freya, with Dan. The images seared into my brain like brands, each one more damning than the last. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, the world tilted on its axis.

Fury replaced my blood, pumping through my veins with every heartbeat. My hands clenched into fists so tight that my knuckles turned white. I felt the room close in around me; the walls pressing in like a vice.

"What... what the hell is this?" My voice came out low and strained, barely more than a growl.

Morgan's face was unreadable as he studied me. "Fuck if I know."

I tore my gaze away from the monitor, struggling to keep my composure. The betrayal cut deep—deeper than I could have ever imagined. I wanted to scream, to break something, anything to release the rage that threatened to consume me.

"I trusted her," I said through gritted teeth.

Morgan shook his head slowly. "Whoa," he said. "You don't fucking know it was her. There's another asshole in the picture."

I couldn't focus on his words. My mind raced with images of Freya—every moment we shared now tainted by those damn pictures.

"I need to find her," I muttered, pushing myself up from the chair with a force that nearly sent it crashing backward.

Morgan's hand shot out to grab my arm. "Mathers," he warned, "think this through."

"What would you do?" I snarled, my voice barely more than a growl. "If it was you, what would you do?"

Morgan stopped, eyes narrowing as he looked at me. I could see the gears turning in his head, the conflict etched on his face. For once, he was actually considering it.

"What I would do?" he said slowly, choosing each word with care. "What I would do and what you should do aren't the same thing."

"Coach," I pressed, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.

He flared his nostrils, his jaw tightening. "If that was my girl," he said slowly, deliberately, "I would make sure whoever did this to her couldn't breathe without a tube again."

His words hung heavy in the air between us, each one like a punch to the gut. The rage inside me churned hotter, fueled by his affirmation of what I already felt deep in my bones.

I nodded once; the decision made.

"Mathers," he said. "Consider —"

But there was no thinking now—only raw emotion driving me forward. Without another word, I stormed out of his office, ignoring the concerned looks from teammates and staff as I passed by. The halls blurred around me as I made my way to where I knew Dan would be.

There would be answers, or there would be hell to pay.

The campus soccer fields stretched out before me, a sea of green under the morning sun. The air was crisp, with a slight chill that promised the last vestiges of winter hadn't quite left us yet. Dew still clung to the blades of grass, sparkling like tiny diamonds in the light.

It was just after nine, and the fields were alive with activity. Spring soccer practices had started early this year, even though it was technically the off-season. Coaches barked orders while players ran through drills with military precision. The sound of cleats striking the turf and the occasional thud of a ball being kicked filled the air.

I spotted Dan easily enough. He stood out with his distinct build and cocky demeanor, weaving through cones with practiced ease. His face was set in concentration, oblivious to the storm headed his way. He wasn't alone; a few teammates moved around him, but my focus was singular.

My blood boiled as I watched him laugh with one of his buddies, completely unaware of my presence. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to spring into action. I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to keep a lid on my fury for just a moment longer.

I started towards him, each step heavy with purpose. The distance between us closed rapidly, my heart pounding louder with every stride. He turned slightly as I approached, eyes widening when he recognized me.

"Mathers?" His voice held a note of confusion.

Without a word, I closed the gap between us entirely.

My vision tunneled, and Dan’s confused expression blurred into a single target. His mouth opened to say something, but the words never reached me. All I saw was red.

My fist flew before I could even think, connecting squarely with his jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone on bone resonated through my knuckles, a grim symphony to my rage. He staggered back, eyes wide with shock.

“Mathers, what the hell?” he managed to gasp out, but I was beyond listening.

I grabbed him by the collar of his jersey and pulled him closer. My next punch hit him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping for air. I didn't relent. Another punch, this time to his ribs. I felt something give under my knuckles, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the storm inside me.

He tried to raise his hands in defense, but I swatted them away like they were nothing. Another punch to the face left his nose a bloody mess. He crumpled to the ground, and I stood over him, chest heaving with exertion and fury.

Coaches and players shouted around us, their voices merging into an indistinct roar. Someone grabbed me from behind, trying to pull me off him, but I shrugged them off violently.

Dan looked up at me from the ground, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. His eyes were wide with a mix of fear and confusion.

“You think you can just ruin lives and get away with it?” My voice was a growl that barely sounded like my own.

“Mathers—” He coughed up blood and tried to speak again. “I didn’t?—”

Another punch silenced whatever excuse he had ready. His head snapped back, and he collapsed fully onto the turf.

Finally, strong arms encircled mine from behind and yanked me away. My breath came in ragged gasps as two coaches wrestled me backward, away from Dan's limp form.

"That's enough!" one of them barked in my ear.

I struggled for a moment longer before letting myself be dragged back. My knuckles throbbed with pain, smeared with Dan's blood. His teammates crowded around him, trying to help him up.

The field buzzed with frantic energy as everyone tried to make sense of what had just happened. But all I could see was Dan's broken form on the ground and the rage that still simmered within me.

Just as the chaos settled, I saw her. Freya appeared on the edge of the field, her face a mask of shock and confusion. Her eyes went wide when they locked onto me, but she quickly shifted her attention back to Dan, who was struggling to pick himself up from the ground.

"Freya?" I barely managed to say her name before she stormed past me.

Without warning, she drew back her arm and punched Dan square in the face. The crack of her fist meeting his jaw echoed across the field, louder than any of my blows. My eyes widened in surprise.

Freya pulled back her hand, hissing in pain. "You're a piece of shit, Dan," she spat, shaking her injured fist.

Dan collapsed again, this time not even attempting to get up. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth, mixing with the grass below. Freya stood over him, breathing heavily, her entire frame trembling with fury.

"Freya," I called out again, more firmly this time.

She turned to face me, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and something else—something raw and unspoken that hung heavy between us. The tension around us thickened as players and coaches looked on in stunned silence.

"I couldn't let him get away with it," she said through gritted teeth, voice barely above a whisper but charged with intensity. "I didn't —"

I stepped closer to her, our breaths mingling in the cold morning air. For a moment, we just stood there, united in our rage against Dan and everything he represented.

"I know," I replied softly.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke our trance. Coaches were coming over to intervene further, their faces set in grim determination. Freya and I shared one last look before reality came crashing back in around us.

"Why?" I barked out, the word tearing from my throat like a wild animal.

Dan looked up at me, his face a bloody mess, before turning his gaze to Freya. "You don't understand," he muttered, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "I've been working towards this my whole life."

"Don't fucking look at her," I snapped, taking a step forward.

"I didn't have a choice," he continued, his voice trembling.

"What's going on here?" one of the coaches demanded, stepping between us with authority.

"You know you've ruined your life, right?" I said, my voice cold and cutting.

"That's not what your uncle said," Dan replied, eyes narrowing as he wiped blood from his lip.

My blood went cold. My uncle? The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around my neck.

"Mr. Mathers, you literally assaulted Dan with no cause?—"

"There was cause," Freya interjected, her voice strong and unwavering. Despite her petite frame, her eyes sparkled with defiance. "Your captain posted pictures online. Of me. Of us."

"Miss Reynolds," the coach said, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Intimate pictures," I pointed out.

"Without my consent," she added firmly.

The coach slowly turned to look at Dan, suspicion etching lines into his face. "Is this true?"

"Even so," the second coach said, turning to me with a stern expression. "You can't just?—"

"I can," I cut him off, my voice sharp. I turned to Freya. "Let's go."

She glared at Dan, but even I could see the pain in her eyes. It wasn’t just anger; it was something deeper, rawer.

I took her hand in mine, feeling the tremble in her grip. "You'll get what's coming to you," I said, my gaze never leaving Dan’s bruised face.

"Are you threatening me?" Dan asked as one of the coaches checked his face. "Did you hear him? He's threatening?—"

"It's a goddamn promise," I replied coldly.

I led Freya away from the chaos, each step feeling like a march away from a battlefield. The murmur of voices and shouts faded behind us as we made our way to my car.

"What about my car?" she asked, her voice tinged with lingering defiance.

"I'll have someone pick it up," I said, squeezing her hand gently. "Right now, we have to talk."

We reached my car, and I opened the door for her. She slid into the passenger seat, exhaustion touching her delicate features. I rounded the front of the car and got in beside her, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

As I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions that neither of us knew how to express.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I broke the silence. "Freya... about those pictures..."

She turned to look at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can't believe he did that," she whispered.

"I'm going to make sure he pays for it," I said firmly.

She shook her head slightly. "It's not just about making him pay, Henry. It's about... everything. All of this." She gestured vaguely, encompassing not just the immediate situation but everything that had led us here.

We drove on in silence after that, each lost in our own thoughts but united by a shared determination. The road stretched out before us, uncertain.

I was furious.

With the situation.

With Dan.

Even with her.

But she was mine to protect. And knowing my uncle was part of this?

That needed to be contended with.