41. Hayden

Cassidy passedout right after breakfast. She"s been tired as hell lately and I"m trying not to act too interested in it.

After this morning, though, baby or not, I can"t blame her for wanting to shut down and forget about the world for a while. Roman"s becoming a real problem, not just an annoyance, and I'm going to have to figure out exactly how I want to deal with him.

But first, I have to put out the fires he"s already set... one of which Cassidy doesn"t even know about, and I hope I can keep it that way.

At the same time he was outing my relationship on his social media, he dropped the link to Cassidy"s OnlyFans in the team group chat, and ever since then my phone"s been blowing the fuck up.

War and Kingston both texted me on the side to find out what the hell"s going on, but King"s was more of a warning.

King: FYI Morozov sent the link to everyone

King: Management included

Fuck.

I"ve got practice in forty-five minutes, and my body"s shaking with the amount of rage and adrenaline I"ve got coursing through my veins right now. No doubt once Coach and the other higher ups see those videos, they"ll know I"m in them.

The mess keeps getting fucking messier, and Roman? He doesn"t have enough blood in his body to pay back the debt of retribution he"s wracking up.

Sawyer"s in the kitchen, gulping down the last of a protein shake dressed like he"s on his way out to the hospital.

"Whoa. Why am I looking at your murder face?" My brother"s hand reaches for the knives and he wraps his fingers around the hilt of the biggest one. "Knife or..." he looks around before brightening, "plastic bag?"

My lips twitch, and the violence in my blood cools a degree or two. "Plastic bag?"

Sawyer nods and lets go of the knife, grabbing the grocery bag. "You can do a lot with this." He pulls it over his head to demonstrate. "Asphyxiation, for starters."

I chuckle and then sigh as I lean back against the counter. "Morozov sent the link to Cassidy"s OnlyFans to everyone on the team, including Coach and the GM." This is one of those times I appreciate having zero secrets from my brother. I don"t have to explain what I"m talking about because he already knows.

Sawyer curses under his breath, dropping the bag back onto the counter. "Shit. That"s bad."

"Yeah. It"s fucking bad."

"What are you going to do?"

"Go to practice."

Sawyer grabs the plastic bag and then swipes his keys off the counter. "C"mon. I"m driving you."

I follow him out of the house, shoving my phone in my pocket so I don"t have to see any more of the messages coming through from the guys. They"re all fucking idiots, and if they think I"ll stand for them watching my future wife like that, they"re dead wrong. My fists ache with the need to hit someone, knowing all of my teammates are watching my girlfriend get herself off.

Watching me fuck her.

Goddamnit, they're all going to know what she looks like when she comes and I don't know how to feel about it.

Sawyer glances at me but his expression is completely serious when he says, "You," he makes air quotes with his right hand while he steers with his left, ""accidentally" break something on Roman"s body that sends him to the hospital while you"re at practice, and I"ll dose him with something that"ll fuck him up for a while."

I smirk at my brother. "You know I love you, right? Like, I fucking love you so much."

He grins. "I love you too, asshole."

When we get to the rink, Sawyer drops me off at the door.

"Good luck," he tells me as I slam the car door and head inside.

I don"t need luck. I need Roman"s blood on my hands.

But first I need to get through practice.

I don"t get the chance to even lace up my skates before Coach is on my ass, telling me to follow him upstairs. We"re bypassing his office, which is never a good thing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts, disgusted with myself for my nerves. I don"t get anxious; I get mad. Determined.

Even.

Roman did this, and even if the team can"t prove it"s me on those videos, which one look at my tats and they'll know, he might get his wish of me kicked off this team—maybe out of the league.

He leads me down the hall and into the conference room where the team"s management is sitting around the table with their laptops open and their eyes on me as soon as I step into the room.

I definitely should've answered the calls from my agent, but it"s too late now.

My stomach clenches and I blow out a slow breath to keep my shit together. It"s not going to help my case if I walk into that room looking like I want to rip some throats out.

And I can"t even handle thinking about all my teammates and this room full of suits watching my girlfriend—the mother of my future children—get fucked, even if it"s me doing the fucking.

Somehow it wasn"t so bad when I thought about the people watching her in an abstract way, but now that I have to face them, it"s become very real.

Coach turns to me, his expression unreadable as he says, "Sit down, Hayden."

My jaw clenches and my fists ball up at my sides as I look at each of the men in the room one by one. They"re all watching me with expressions ranging from disgust to amusement.

I"m going to kill Roman Morozov with my bare hands—and maybe Sawyer's plastic bag.

I sit down in the chair at the end of the table, still holding eye contact with everyone in the room.

The suits ask me questions and I answer honestly. There"s no point in lying or covering for myself now. It"s all out there and I"m not ashamed of it. Is it ideal? No. But I also wasn"t about to let Cassidy put herself out there with anyone but me.

"So you admit that you"re the man in the videos?" one of them asks me, his voice condescending as fuck and I fight to not flip him off.

I nod. Might as well own my shit. "Yes."

"And you knew this could be a problem for the team?"

I shrug, knowing they"re trying to trip me up and get me to admit something they can use against me. "It"s not a problem for the team unless it affects my ability to play."

One of them snorts, but Coach shoots him a glare that shuts him up.

"Do I need my agent here? Or my lawyer?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest.

They shake their heads, but I"m not so sure.

"We"re still discussing how to handle this," Coach says, his voice gruff as he looks down at his laptop screen, his forehead creased as he shuts it, looking tired as hell. The guy looks fifty instead of thirty-six, like he hasn"t slept in weeks. "You"ll be suspended until we figure out what to do."

"You know this is bullshit, right?" My voice is quiet and controlled, but there"s no hiding my anger. "Morozov sent that link to everyone on the team. He"s trying to get me off of it."

Coach Morin nods slowly. "I know. But these aren"t private videos, Hayden. Anyone can pay 25 bucks to unlock one and then what happens if the media finds out the man is you? What then?" He shakes his head when I don"t answer. "Right now, we have to follow protocol."

I don"t say anything else as I stand up and leave the room, heading back downstairs to grab my shit and leave, texting my agent a heads up on the way. This whole thing is a fucking joke. Sticking my dick into my girlfriend on camera has zero to do with what I do on the ice. And it's not like she posted it on public social media.

Until I got here, this team was mediocre at best. Now that we"re in the running for the playoffs, they"re going to bench me?

Idiots.

I slam the locker room door open and ignore all of my teammates who are still lacing up their skates and grabbing their sticks as I head toward my locker. I grab my bag and rip the zipper open, checking that I've got everything.

Roman"s standing by his locker, his phone in his hand as he looks down at it with a smirk on his face. He looks up at me and winks, like he knows what just happened upstairs. "You fucked yourself over, Vaughn. You should"ve kept your dick in your pants. Now things can go back to the way they should be."

Warren"s got a frown on his face as he stares between Morozov and me while I shove shit in my gear bag. "What"s going on?" he asks.

"Dickhead over there," I say, nodding toward Roman, "just got me suspended. Indefinitely."

"Bullshit," War says, laughing like this is a joke.

"I"m not kidding."

He tenses up, and Kingston walks over, sensing the energy shift, I guess. "What"s going on?"

"Vaughn"s suspended."

"The OnlyFans?" Kingston guesses and I nod.

"How long?" King asks, and of everyone affected, he"s going to the feel the impact of me not being on the ice with my team the most since he"s my line mate and our chemistry is fucking awesome. I know where he is at all times when we"re on the ice together without even having to see him, that"s how in sync we"ve gotten.

"Don"t know yet." I shove the last of my shit into the bag and zip it up, slinging the strap over my shoulder.

"We"re not gonna let them do this," War says, glaring over his shoulder at Morozov, who looks smug as fuck and extra punchable right now.

I shake my head. "It"s already done."

"Fuck that," Kingston says, his jaw clenching. "You"re one of us. We don"t let each other go down without a fight." He nods like he"s decided on something and then turns to War. "Spread the word. Get everyone together after practice. We need to make a plan."

"Everyone except that asshole," Mattson says, upnodding toward Roman as he joins our little huddle.

War"s jaw tics and he looks more serious than I"ve ever seen him. "Done."

I laugh, knowing they mean well and that they"ll fight for me, but it"s not going to change anything. The suits upstairs made their decision, and it"s final.

But I appreciate the fuck out of my team right now—well, most of them.

I leave them there to finish getting ready for practice, bailing when they"re all huddled together. I rub my chest where there"s a knot forming that has nothing to do with the fact that I just got suspended and everything to do with the way Cassidy's going to look at me when she finds out what happened.

She"s going to think this is her fault. That she ruined my career.

And fuck if that doesn"t make me want to break something even more than I already do.