Chapter 9 Jack

T he locker room is deserted this early, except for Coach Matthews, who is waiting expectantly for me. The jackass called me in far too early, and I'm sure he wants to hand me a piece of my ass for missing the shot last night that cost us the exhibition game.

His imposing figure stands with arms crossed, gray hair neatly trimmed, and sharp brown eyes boring into me as I approach. The lines on his face seem deeper than usual, no doubt from the stress of the impending season.

"Ford." His gruff voice cuts through the silence. "Care to explain that pathetic display last night?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "My shoulder gave out on that shot, Coach. It's been bothering me for months. Ever since I injured it at the end of last season. I've mentioned it…"

Matthews scowls, clearly displeased with my response. "You're the captain of this team. I expect more from you."

Frustration bubbles within me, but I keep my tone measured. "With all due respect, I think I need to see a specialist about this injury. The team doctor keeps giving me pain meds, but it's not getting better."

He shakes his head dismissively. "Out of the question. We need you on the ice, not sidelined for surgery. You'll play through the pain if you have to."

My jaw clenches at his callous disregard for my well-being. "And if it gets worse? What then?"

He steps closer, trying to loom over me. "Then you'll man up and take whatever medication is necessary to keep you playing. I'll have the team doctor write you a stronger prescription."

I want to argue further, but it's pointless. This man cares more about winning than the health of his players. Vince Halstrom's career-ending injury is proof of that. Swallowing my pride, I give a curt nod. "Fine. I'll play through it for now."

He grins as if he's won some twisted victory. "That's what I like to hear. We can't afford any distractions this season, Ford. We're defending the championship, for Christ's sake."

"Don't worry, Coach. I'm all in for the team." Just not for you, you jackass.

Matthews claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through the injured area. I wince inwardly but maintain my stoic expression.

"Glad to hear it. Get out there and show me what you're made of." With that, he turns and strides away, leaving me alone in the empty locker room.

I sink onto the bench, cradling my throbbing shoulder. Deep down, I know this injury needs proper treatment, not just pain medication to mask the symptoms, but going against Matthews' wishes could jeopardize everything for which I've worked.

I'll play through the pain, gritting my teeth and pushing forward. Defending the championship is all that matters this season. I can deal with the consequences later, whatever they might be.

As my teammates begin to trickle in, I steel myself for a grueling practice, determined to prove my worth on the ice. Failure isn't an option and never has been.

***

That afternoon, I step through the door of our apartment, muscles aching from another taxing practice. The scent of Elyse's familiar perfume wafts through the air, and I spot her curled up on the couch, brow furrowed as she pores over a stack of documents.

She glances up at the sound of my entrance, green eyes widening slightly. "Jack, you're back early."

I nod, dropping my gear bag with a thud. "Coach let us out a bit sooner today."

An awkward silence stretches between us, the weight of last night's argument still hanging heavy. I rake a hand through my damp hair, steeling myself to break the tension. "Look, Elyse, about last night…" My voice trails off as her gaze shifts to the bottle of painkillers I set on the coffee table.

"Are those for your shoulder?" She gestures toward the plastic bottle, concern etched across her delicate features.

My shoulders tighten defensively. "It's nothing. Just some meds to help with the pain."

Elyse worries her lower lip, a habit I've come to find endearing. "Jack, we need to talk about something."

I sink onto the couch beside her, bracing myself for whatever she's about to say. "What is it?"

"Did you know Vince Halstrom is suing the Firebirds and Reginald Mathews?"

I tense. "I've heard something about it, but it's not the talk of the locker room." My gaze narrows. "How do you know about it?" Dread sits heavily in my stomach.

"The firm I'm interning for is representing Mr. Halstrom." She takes a deep breath, her eyes holding a hint of trepidation. "Dervin Kobin asked me to look into the allegations against Coach Matthews and the Firebirds' team owner."

The words hit me like a slap in the face. "You're investigating the team? Why the hell would you do that?"

She flinches at my sharp tone, but her voice remains steady. "It's part of my internship duties. I didn't have a choice."

I shake my head vehemently, anger simmering beneath the surface. "There's always a choice, Elyse. You should have told Kobin to shove it."

Her brow furrows, a flash of defiance in her eyes. "This is my career we're talking about, Jack. I can't just turn down assignments because they're inconvenient for you."

"Inconvenient?" I scoff, rising to my feet as my frustration bubbles over. "This goes beyond inconvenience. You're digging into my personal life and my team's business."

"Not your personal life. Just seeing how things are." She stands as well, refusing to back down. "I'm doing my job just like you do yours on the ice."

I pace the length of the living room, running a hand through my hair. "This is different. You're betraying my trust, our…" I trail off, unsure how to define the bond between us.

Her expression softens, and she takes a tentative step closer. "You know how much I care about you, but I can't let my feelings get in the way of my work."

Her words sting, and I whirl to face her, jaw clenched. "So that's it? Your career comes before everything else, before us?"

Elyse flinches at my accusation, hurt flickering across her features. "That's not fair. You know how important this internship is to me."

"Important enough for you to fake a relationship with me and then pretend to turn it real?"

She blinks, looking stunned at the accusation. "Of course not. I agreed for fun and because I wanted an excuse to spend time with you. You. Not your team."

She's convincing, but I just don't know what to believe. I exhale a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through my hair. "Just stay out of it, Elyse. Don't get involved with the lawsuit or anything to do with the Firebirds. This is bigger than some silly internship, Elyse. The team comes first—always."

Her eyes widen, disbelief etched across her delicate features. "You can't be serious. This is a huge case, Jack. How I perform could make or break my future career."

"I don't care," I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Stay away from the team, from Matthews, and from all of it. That's not a request."

Hurt and anger battle in her expressive eyes. For a long moment, she simply stares at me, lips parted in shock. Finally, she shakes her head slowly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I thought you understood me better than that. I'm not just going to roll over and do whatever you say." With that, she turns on her heel and stalks toward the guest room, leaving me standing alone in the living room, fists clenched at my sides.

I sink back onto the couch, burying my face in my hands as regret washes over me. Maybe I overreacted and let my temper get the best of me once again, but the thought of Elyse digging into the team's affairs, of her uncovering the truth about my injury and Matthews' role in it, fills me with a sense of dread I can't quite shake. If she exposes my injury, I'll have to sit out the season, and that's unacceptable to me and the team.

Exhaling a shaky breath, I lean back against the cushions, my gaze drifting to the painkillers on the table. The bottle is a bitter reminder of the secrets I've been keeping and the lies I've been telling myself and everyone around me. I'm not okay. Not in peak shape, and not ready to finish this season, but I can't let Elyse expose that and cost everything I've been working for these past eight years.