61. Mira

61

MIRA

Walking through the halls of the arena we paraded through a little over forty-eight hours ago, I'm not sure if I'm clinging to Zane or he's clinging to me.

It might be both.

"Coach just wants to talk to us," Zane tells me for the tenth time. "All you have to do is tell the truth."

Truth.

Pesky word, that.

It keeps coming up lately. Every time, I react the way I assume demons do to holy water.

I told Zane about my dad. It might not be the entire truth, but I should get points for half-steps in the right direction. It might buy me some time before he wants to know more.

He deserves to know more.

He deserves so many things I can't give him, but that isn't helpful right now, Brain. Please shut up.

"Is this kind of meeting normal?" I ask, trying to stay focused on the task ahead. "Does Coach call people and their…" My voice trails off. I have no idea how to finish that. Nanny? Partner? Part-time lover?

"Girlfriend," Zane finishes, squeezing my hand.

My heart stops, restarts, and rattles in my chest like an old box fan. "So, does he do this often? Call people and their girlfriends in to ‘talk'?"

"No. Never." Zane's freshly-shaved jaw flexes. It would be unbearably hot if I wasn't on the verge of throwing up from nerves right now.

There's an entrance to Coach Popov's office through the locker room, but the risk of non-consensual weiner exposure is high enough that Zane walks me around to the public-facing door.

Where we find Owen leaning against the wall.

"You're late," he grumbles. He moves his mouth like he's about to spit on the floor, then thinks better of it and swallows it down.

I haven't seen him since he barged into Zane's bedroom, which is fine by me. Zane told me over and over again that Owen was just doing his job, but I can't stop myself from stiffening when I see him.

Zane rubs his thumb over my knuckles and pulls me close. "We had to drop Aiden off at school first."

Before Owen can say anything, Coach Popov throws open his door. "Come in."

We all take a step forward, but the gruff Russian man shakes his head. "Just her."

I snap my eyes to Zane, silently begging him not to let me go. I've never met his coach. I don't even know why I'm here.

But Zane just squeezes my hand one last time and pushes me gently towards the door.

"Close it behind you," Coach Popov orders, settling into his desk.

The office is large and absolutely stuffed with trophies, ribbons, and plaques. I don't think there is a hockey tournament on planet Earth that this man hasn't won.

I cast one last desperate look at Zane through the door before I push it closed. Then I turn around and… stand there.

Finally, he points to the chair across from his desk. "You can sit down, Mira. I'm not as scary as I sound."

"Oh, you don't sound scary." That's a lie—my throat is clogged with fear. The words come out strangled. "I just don't know what I'm doing here."

He leans over his desk, his bushy eyebrows nearly touching his graying hairline. "How has Zane been?"

"I don't—" I shake my head. "I don't know what you mean. He's been fine."

"He's fine at practices and on the ice, but that was the last domino to fall last time. How has he been outside of hockey? Have you noticed anything?"

"He has a clean drug test. He can show it to you if you want to?—"

"What I want is to know what you think." He folds his hands in front of him. "You weren't around the last time things got bad, but your boyfriend had us all fooled for a while. You're the only person who sees him every day. You're someone Zane trusts and cares about. I want to know what you think."

There's that word again.

Zane trusts me. He cares about me .

My throat is suddenly clogged with a very different emotion.

"I think Zane is an amazing father," I say. "He's a devoted teammate and a caring boyfriend. He's… He's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Coach Popov leans back in his chair with a sigh and a scowl. Suddenly, he barks, "You two can come in!"

I jolt just as the door opens behind me.

Zane comes in, looking from me to his coach as if he might actually challenge Popov to a fight if he upset me.

I give him a smile and he places a hand on my shoulder, standing just behind me. "What's this about, Coach?"

"Ask your sponsor." He tips his head to Owen. "He called this meeting."

Zane snaps his gaze to him and Owen just lifts his hands in surrender. "You gave me an alibi, and I needed to check it out."

A deep growl rumbles through Zane's chest. "You already have a clean drug test."

"Which you've faked before," he snaps back. "I learned my lessons the hard way. I dinnae mean to make the same mistakes again."

"So, what?" Zane turns to Coach Popov. "Am I here to swear on a fucking Bible? Whip one out. I'll put my hand on it and be done with this. I'm not doing drugs. "

"That's what I'm here to help you prove." Coach turns his laptop around to face us and taps the space bar.

Black and white security footage starts to play and Zane's fingers dig into my shoulder. "What is this?"

"It's… it's us," I breathe.

I know Zane knows that. He has eyes just like everyone else in this room. And just like everyone else, his are trained on the screen… where there is a bird's-eye view of Zane fucking me on the arena roof.

The camera's night sight isn't amazing and it's just grainy enough that you can't make out my bits and bobs, but that doesn't do a damn thing to stop the raging hot blush that is creeping up my chest and neck every second this goes on.

"You wanted a time stamp," Popov says evenly to Owen. "Here's your time stamp."

Owen leans in closer to the screen—supposedly to see the seconds ticking past in the bottom corner—as the digital version of me throws her head back. I want to walk into traffic. Rush hour, high speed, nonstop traffic.

If this video had sound, I'd already be on my way to the nearest intersection.

Zane lunges forward and slams the laptop shut. "That's enough."

The room descends into stiff silence. Taylor would tell me to be sex positive and look everyone in this room in their eyes unashamedly… but Taylor didn't just have her boyfriend's boss watching her climax, so I decide to ignore her hypothetical advice.

"Do you have what you need now?" Zane snarls.

Owen nods grimly. "Aye."

"I didn't bring you here to embarrass you," Coach Popov offers.

I look up and realize he's talking to me. "It's okay," I squeak. "It's fine."

"It's not, but I didn't know a better way to do this." He opens the laptop and pulls the video up again. For a horrifying second, I think he's going to continue playing it. Instead, he navigates to the top corner and hovers over the trash icon. "If someone sent those pictures to Owen, they may send them to other people, too. They could leak. And this footage is the solid proof that they're fake. This is the proof that you were where you said you were."

Doing who you said you were doing , hangs unspoken in the air.

He looks at Zane. "But the footage is also… personal. I want you two to decide what happens to?—"

"Delete it," Zane growls.

I whip around. "No. You can't. It's proof."

If those pictures end up in the hands of CPS or Peter Morris, this video could be the only thing that proves Zane's innocence.

"I don't care. I want it gone."

"It's your decision," Coach Popov repeats. "It's a sensitive video and I wanted you both here to show you that I'll do with it what you want."

I grab Zane's hand. "If the photos get printed, we can release the video." Just the thought of it makes me nauseous. "It's all the defense you'll need, Zane."

"I don't need to defend myself." He looks sidelong towards Owen before he leans down, talking to me. "I'm not going to show your face—your body —on the internet to defend myself. I'm not going to risk your safety because I have a spotty track record and I've lost too many people's trust."

I could kiss him.

Oh, would you look at that? I already am.

I hold his face and try to tell him everything I wish I could find words for. How grateful I am that he's looking out for me. How safe I feel with him. How much I trust him.

After I don't even know how long, Owen clears his throat. "I saw enough of the tape. I dinnae need a live reenactment."

I pull back, biting back a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"So I'll delete it…?" Coach confirms.

Zane circles his thumb over the back of my neck, sending tingles to the very core of me. "Delete it."

Coach Popov hits the button and the video disappears.

"Someone is fucking with you, Zane." Popov drops his chin and looks at Zane under his bushy brows. "But after everything I've seen today, you have my support. I'll defend you ‘til I'm blue in the face. Just…" He sighs. "Just don't make that job harder than it has to be, alright?"