62. Zane

62

ZANE

"Well, that settles that," Owen remarks when we step out of Coach Popov's office. He puts his hands on his hips, stretching his back and thrusting his stomach forward.

"Yeah, I guess it does," I say.

Owen shoves his hands in his pockets. "Coffee later this week?"

I nod. "Same time, same place."

He clicks his tongue in agreement, tips his head to Mira, and saunters off down the hallway without another word.

"Unbelievable," Mira mutters. "He broke into your house, trashed the place, forced you to take a drug test and have a public viewing of our accidental sex tape… yet that was his apology."

I shrug. "He used to just tell me I probably deserved whatever he'd done and then never speak of it again. Compared to that, this is pretty good progress."

"To which I say, again : unbelievable."

I wrap my arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay? I didn't know there were cameras up there. I should've thought about it, but I—Well, I wasn't thinking. You were in my jersey and we'd just won. It was a good night. Until everything went to shit."

Mira stops and grabs my face, holding my cheeks the same way she did in Coach's office. "I'm okay, Zane. I promise."

Her eyes are still shadowed, but she looks okay for the first time in days and I want to believe her.

Actually, I want to pin her against the wall and make another accidental sex tape.

Before I can follow through with that mistake, someone clears their throat.

Mira instantly adjusts her dress in a way that makes me think her thoughts were headed in the same direction as mine.

I sigh at the lost opportunity and turn to find Hanna waiting. Her lips are pressed into a thin, white line. "Sorry to interrupt."

"What are you doing here, Hanna?"

We don't have practice today and I didn't tell her I was going to be here.

She blinks. "I got an email this weekend. Pictures. Of you."

Shit.

Mira hitches a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm going to wait in the car."

Hanna doesn't look at Mira, but she steps to the side to let her pass.

As soon as Mira is gone, Hanna leans in. "I was going to handle the matter myself, but then I saw the email exchange between you and Coach about this meeting today. I figured it was about the pictures."

"So you came to, what?" I ask. "Be part of the intervention?"

"No! God, no. I knew the second I opened them that they were fake. I came to tell your coach that."

"Owen didn't know. Neither did Coach. How did you?"

She points behind her right ear. "The tattoo. It wasn't right."

I'm not even sure how Hanna knew I got a tattoo, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that whoever sent the pictures is clearly not shy about who they send them to. Who knows who else has them sitting in their inbox right now?

"Cancel everything for me today," I tell her. "No appointments, no press. Leave a message for Hollis and have him call me as soon as he can. We need to prep a press release for when these pictures hit the news."

Hanna gasps. "You think they'll make it online?"

Inevitably. If they haven't already.

"I have to plan for every possibility."

She steps even closer and lays a hand on my arm. "Whatever you need, Zane, I'm here. I'll support you in whatever way you need."

I step around her. "All I need now is for you to clear my schedule today and leave a message for Hollis."

"Right. Yeah." She folds her hands behind her back. "I'm on it."

I don't regret telling Coach to delete the video. I'll walk through every level of hell and back before I let Mira take my mistake on the chin. Even if I was okay with every depraved psycho with an internet connection watching (and rewatching) her back bend in an orgasm—which, for the record, I'm extremely fucking not—she's taken enough heat just being with me.

Someone out there is looking for her, and I'm not going to be the reason they find her.

I'm so busy thinking that I don't see Carson waiting outside the front doors until it's too late to avoid him.

"You look like shit, Whitaker." He spits on the ground like we're in an old-timey Western. "Tough night?"

Not tough enough to divulge a single word of it to you, asshole.

"I had a great night," I growl. "Maybe if you didn't miss a shot at an empty goal and trip over your own skates, you'd have had the same."

His face tightens. "There was a rough patch in the ice."

"A rough patch no one else found all night?" I shrug like it's a mystery we'll never have the answers to. Even though we both know he was too busy barking orders at Nathan like the captain he isn't to see the puck coming his way.

Carson knows that.

I know it.

And Coach Popov knows it.

All at once, he seems to brush it off and smirk. "At least the only rough patches I find are on the ice. They'll get smoothed out before the next game. But fuck knows how you're going to smooth out your rough patch."

Everything in me stands at attention. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Is that what you told that useless fucking Irish asshole you call a sponsor when he came around asking questions?" Carson hisses. "What about Coach? You know, it'll be easier if you fess up now. Waiting for the other skate to drop will only make things worse."

I cross the distance between us before I even make the conscious choice. Carson holds his ground, but barely. Fear flares in his eyes as I tower over him.

"What the fuck did you do, Deluth?" I growl. My hands are shaking, practically begging to wrap around his throat.

"Nothing." He smiles. "I haven't done a fucking thing."

Liar.

Years of lies have helped me tune into when someone else is bullshitting. And Carson is lying right through the teeth I'm about to knock out of his head.

"What did you do?" I roar, charging forward until we're chest to chest.

Suddenly, a smooth hand slips around my wrist. My instinct is to shake it off. To kill Carson for grinning up at me while he tries to hurt the people I love.

But Mira is the angel on my shoulder. "Cameras, Z. There are cameras everywhere."

She tugs me back, and I retreat a half-step.

Then another.

I let her put five feet of space between me and Carson before I take a breath and look down at her. But she isn't looking at me—she's scowling at Carson like I might need to hold her back in a second.

"Keep a handle on your boss, nanny ." Carson spits the title at her like a slur. "Who knows how many more blows his reputation can take?"

Mira tugs on my hand before I can lunge forward again.

"He isn't worth it," she whispers, running her thumbs over my wrist. "Let's go home. Please."

"Better get going, lovebirds." Carson waves at me, clearly having no idea how close he is to being in several distinct pieces on the pavement.

My vision is still red when I wrap my arm around Mira's shoulders and walk with her back to the car.

"I saw him pull in after I was in the car. It's like he was waiting for you." Mira tightens her hold on my waist as if I might change my mind and sprint after Carson any second. "What's his problem?"

"He's desperate to be captain and willing to play dirty to get it," I grit out.

Dirty enough to try to get my son taken away from me.

"You really think he's the one who sent those pictures?"

I give her a sharp nod. "He did it or he knows who did. Either way, he's behind it."

Mira sighs. "What are you going to do?"

I pull out my phone and fire off a quick rallying-cry text. Then I pocket it and pin Mira against the passenger door. She gasps and then sighs as our lips meet, her tension softening into something hot and liquid.

Carson isn't going to steal this from me.

Not my family, not my reputation, not my team.

I drop my forehead to Mira's, holding her face in my hands. "Whatever it takes," I breathe. "I'm going to do whatever it takes."