2. Connor

Isecured a towel around my waist, beads of water still clinging to my skin as I emerged from the steam-filled bathroom. I reached for my toothbrush, applying paste before beginning the rhythmic motion of brushing. The familiar tones of the NHL Morning Minute show floated from the living room, the background noise suddenly snapping into focus as I noticed my ex-wife"s face dominating the screen. The bristles of the toothbrush paused momentarily as I felt my jaw muscles tighten involuntarily.

"They were high school sweethearts and have been through everything together," the host said, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. "The day after Thanksgiving, your divorce with NHL legend, Connor Bradley, was finalized. Tell us: what was it like being married to Connor Bradley?"

Sarah leaned back in her chair, a picture of poise and grace. "Well, I thought he was it," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But after the scandal, I"m grateful I"m free from the shackles of being his wife."

I sneered, spitting out toothpaste into the sink. We had been separated long before the scandal had even begun. It was no secret that our marriage had been on the rocks for years, but I shouldn"t have been surprised that she would want her fifteen minutes of fame. Everyone seemed to, when it came to me.

"Is it true, Sarah? Did Connor cheat on you?"

Sarah"s eyes welled up, her gaze dropping to her lap. She looked like a wounded bird, vulnerable and exposed. But I knew better. I knew the act she was putting on for the cameras, painting herself as the perfect victim.

"He did," she said, her voice quivering. "Connor"s good at hockey. But being a husband? I wanted to overlook it because I wanted to support him. He"s worked hard his whole life, but when I caught him with..." She trailed off, her eyes darting to the side as if she couldn"t bear to say the name.

I clenched my teeth together, my grip on the toothbrush tightening until it snapped in my hand. I wasn"t sure what I would do if Sarah revealed just who she had found me with, but I knew it wouldn"t be pleasant.

The host leaned in, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Can you tell us who it was?"

Sarah shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can"t. The court docs won"t let me."

I let out a sigh of relief, tossing the broken toothbrush into the trash can. I couldn"t believe I was actually grateful for the legal system right now. Mentioning them only hinted at something debauched. People weren"t stupid. They"d put together the fact that courts held back because of her age…even if she had just turned eighteen.

Another reason for my bitterness towards her and her father.

I looked like some lecherous man, and she was protected, even though she wanted it just as much as I did.

The host pressed on, her voice dripping with fake concern. "How are you holding up, Sarah? This must be so difficult for you."

Sarah dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, her voice wavering. "It"s been hard. But I"m trying to stay strong for other women like me who go through this and don"t have the same platform I do. I see you, ladies. You are not alone."

I rolled my eyes, turning off the TV. I couldn"t stand to watch any more of this charade. Sarah had never cared about anyone else. She had only ever cared about herself and her own needs.

I walked into the bedroom, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I had to get out of here, clear my head. I couldn"t stand to be in the same room as Sarah"s lies any longer.

As I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, I couldn"t help but feel a twinge of anger. I had worked so hard to rebuild my life after the scandal, to prove to everyone that I was more than just a cheating husband. But it seemed like no matter what I did, I would always be haunted by my past.

I took a deep breath, pushing the anger aside. I couldn"t let Sarah"s lies get to me. I had to stay focused on the future, on proving to everyone that I was more than just a former NHL player with a tarnished reputation.

I stepped outside, the cool air hitting my face as I walked towards my car. I had a class to teach at Crestwood Academy, and I couldn"t afford to be late. I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. I couldn"t change the past, but I could work towards rebuilding my reputation. I had been given a second chance, teaching Morality and Ethics in Professional Sports at Crestwood Academy. It wasn"t the NHL, but it was a start.

I only had to blackmail Dean Westwood to get the job, but still. He didn"t want anyone knowing about me and his daughter two years ago, and I sure as hell didn"t. But it was enough to get him to give me a chance.

He owed me as much.

I flipped through the radio, but the channels replayed clips from Sarah"s fucking interview this morning, and I was over it. Instead, silence consumed the car as I drove towards Crestwood Academy, my thoughts drifting back to that fateful night two years ago. Brooke Westwood, with her striking green eyes and long blonde hair, had been a vision that night. I could still remember the way her laughter had filled the balcony, the way her eyes had sparkled as she looked at me.

I had known about her recent breakup with Stephen Hanson, the rookie. I had seen the way she had been staring at the night sky, her eyes scanning the stars as if searching for something. I had known she was feisty, and God, she was so fucking beautiful.

I didn"t even know how it had happened, but somehow, we had gone upstairs together. I was reeling from my separation too, and the alcohol had clouded my judgment. But as I looked back on it now, I couldn"t find it in me to regret it. Not when my ex had walked in. Not when the scandal had somehow found its way to Detroit, where I had been fired. Not even now, as Brooke"s professor.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. I had intended to get back at her, to make her pay for what she had done. She had told, and she had ruined my life. I expected to do the same to her somehow. I just had to wait for the right opportunity.

I pushed open the door to the classroom, my eyes scanning the room as I took in the faces of my students. I couldn"t help but feel a sense of pride as I saw the way they looked up at me, their eyes filled with respect and admiration. I had worked hard to earn their trust, to prove to them I was more than just Fury Bradley.

The classroom hummed with the rustle of papers and the low murmur of students settling into their seats. I leaned against the desk at the front, scanning the attendance sheet against the sea of faces. I prided myself on punctuality, a lesson I hoped to impart to these kids, and it irked me when someone failed to respect that.

As I launched into my lecture on the ethical dilemmas faced by professional athletes, a particular absence gnawed at the edge of my consciousness. Brooke Westwood was not in her usual seat, her striking green eyes missing from the front row where they often met mine with an unflinching gaze.

"Take, for instance, my career," I continued, my voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and authority as I delved deeper into the lesson. "There were moments that tested not just my skill on the ice but my ethical compass off it."

I paused for effect, letting the weight of my words sink in. "Consider the nuances of ethical decision-making in the world of professional sports. It"s not just about the game; it"s about the choices you make when no one"s watching, the stands you take when it"s easier to just go with the flow."

Yet, even as I shared these parts of myself, part of me remained sharply alert to the door at the back of the lecture hall. Each time it opened, I waited for her to breeze in, like she wasn't late, and then I hated myself even more for it because I shouldn't fucking care.

"As I was saying," I continued, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside me. "The choices you make off the ice can have just as much of an impact on your career as the ones you make on it."

"Aren"t you the same Connor Bradley who was fired from the NHL for fucking a minor?" a voice called out from the back of the room.

The room went silent, the air thick with tension. I could feel my anger surging, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the edge of the desk. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I responded.

"That"s a bold question," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I"m afraid I can"t comment on rumors or speculation. I can tell you no one involved was a minor."

I could feel the eyes of the students on me, their curiosity piqued. I knew they were all wondering the same thing, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of an answer.

"I can also say," I continued, my voice steady, "the choices you make in life have consequences, and it"s up to you to decide whether those consequences are worth it."

"Like divorce?" another student commented.

"Exactly like divorce," I said.

I could feel the weight of my own words hanging in the air, a reminder of the choices I had made in my life. I had paid the price for my mistakes, and I wasn"t about to let some asshole students drag me back into the past.

"Now, if we could all focus on the lesson at hand," I said, my voice firm. "I"d like to continue our discussion on the ethical dilemmas faced by professional athletes."

I could feel the tension in the room dissipating as the students turned their attention back to the lesson. But I couldn"t shake the feeling that something was still off.

And then, just as I was about to launch into the next part of my lecture, another student spoke up.

"Professor Bradley," he said, his voice hesitant. "I just heard that your divorce was finalized today. Is that true?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I responded.

"That"s none of your concern," I said, my voice tight. "Anyway, because of the pressure on an athlete to decide if he"s an individual even off the ice…"

Halfway through a sentence about accountability, the door swung open with a force that drew every eye. Brooke stormed in, her presence like a storm cloud rolling over calm waters. Her skirt swayed with each deliberate step, echoing her fury in its movement.

I followed her with my eyes as she made her way to her seat next to Minka Mathers and Levi Kennedy, both of whom glanced up at her with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Miss Westwood," I called out, interrupting my flow and drawing attention back to the front. "Glad you could join us. However, let me remind you that tardiness is not tolerated in my class."

She sank into her chair, turning to face me with a look that could have melted ice. "Well, Professor Bradley," she shot back, "sometimes life doesn"t adhere to your perfect little schedule."

Her retort hung in the air for a moment, a challenge that matched her stride upon entry. My brows rose slightly—it wasn"t like Brooke to be this confrontational.

"Indeed," I replied after a beat. "However, life also teaches us consequences. Please stay after class; we"ll discuss this further."

She crossed her arms but nodded curtly, acknowledging the directive as I returned to my lecture. The rest of the class passed with my words flowing over an undercurrent of anticipation. The tension between Brooke and me had always been palpable, but today it crackled like a live wire stretched too tight.