Chapter Twenty-Six

Bex

Walking into the locker room for practice bright and early, I see a similar scene— every guy on the team is staring down at their screens, an eerie silence filling the room. It’s strange—the tension. This isn’t the usual pre-skate banter, and Seven’s expression just cements it.

“What’s this now?” I try to cut through the tension with a joke. “One of your favorite pop groups went and broke up, did they?”

“Not quite, Coach.” Seven’s voice is flat, as he flats his phone to my chest. “Might want to read this.”

I don’t know what to make of it until I see the title: The Man Behind the Team: Coach Bexley Townsend. And there it is, Rowan’s name in neat, clean print, right under the title. My stomach drops, a sour twist forming as I scroll down and see the first few lines—lines I’ve said to her in confidence, in private, as raw as it gets.

There it all is, laid bare for anyone with an internet connection to see. Details I’ve never shared, even with my own damn teammates. Lily leaving, the divorce papers on the kitchen table, my dad’s funeral, the regrets I buried along with him. But somehow, Rowan managed to dig up all of it, slap it down in print with a tone so detached, it’s as if she never knew me at all.

The guys go back to getting ready, but the atmosphere is thick. No one says a word, but I can feel the weight of their concern, the unspoken questions. I clench Seven’s phone tighter before handing it back to him, breathing through the rage clawing at my insides.

I’m the idiot who gave her everything she needed to write this. I fed into her charms, let myself believe she was someone I could trust, someone who’d understand. She had every chance to tell me what she was planning. Instead, she let me open up to her, promising she’d never write a piece like this.

I feel the weight of betrayal settle heavily on my chest. As much as I tried to keep my guard up, it’s clear now I didn’t do nearly enough. And she’s proven exactly why I should have.

I don’t waste any more time standing around, gripping my stick so hard my knuckles turn white. I storm out of the locker room, into my office, suiting up in my gear. There’s only one thing that’s going to get this out of my system—skating, hitting, anything that lets me burn through this anger before it eats me alive.

Scrimmage is on the agenda this morning, and I’m out there, practically skating holes into the ice. Every hit, every slam against the boards, I imagine the betrayal slipping away but no matter how hard I hit, or how many goals I make, it doesn’t do anything to lighten the weight. I need to focus on the team, on keeping us moving toward the playoffs. This is just a distraction—a painful one, but a distraction nonetheless.

The guys give me space as I push myself harder, skating until my legs burn, my breath coming in heavy gasps. But nothing is enough. Even after the team clears off the ice, I’m still there, trying to burn out the anger clinging to every cell in my body.

It’s then that I spot her. Rowan, out of breath, running toward me down the tunnel. And the sight of her here, in this space that’s supposed to be mine, feels like a slap in the face.

She looks like hell—hair messy, face flushed—but I’m in no mood for her excuses.

“Bex!” Her voice echoes in the empty arena, raw with desperation. “I’m so sorry! I can’t even tell you—”

I cut her off with a raised hand. “Save it, Summers.”

She stops short, stunned, but I can’t muster a single shred of sympathy. I need to say this now, lay it all out so there’s no question left for either of us.

“I blame myself for this, you know,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “I knew who you were the moment I met you, but I wanted to believe you were someone else. I made a bad judgment call… that’s on me. It won’t happen again.”

“You knew who I was?” Her eyes flash with something that almost looks like pain. “Bex, you know me better than that. I would never—”

“But you did,” I snap. “You used every single piece of leverage you could to get what you wanted from me. Just like Lily. Hell, at least she had a reason. She had every right to leave, and now I wonder if I even loved her like I…” I bite back the words, forcing them down like bile.

She flinches, her eyes going wide, and for a moment, I see something raw, something vulnerable. But I can’t let myself get drawn back in. I tap my stick against the ice, the sound echoing in the empty rink.

“Please, just listen,” she pleads, taking a hesitant step forward. “I can explain everything. Just give me a chance to—”

“I don’t care anymore.” I skate toward her, each step a reminder to myself of why I have to cut her out now, before I let her hurt me even more. “This was always how it was going to end, wasn’t it? If anything, you proved me right. You’re just like the rest.”

The words taste bitter, but they’re true. I step off the ice, every fiber of my being telling me to get as far from her as possible. I don’t need her, and I sure as hell don’t want to give her another chance to hurt me.

As I pass her, I notice the jacket she’s still wearing, the one I gave her, the one that’s become some kind of symbol of whatever we’ve had. “Keep the jacket, or better yet,” I say, my voice cold, “burn it. I don’t want it back.”

Because all it will ever do is remind me of her. Of the life I almost had.