Page 91 of Unleashed

The hypocrisy of him questioning my integrity while pretending he hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing made my blood boil. But I’d learned the hard way that in this industry, the truth mattered less than perception. And right now, every eye in the room saw me as the villain of this story.

Movement beyond the glass caught my eye. Jack stood in the hallway now, his expression unreadable as he watched our presentation implode. The sight of him knocked the air from my lungs more effectively than any accusation.

Millsy cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should focus on their current work—”

“No.” Jasper’s quiet command silenced the room. “I think this is exactly what we need to focus on.” His sharp gaze pinned me in place. “Tell me, Ms. Sutton. Why should I trust you with my organization’s reputation when you’ve already proven willing to sacrifice someone else’s for ratings?”

The question hung in the air like a puck about to drop. Beyond the glass, Jack’s presence felt like a physical weight. Everything we’d built, everything we’d walked away from Malone to create, balanced on my next words.

“So these pretty pictures are meant to make us forget what you did to Jack Vignier?” Malone pressed, gesturing again to our youth footage. “Make us trust you with more players’ careers?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Mr. Malone.” Jasper’s voice cut through the tension like a skate blade on fresh ice. “I watched both episodes. The smear piece with your name on it, and the tribute that aired during playoffs.” His sharp gaze shifted to me. “The difference in tone was... notable.”

Movement in the hallway drew my attention again. Jack had moved closer to the glass, his presence magnetic even through the barrier. Our eyes met for a split second before I forced my attention back to Jasper.

“And Lily Sutton was responsible for both,” Malone said.

“The first episode was a mistake,” I said, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. “One born of fear and compromise. The tribute was the story I should have told from the start.”

“The story that tanked your career, you mean.” Malone’s smooth interjection carried just enough venom to sting. “Let’s be honest about what happened after that aired, shall we? The industry blacklist. The exile to small-town obscurity—”

Adele sprang to her feet. “That’s not true. You’re flat out exaggerating. We were on our way out the door. We did that episode on the sly after you forbid Lily from doing any ‘wholesome shit’—in your stupid words. You didn’t even know about it, you lyin’ sack of—”

“Del!”

“Okay, let’s rehash.” Trasier lit up his own tablet. “I have the episode transcript right here. What was it you said about player welfare? About the ‘toxic culture of playing through pain’?” He read directly from the screen—from the audio from that episode. “The captain’s stubborn pride threatens not just his future mobility, but the team’s playoff chances.”

The quote hit like a gut punch. I remembered writing those words, crafting them to please Malone while my conscience screamed. Behind the glass, Jack’s jaw tightened.

“You took private team business and turned it into entertainment.” Trasier’s accent thickened with each word. “Made spectacle of a man’s pain. And now you want access to my players?”

“The tribute episode—” Adele started.

“Was damage control.” Malone’s smooth voice oozed false sympathy. “A desperate attempt to salvage what was left of her reputation. Ask yourself—which version represents who she really is? The ruthless producer who exploited a man’s career for views? Or this...” He waved dismissively at our youth program footage. “Small-town documentarian preaching integrity?”

My throat closed up. Every carefully crafted response, every professional defense I’d prepared, evaporated under the weight of my past choices.

“You want to know who she really is?” A new voice joined the fray. Deep. Familiar. The sound sent electricity arcing through my veins.

Jack pushed through the conference room door, his presence filling the space like a storm front. “Then let me tell you.”

Silence fell, smothering and heavy. In my peripheral vision, Malone’s smile turned sharp. Predatory.

When Jack’s eyes found mine, for the first time since that night in Austin, I couldn’t read what lay behind them.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Viggy

Hockey Rule #103: Real captains lead after the whistle

Media Rule #103: Your past doesn’t disqualify you. It defines your pitch

Mykneebarelycomplainedas I demonstrated the face-off technique again, muscle memory taking over despite months away from competitive play. The two Renegades farm team guys—both centers fighting for a shot at the big club—watched with the kind of intensity that said they got it. That they understood what separated good from great wasn’t just talent, but the minute details. The stuff that happened in empty rinks when nobody was watching.

“Like this?” The bigger one—Stevens—adjusted his grip, copying my stance.

Not bad. Not perfect, but not bad. I tapped his elbow. “Lower. You want leverage here.” I positioned his arm, remembering countless sessions when I’d been the rookie soaking up every scrap of wisdom I could find. “There. Now you’re ready when he tries to muscle through.”

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