Page 22 of Slap Shot
Oliver sighed. "Look, I started hacking because my family couldn't afford decent food, and stealing free coupons and manipulating rewards points to get stuff felt more acceptable than stealing actual money."
The honesty in his voice derailed her anger. "How old were you?"
"Seventeen when I started. Twenty when I got caught." He went back into the bedroom, and she followed him. "The FBI agent who arrested me was actually decent about it. He said I could use my skills to help people instead of hurting them. That's how I ended up doing white hat work before hockey took over."
He started getting dressed. "There was a job during my white hat days. Government contract, tracking down someone who was selling military secrets. My partner sold me out to save himself, and the people we were hunting decided I knew too much." His voice stayed level, but she could see the cost of the memories in his eyes. "They grabbed me after work one night. Held me for three days, asking questions about what the feds knew."
"Oliver," she breathed, reaching out without thinking.
"I got out. Eventually. But the trauma..." He gestured towards Charlie in the living room. "PTSD, panic attacks, the whole package."
"How long has it been?"
"Three years since the warehouse.” He met her eyes, something defiant in his expression. "I didn't delete your files. But I understand why you think I did. The evidence is pretty damning. I would never sabotage this investigation."
"Your word against the evidence."
"My word," Oliver said, "which apparently doesn't mean much to you."
The hurt in his voice made something crack in her chest. "Evidence doesn't lie. People do."
Oliver stepped closer. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Lying to you?"
"I don't know what to think." The confession came out rougher than she'd intended. "I want to believe you, but—"
"But you don't trust me."
"I can't afford to trust you. Not when my career is on the line, not when everything I've worked for could be destroyed if I'm wrong."
"And what about last night? Do you truly think that was part of some elaborate manipulation?”
Heather's cheeks heated. "I don't know what last night was."
"It was real," Oliver said. "Whatever else you think about me, what happened between us was real."
He was close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the scent of her sheets still clinging to his skin. Despite everything, her pulse kicked up.
"This is insane," she whispered.
"Completely insane," Oliver agreed. "You're accusing me of betraying everything I care about, and all I can think about is how much I want to prove to you that I would never hurt you. But you know what gets me, Heather?" Oliver said pushed by her out into the living room. "It's not that you had to ask about the deleted files. I get it, the timing looks damning. It's that you didn't ask."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you saw the evidence and immediately assumed I was guilty. You built an entire theory about me covering up my past, and you never once said 'Oliver, can you explain this?'" Hisvoice was quiet, but she could hear the pain underneath. "You went straight to interrogation mode."
"I was doing my job." But that sounded lame, even to her.
"Your job was to investigate the evidence. Not to assume I'm a criminal without giving me a chance to defend myself." Oliver shook his head, disappointment clear in his expression.
"Oliver—"
"I know how it looks. I know I was the only other person here. And I know I can't explain how someone else could have accessed your system." He motioned for Charlie to heel. "But I thought you knew me well enough to at least ask before assuming the worst."
The quiet accusation hit deeper than shouting would have. "I should have asked," she admitted.
"Yeah. You should have." He looked back at her, vulnerability flickering beneath the hurt. “I think we both need some space to figure out what happens next." He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "For what it's worth, last night was real. Whatever you think about the rest of it, that part was real."
The door closed behind him, leaving Heather alone in her kitchen with cold coffee and the growing certainty that she'd just made a terrible mistake.
