The sudden shift caught Heather off guard. "That's not what I said."
"Isn't it?" Oliver stood abruptly, Charlie scrambling to follow. "You think I should just confess everything, destroy my career, because other people are getting hurt by something I can't control?"
Her own frustration rose as she watched him pace. "I think transparency gives us better options than hoping this all goes away quietly."
"Transparency." Oliver's laugh was bitter. "Right. Because the hockey world is so understanding about players withcriminal records. Because management will definitely keep me around once they know I used to be a hacker."
"You don't know that—"
"Don't I?" Oliver whipped around to face her, something wild in his eyes that reminded her of his panic attacks. "You think because you've been here six months, you understand how this works? You think because your ex was a criminal, you know what it's like to be one?"
Her jaw dropped and she just stared at him, seeing the fear and trauma driving his anger, but feeling the sting of his dismissal.
"I get it now." His voice was getting louder, more agitated. "You're under pressure from Jack, so obviously the solution is to throw me under the bus. Sacrifice the player with the shady past to save everyone else."
"That's not fair." The words came out steady despite the hurt blooming in her chest. She could see Charlie pressing against Oliver's legs, trying to ground him, but Oliver was too far gone.
"Fair?" Oliver laughed again, harsh and pained. "What's fair about any of this? What's fair about my past destroying everyone I care about? What's fair about you looking at me like I'm the problem that needs to be solved?"
Something cracked inside her chest. This wasn't the man who'd held her after nightmares about her ex-husband, who'd trusted her with his deepest fears. This was someone lashing out from raw terror, and she was taking the brunt of it.
"I don't look at you like that," she said.
"Don't you?" Oliver's eyes were bright with hurt and anger. "Because right now it feels like you think I'm just another selfish criminal who doesn't care who gets hurt."
The accusation hung between them. Heather wanted to reach for him, to remind him that she understood his fear, but the distance in his expression stopped her.
"I think you're scared," she said finally. "And I think fear is making you assume the worst about people who care about you."
"Right. Of course." Oliver was already moving toward the door, Charlie reluctantly following. "I'm just being paranoid. It's not like I've ever been betrayed by someone I trusted before."
The reference to Kai felt like a slap. Somewhere in his panic, Oliver had lumped her in with his former partner.
"Oliver, please."
"Good luck with your investigation, Dr. Quincy," he said, his formal tone like ice. "Apparently, I'm too much of a liability to be useful anyway."
The door closed behind him, leaving Heather alone in the stairwell with the echo of harsh words and the growing certainty that she'd just made everything worse.
Chapter Fourteen
Oliver
The locker room reeked of rage. Oliver could feel it crawling under his skin as he laced his skates, every player radiating the kind of fury that came from having your private business splashed across every sports blog in America. Liam was slamming gear around like he wanted to break something. Sven sat three stalls down, methodically taping his stick with the focus of a man preparing for war.
Oliver's hands trembled as he pulled on his gloves. Charlie whined softly beside him, picking up on the violence that filled the air.
"All right, you fuckers," Coach Vicky's voice cut through the tension. "I know what you're thinking. You want blood. Good. That's what we're doing today."
Oliver looked up. Her face was stone.
"Full contact scrimmage. No whistles unless someone's dying. Liam, you're in net for whites. Sven, you've got reds. Everyone else, pick a side and settle this."
The room stirred with grim anticipation. Finally.
Oliver ended up on whites with Kane, Dmitri, and Marcus—the guys whose contracts had made them look like management's golden boys. Across the ice, Jax, Mateo, and Ethan wore red jerseys, their faces twisted with the fury of men who'd been lied to.
Coach Vicky held the puck at center ice. "Play hockey. Real hockey."