Page 45 of Puck Your Feelings
"Stay away from me." I pick up my phone and watch and move to walk past him, toward the stairs, toward anywhere that isn't here. "Just stay the fuck away from me."
I make it three steps before his voice stops me.
"Kane, wait—"
I spin around so fast it gives me whiplash. "What?" The word comes out loud enough to echo in the empty hallway, loud enough to make him physically startle.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
"Cap wants to see us," he says finally, quietly. "Both of us. In his cabin."
Of fucking course he does.
***
Becker
WE MAKE IT into Cap’s cabin in two batches—first Kane, who spent the entire way here walking five steps ahead of me, picking up pace every time I tried to catch up. Then, my sorry ass.
Cap's cabin is nicer than ours. Bigger. Cleaner. With furniture that looks like it was designed for humans instead of torture.
None of that matters right now.
Kane's sitting on the far side of the room, as far from me as physically possible without actually leaving. His jaw's clenched so tight I'm worried about his teeth, and he won't look at me. Just stares at the wall like it's personally offended him.
I'm on the couch, picking at a loose thread on my hoodie and trying not to throw up.
Washington sits between us—literally and metaphorically—looking less pissed than I expected and more tired.
"Explain," he says.
Not "what happened" or "I heard there was an incident." Just "explain."
I swallow. "I was recording an episode in the cabin. I had the window open because it was hot, and I didn't know Kane was outside. His conversation with—" I can't even finish the sentence. "It got picked up by my microphone. I didn't hear it when I was recording. I didn't check the audio before I posted. I just— I fucked up. I fucked up really, really badly."
Silence.
Cap turns to Kane. "Anything to add?"
"No." Kane's voice is clipped. Professional. The robot's back in full force. "He explained it accurately."
More silence. The kind that makes you want to confess to crimes you didn't commit just to fill the space.
"Kane," Cap says finally. "You have a right to be angry. That was a private conversation, and it shouldn't have been made public." He shifts his attention to me. "Becker, this was unprofessional and careless. You violated a teammate's privacy, and that's not something we take lightly here."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"That said." Cap leans back in his chair. "This is also fixable."
I look up. "How?"
Kane makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be him choking. "Fixable? It's trending on Twitter."
"Yeah, it is." Cap pulls out his phone and scrolls. "And do you know what most of the comments are saying?"
Neither of us answers.
"They're saying your father's controlling. That his behavior is toxic. That you deserved to stand up to him." Cap sets his phone down. "Kane, your father's control over your career—a lot of players deal with that. Parents who think they know better, who can't let go, who try to manage every aspect of their kid's life. Being honest about that struggle might actually help other people."
