Page 58 of Dirty As Puck
“You think the world won’t eat this alive?” Derek’s voice is soft, almost kind. That’s what makes it worse. “They don’t care if it’s innocent. They care if it sells. And you? You sell better than anyone.”
My pulse hammers so loud I can barely think. I want to tear the photos apart, crush his smug face into the concrete. But I don’t move. If I do, it all collapses.
“You’ve been following me,” I manage, my voice raw.
“Not just you.” He slides the photos back into the folder with a calmness that chills me. “Everyone you care about. Every move you make, every shadow. You’re not untouchable, brother.”
That word again. Brother. It cuts deeper every time he says it.
I force the question out, even though I already know the answer. “What do you want?”
His eyes gleam with triumph. “Like I said before, two million dollars. Wire it in forty-eight hours. Or everything goes public. The photos, the records, the truth, I’ll twist it the way they like it. The press will eat out of my hand.”
My jaw clenches until it aches. Anger burns through me, but panic digs in underneath. Rochelle. Tommy. My team. They’d all burn with me if this gets out.
Derek straightens his jacket, businesslike. “Forty-eight hours. Don’t make me chase you, Kai. I hate wasting time.”
He turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.
I can’t get my feet to move. My whole body trembles, heat and ice colliding in my veins. The folder is still on the hood of my car, a visual proof of everything I stand to lose.
And in my head, only one word keeps echoing.
Brother.
21
The atmosphere around the practice facility feels heavy. I spot Kai across the lot, walking toward the entrance, his cap pulled low.
Normally, he’d at least toss me a crooked grin or some teasing remark about me “lurking around for a story,”
Today? He doesn’t even cast me a glance.
His eyes stay on his phone, thumb flying across the screen, then pausing like he’s waiting for something. A message or a call? I don’t know. What I do know is he’s not the same man who tangled his hands in my hair two nights ago, whispering like he trusted me.
“Morning,” I call out, forcing my tone to sound casual.
He glances up, startled, as if he didn’t expect me here, then gives me the quickest nod before looking right back at his phone.
“Hey Rochelle.” It comes out flat and distant.
I fall into step beside him, studying the tight set of his jaw. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” The lie is sharp, quick. He doesn’t even look at me as he speaks.
We reach the door, and he almost lets it swing shut in my face before catching himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, holding it open a second too late. That’s not like him at all.
Inside, the usual rush of players and trainers fills the space, but Kai moves through it like a shadow, his shoulders hunched the entire time. His gaze flicks over every corner, like he’s expecting someone to jump out at him. Then he’s back to that damn phone again.
Something clenches in my chest. He’s hiding something, and I hate it.
“You seem… distracted. If there’s something going on, you can…”
“Drop it, Rochelle.” His voice is low and tight. He finally meets my eyes, and for a split second, I catch it, the fear in his eyes. It flashes before the mask snaps back into place.
He walks away before I can answer, disappearing into the locker room, leaving me standing there with my heart hammering and my instincts screaming.
Something’s wrong and it’s not just the usual hockey stuff. It’s something deeper and dangerous.
