Page 65 of Offside Secrets
I stare at him, at this man who just played the game of his life and is standing in my living room looking at me like I’m the prize he’s most interested in winning. The unfairness of it all crashes over me like a wave.
“The reality is that I’m thirty-five years old and you’re what, almost thirty, and even though that means nothing, to some folks apparently it does. The reality is that I have money and influence and power, and you’re a player trying to make it to the NHL. The reality is that no matter what we feel for each other, there will always be people who think I’m taking advantage of you because of those two reasons.”
“And you care what those people think?”
“I care what it doesto you.” My voice cracks slightly. “I care that every achievement you earn will be questioned. Every call-up, every contract, every opportunity—people will wonder if it’s because you’re sleeping with the right person.”
Campbell runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “So your solution is to walk away? To decide that I can’t handle the pressure?”
“My solution is to not put you in that position in the first place.”
“Too late for that, don’t you think?”
Before I can answer, he continues, his voice taking on a different tone. “Speaking of putting people in positions, I ran into Victor tonight. After the game.”
My blood chills. “What did he want?”
“I didn’t bother asking, because when I first saw him he was by the dumpster, with the event photographer from the gala.”
“What?”
“I don’t have the proof, yet, but I think he’s also the person who took our picture in the parking lot.”
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. “You think he’s been paying for the photos.”
“I saw what I suspect is payment with my own eyes in the form of a fat wad of cash handed over in an envelope,” Campbell manages through gritted teeth, his jaw tightening. “Not suspicious at all, huh? I’m willing to bet my career that Victor has been orchestrating this whole campaign in the press, trying to destroy your reputation and create problems for the team.”
“I hate that guy.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “All this time, I wondered if it could be him, but it felt so Netflix, overly produced, you know? I thought it was just bad luck for us, bad timing. But of course he’s been manipulating the narrative.”
“Which means none of this is your fault. The gossip, the speculation, the board’s concerns. Every bit of it has been manufactured.”
“I hear you, but it doesn’t matter.” I sink onto my couch, the weight of this revelation settling over me. “Whether Victor started it or not, the damage is done. The questions about our relationship, about my judgment—they’re not going away.”
“So we fight back. We tell the truth.”
“The truth?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “The truth could mess up everything you’ve worked for, and me, too. We can’t lean into the truth, not when you’re this close to everything you’ve dreamed of.”
Campbell sits beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of arena soap. “What if I told you that what I’m dreaming of includes you?”
My heart does that fluttering thing again, but I force myself to stay rational. “Then I’d tell you that dreams and reality are two different things. And the reality is that we need to think about what’s best for the team. For everyone involved.”
“You mean what’s best for me.”
“That, too.”
“And you’ve decided that’s not you.”
The way he says it, flat and hurt, makes me realize how my words must sound to him. Not like protection, but like rejection.
“Campbell, that’s not?—”
His phone rings before I can respond, the sound sharp in the tense silence. He glances at the screen, and his expression immediately shifts to concern.
“It’s the nursing service,” he says, answering quickly. “Hello?”
I watch his face change as he listens, seeing the fear creep in around his eyes.
“How bad? Okay. Yes, I’ll be right there.”
