Page 73 of Offside Secrets
A brotherhood.
Victor spins, taking in the sight, and I watch realization crash over him like a bucket of ice water. He’s cornered. Outnumbered. Out of moves.
“What the…Stockton, what are you doing?” His voice cracks just slightly.
I take another step forward, close enough to see the sweat beading at his hairline. “This is consequences.”
“You think you can?—”
I take a step closer, voice even. “Oh, and Victor?”
He freezes.
“This is Marcus Webb.” I tilt my head toward a man holding a camera behind the line of players. “Local blogger. One hundred and forty thousand followers and growing. He’s got the exclusive. So smile pretty for the camera.”
Flash.
The light captures everything—Victor’s pale face, the team standing united behind me, the moment his empire crumbles.
“You can leave now,” I tell him quietly. “Preferably before security escorts you out. Or before I stop being professional.”
Behind me, someone—I think it’s Ollie—cracks his knuckles. The sound echoes like a gunshot.
For a heartbeat, Victor just stands there, ego and fury wrestling across his features. His hands curl into fists. His jaw flexes. But there’s nowhere to go, no play to make.
Finally, he turns on his heel and stalks back to his car, movements jerky with rage. The engine roars to life. Tires squeal as he peels out of the lot, leaving rubber and the stench of burning brake pads in his wake.
Silence settles over us—thick, heavy, charged with adrenaline and triumph. Then Sawyer’s hand lands on my shoulder, firm and grounding. “We did it.”
Owen nods. “Yeah, we did.”
Maxwell steps up, bumps his fist against mine. “We’ve got your back. Always.”
The others echo it—some verbal, some just a nod or a hand on my shoulder as they pass. But I feel every gesture down to my bones. This isn’t just about hockey anymore. It never really was.
This is family.
As we head toward the arena entrance, the noise of the crowd swells like a living thing, the lights getting brighter with every step. My hand drifts unconsciously to my forearm, fingers tracing the tattoo there—the mountain range with the compass overlay, the ink that’s been with me through every trade, every city, every moment I felt lost.
North.That’s what it always meant. Finding true north when everything else was chaos.
I glance at Sawyer walking beside me, solid and steady. At the guys surrounding us, moving like a unit. And I think of Sutton—her sharp wit, her fearless heart, the way she looks at me like I’m more than just a hockey player with a reputation.
For the first time in years, I’m not just searching for direction.
I’ve found it.
CHAPTER 26
SUTTON
The press room buzzes with the electric energy that follows a 4–2 victory, reporters still scribbling notes about Campbell’s hat trick and the team’s dominant performance. Ben stands at the podium, fielding questions about strategy and player development with his usual steady competence.
I hover outside the press room doors, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. Through the small window, I can see the familiar faces of local sports reporters, a few national correspondents, bloggers with their phones recording everything. The same people who’ve been dissecting my personal life for weeks.
Eighteen hours ago, Elle and Gavin convinced me to stop hiding. Six hours ago, I made the decision to come to tonight’s game. Two hours ago, I watched Campbell play like a man possessed, scoring three goals that had the arena on its feet and scouts taking frantic notes.
Now I’m about to walk into that press room and either save my relationship or destroy my reputation.
