Page 61 of Puck Me Thrice
I pulled up the article on my laptop, showing Logan the interview Sam had given to a sports blog just hours ago.
"Mira always had boundary issues," Sam was quoted saying. "During our partnership, she was inappropriately close with coaches and other skaters. I'm not surprised this situation developed. Some people don't understand professional relationships."
The implication was clear: I'd been unfaithful during our partnership. I was the problem. I had a pattern of inappropriate behavior.
"That lying piece of—" Logan started.
"It's character assassination," I finished. "And it's working. Look at the comments. Everyone believes him."
Nolan appeared in the doorway, his phone in hand, his expression murderous. "Team meeting. Downstairs. Now."
The entire hockey team was crammed into our living room, looking various shades of angry and protective. Coach Williams was there too, which surprised me.
"I'll make this simple," Nolan said, his captain voice in full effect. "The athletic department is considering terminating Mira's position due to social media bullshit. If they do that, I'm transferring schools. Who's with me?"
Every hand went up.
"Cap's right," one of the seniors said. "Coach Torres made us champions. Anyone who thinks she got this job through anything other than being brilliant is an idiot."
"The plays she designed won us games," another player added. "Statistical improvements across the board. That's not sex—that's strategy."
"If they fire her, we boycott," a junior declared. "No practice, no games, no compliance. They want to cave to social media pressure? They can explain to the boosters why their championship team refuses to play."
I stared at the team, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. These players—many of whom had mocked me when I first arrived—were ready to sacrifice their season for me.
"You can't do that," I said, my voice thick. "You have scouts watching. Draft prospects. Futures—"
"We have those futures because of you," Nolan interrupted. "Our stats improved because you taught us technique and strategy that made us better players. You earned your position through competence, not—" He gestured angrily at nothing. "—whatever bullshit people are saying online."
Coach Williams stepped forward. "I've already sent my assessment to the athletic department. Detailed analysis ofevery strategic improvement Mira implemented, with statistical evidence of success. I've made it clear that terminating her would be the athletic department choosing optics over excellence."
"But the social media—" I started.
"Is full of people who don't know anything about hockey or strategy or what actually makes a successful team," Coach finished. "Let them talk. The people who matter know the truth."
Blake's phone buzzed. Then Logan's. Then Nolan's. All three of them checked messages simultaneously, their expressions shifting to something I couldn't read.
"What?" I asked.
"Your mom," Nolan said slowly. "She just sent a group text. She wants us to know she has something that might help."
Turned out, my mom had receipts. Literal, documented, time-stamped receipts.
She'd been recording every interaction with Sam since the breakup—voicemails where he admitted to lying, texts where he threatened to sabotage my career if I didn't take him back.
"I knew he was lying," my mom said over video call, her expression fierce. "So I started documenting everything. Just in case."
"Mom, I could kiss you," I said.
"Save it for your three boyfriends," she said with a knowing smile that made me choke on air.
"Mom!"
"Mira, I'm old, not blind. The way those boys look at you? That's not housemate appreciation." She waved her hand. "We'lldiscuss your unconventional relationship choices later. Right now, we destroy Sam's credibility."
My mom—mild-mannered, always-appropriate—had just casually acknowledged my polyamorous relationship while planning character assassination.
I loved her so much.
