Page 62 of Puck Me Thrice
The press conference was scheduled for 2 PM. The athletic department had agreed to let me address the rumors publicly, flanked by Coach Williams and the team captains.
But when I walked into the conference room, the entire hockey team was there. All of them. Standing in solidarity behind the press table like an intimidating wall of muscle and loyalty.
I sat at the table between Nolan and Logan, with Blake standing directly behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. The room was packed with reporters, cameras, and enough scrutiny to make my skin crawl.
"Thank you for coming," I started, my voice steadier than I felt. "I want to address the rumors circulating about my position with the hockey team."
I walked them through my credentials—degree in exercise science, certifications in sports psychology and biomechanics, years of elite athletic experience.
"The narrative on social media suggests I earned this position through sexual relationships rather than professional competence," I continued. "This narrative is rooted in sexism that assumes any woman in sports must be sleeping with players rather than contributing meaningfully to their success."
I played the recordings my mom had provided—Sam's voicemails admitting to lies, his threats to sabotage my career.
"Sam's characterization of my 'boundary issues' is projection," I said calmly. "He engaged in inappropriate relationships and now attempts to rewrite history by transferring his behavior onto me."
The reporters were frantically taking notes. Cameras flashed. The energy in the room had shifted from salacious interest to actual journalism.
"My personal life is my business," I continued. "But I want to be clear: my relationship with members of this team is separate from my professional contributions. I am a competent strategist who helped this team win a championship through expertise, not manipulation."
Logan leaned forward. "Mira's strategic analysis gave me specific technical improvements that increased my save percentage."
Nolan added, "She identified weaknesses in our power play formation and designed new patterns that increased our scoring efficiency."
Then Blake, his voice quiet but carrying, said simply, "She made us champions. Everything else is nobody's business."
The room went silent.
One reporter raised her hand. "So you're confirming that you do have personal relationships with team members?"
"I'm confirming that my personal life is not up for public dissection," I said firmly. "I'm also confirming that my professional contributions to this team are legitimate, measurable, and earned through competence. Those are the facts. Everything else is speculation."
The press conference went viral—but this time for positive reasons. Blake's statement became a meme in the good way. My statistical analysis got picked up by sports journalists actually interested in strategy rather than scandal. Sam's recorded admissions destroyed his credibility so thoroughly that his new skating partner dropped him within twenty-four hours.
The athletic department reversed their decision within a week, offering me a permanent position with an actual salary that finally provided the financial stability my family needed.
That evening, I sat in the living room with Nolan, Logan, and Blake, watching the news coverage with disbelief.
"We won," Logan said, sounding slightly dazed.
"We destroyed Sam's career and secured your position," Nolan corrected. "That's more than winning—that's complete victory."
"Your mom is terrifying," Blake added. "In the best way."
I laughed, the sound slightly hysterical with relief. "She really is."
"So what now?" Logan asked. "We've won the championship, survived a social media scandal, secured professional futures, and managed not to destroy our relationship in the process. What's left?"
"Normal life?" I suggested. "Or whatever passes for normal when you're in a polyamorous relationship with three hockey players."
We'd fought for this. Survived scandal, societal judgment, and our own insecurities. We'd chosen each other despite every rational argument against it.
Chapter 21: Nolan
My father arrived on campus without warning, which was typical of his approach to parenting: show up when it's most inconvenient, demand immediate attention, and expect everyone to drop everything for the great Marcus Smith.
Former NHL legend. Current manipulative asshole. My biological father in name only.
I found him waiting in my room—he'd apparently convinced the RA to let him in using his "concerned parent" routine—sitting in my desk chair like he owned the place.
