The memory of that phone call came to mind—my father’s cold boardroom voice threatening to freeze my accounts.Trenton thought the threat of outing me to my dad gave him some kind of upper hand, but he was way too late.
Trenton blinked. His arms dropped to his sides.
“Old news,” I continued. “He and your dad already got on the phone and buried it a week ago. So whatever leverage you think you’re sitting on, it’s gone. You’ve got nothing.”
Trenton stared at me, searching for the bluff, and I let him look. Then he exhaled a short breath, popped his collar against the wind, and recovered with a thin smile.
“Fine. So Daddy covered your ass. Doesn’t change a thing.” He stepped closer, close enough that I caught the stale beer on his breath from the postgame spread. “You really think I went to Hastings because I gave a damn about some freshman getting groped in the showers?”
“You made it up.”
“I saw the way you two looked at each other. Everyone did.” He shrugged, casual, like he was explaining a play. “Telling the AD you were hooking up with a guy? That’s a slap on the wrist. But saying the violent scholarship kid was intimidating a legacy freshman? I knew they’d trip over each other to get rid of him. And they did.”
My back teeth ground together. “So you framed him over ice time.”
“He didn’t belong on our ice.” Trenton jabbed a finger at my chest. “Our families built this program. We pay for the facility, the gear, and the road trips. Guys like Zotov? They’re guests. And he forgot his damn place. All I did was remind the administration who actually signs the checks.”
“And you lied. To destroy him.”
“And nobody’s ever going to touch me for it.” He stepped back, smile settling into something easy and satisfied. “Hastings knows whose name keeps the lights on. You can’t do a damn thing, and we both know it.”
Keeping my phone buried deep inside my jacket, I slipped a hand into my pocket and pressed my thumb against the screen to stop the recording. I did not pull the device out. Letting Trenton believe he had won served my purpose perfectly.
Turning my back on him, I walked toward the arena doors while he shouted another insult across the lot at my back.
Stepping back into the lobby, a blast of warm air carried with it the scent of catered food and expensive cologne. Navigating the crowd, I spotted Elliot near the bar. He held a plastic cup, nodding along to whatever an older alumnus was saying with a fixed, polite smile.
Catching his eye, I jerked my chin toward the side corridor. Elliot set his cup down. He let the polite smile drop from his face, excused himself from the conversation, and followed me out of the noise.
Stopping near a stack of folded chairs in the hallway, I pulled out my phone. “Remember when you said Trenton was bragging in the group chat.”
Elliot crossed his arms. “Yeah. He thinks he got away with it.”
“Not anymore.” Tapping the screen, I held the device between us.
Trenton’s arrogant confession played through the small speaker, outlining his entire setup. Elliot stood completely still. He grimaced, staring hard at the phone before holding out his hand.
“Give it to me.” Elliot held out his hand, voice dropping into the same cut-the-bullshit register he used to run drills. “I’ll handle Hastings.”
Pulling the phone out of his reach, I shook my head. “No. I am doing this.”
I locked my knees and held his gaze. In reply, Elliot studied my face for a long beat before slowly lowering his outstretched hand. Yielding, he gave me a single, curt nod.
“Where is Hastings?” Elliot asked.
Navigating the back hallways, we tracked the Athletic Director down to a private suite reserved for university officials.
Elliot did not even bother to knock. He simply shoved the door open and marched right in. Following close behind, I pushed the wood shut until the latch clicked into place.
Hastings stood near a marble countertop, pouring sparkling water into a glass. Coach Corby was also there, sitting on a leather sofa across the room, nursing a cup of coffee.
“Boys,” Hastings said smoothly. He raised his glass in a polite toast. “Congratulations on clinching the division. Your father actually just texted me his regards.”
“We are not here for a victory lap,” I interrupted. Crossing the thick carpet, I pulled the phone from my jacket. “We are here about Aleksey Zotov.”
Hastings paused and set the water pitcher down carefully. “Karter, that matter is closed. The paperwork is all but finalized.”
“Trenton Wright lied.” Stopping right in front of him, I placed my phone flat on the marble counter. “And Coach just told me you needed proof to undo it.”
