Page 199 of Play Dirty

“That’s you,” joked Asher. “Every time you’re out on the ice.”

My stomach dropped. Not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice.

But on the inside, my belly was in knots.

“Give me that,” Ares said, stepping in.

He took the phone. Read it once, then twice.

His jaw flexed, and he looked toward me.

“It’s nothing,” someone said from the other end of the kitchen.

“Yeah, just more media bullshit,” added another.

But it wasn’t. We all knew it wasn’t.

Because then another phone lit up, then another, and another.

“… no way,” Caleb muttered.

“Dude — there’s clips,” Dorian said, already scrolling. “Like… actual clips.”

That’s when I stood. I couldn’t help it.

“Show me.”

It came out steadier than I felt. Dorian handed me his phone without hesitation. It played out, across the screen. Clip after clip. Angles from different games. Different nights. Same result.

Sutherland—

Hesitating. Overcommitting. Telegraphing his moves.

Letting in goals he could’ve easily stopped.

Not once, not twice. A clear, damning pattern. Impossible to explain away.

“Oh, that’s bad,” Sebastian said quietly.

Ares didn’t say anything. Grayson kept on eating his toast.

“They’re saying it might be tied to betting,” Caleb added, reading from somewhere over my shoulder. “Like — internal stuff. League’s involved.”

“Holy shit,” Zack muttered.

The room buzzed with gossip after that. Semi-chaotic bits and pieces pulled from different feeds.

“They’re pulling him,” Asher said. “Effective immediately.”

“What?” Zack blinked. “Like— done done?”

“Pending investigation,” Asher clarified. “But yeah. He’s out.”

Silence followed, broken only by low chatter. I handed Dorian’s phone back to him carefully, like it might burn me if I held it too long.

“That’s why,” Grayson said.

Everyone turned.