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1465 Words
The next morning, Sheila Feint woke up feeling swallowed by the arena. It was not the physical building that haunted her. Instead, she had the sensation that the place had trailed her home, stalking her, tiptoeing with her, to see if she would slip. Her phone continued to contain the same messages. The same warnings. The same silence that seemed like a trap. She didn’t reply. She didn’t delete. She only looked at them until her eyes burned. She was so well aware she was being watched. And she was aware that she was being pushed.
Sheila came into the arena stiff and had a good head. She didn’t feel like an intern any longer. She had been in someone else’s game. The security guard standing at the entrance didn’t glance back this time. He had an expression like, oh God, wait. Sheila didn’t like that. She did not like being watched.
She walked into the training room and immediately saw the difference. The air was heavier. The players were quieter. And Carter was not there. Instead, the PR manager was displaced by someone else — someone with a camera on his shoulder, not hidden under his hair. A camera that was right, visible, professional, intended to capture something.
Sheila’s stomach dropped. She scanned the room and saw the coach. Coach Rivera stood near a bench with a clipboard in his hand, and looked angry. He glanced at Sheila once, then looked away as though he didn’t want to acknowledge her.
Something was wrong.
Sheila started recording the warm-up routines, but could not concentrate. Her gaze continued to wander toward the ice.
Atticus Finch was already on it. He was skating, but not as he typically did. Not like a man training. Like a dude trying to prove something. His movements were sharp. His shots were vicious. His breathing was uneven. Sheila watched him carefully before moving. She saw something she hadn’t seen before: he was pushing himself too hard. Like he was trying to crush something inside himself.
Sheila’s pen moved faster. She wrote everything down she had noticed. And then she heard the whisper.
She turned. A trainer stood next to her, a young man with a worried expression of concern. He looked nervous.
“You’re not meant to be here,” he said quietly.
Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
The trainer looked toward the ice. “It’s not safe for you.”
Sheila’s jaw tightened. “I’m doing my job.”
The trainer’s voice lowered. “That’s not the point.”
She immediately felt the cold rush of that wave through her body. “Talking about what?” she asked.
The trainer hesitated. “About you.”
Sheila's hands were clenched around her clipboard. “What about me?”
The trainer glanced around nervously, then leaned in closer. “About what you know.”
Sheila stared at him. “What do I know?”
The trainer swallowed. “Just about Finch.”
Sheila stopped. She had known that something was up there. She had suspected it. But getting to hear it out loud made it true.
“What do you mean?” Sheila asked in a low voice. The trainer turned to the bench. “You don’t want to get in.” Sheila’s voice rose. “I already am involved.”
The trainer’s expression hardened. “Then you need to leave.”
Sheila stares at him. Then she saw it. A figure getting on the ice. Carter. He wasn’t smiling this time. His expression was calm, controlled and menacing. He strode toward the bench as if he were fit there. And when he got there, he talked to Coach Rivera. Sheila couldn’t hear the words. But she saw the coach’s face. It went pale. Then angry. Then defeated.
Coach Rivera looked at Sheila. His eyes were focused just on her clipboard. Then he looked at her.
“Feint,” he said quietly. Sheila had a great sinking stomach.
“Coach?” she asked.
Coach Rivera’s jaw tightened. “You need to come with me.”
Sheila's heart raced. "Why?" she inquired.
Coach Rivera's voice was firm. “Now.”
Sheila followed him. She had no idea where he was carrying her. But she sure as hell did not trust him. Not after the way he watched her. Not after he avoided her the way before.
Walking down a hallway towards the office. The air was much colder there was a lot of silence surrounding them. Coach Rivera opened the door. It was inside a small room, quiet and dim. He shut the door behind her. Then he faced again. Her expression was severe.
"Sheila," he said. “I need you to listen.”
Sheila’s voice was steady. “Go ahead.”
Coach Rivera’s eyes glanced out toward the window, as if to see if anyone was watching. Then he said, “You’re being used.”
Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “I know that.”
Coach Rivera’s voice lowered. “No. You don’t know how much.”
Sheila’s stomach tightened. "What do you mean by that?" she says.
Coach Rivera was staring down at her with a bit of a tired expression. “You aren’t just being filmed. You’re being targeted.”
Sheila’s heart dropped, then Sheila felt her heart racing. "Who exactly targeted? Who did it?" she asked.
Coach Rivera looked cold. “By people who seek to ruin Finch.”
Sheila felt her breath hitch. Coach Rivera continued. “They want to make him look like a monster.”
Sheila’s eyes widened. “Why would they want that?”
Coach Rivera’s voice was quiet. “Because he’s dangerous.”
Sheila stared at him. “He’s dangerous to who?”
Coach Rivera softened his expression, but his eyes stayed cold. “To anyone who gets too close.”
Sheila felt her throat tighten. She glanced down at her hands. Then she looked up at the coach. “Are you saying Finch is innocent?” she asked.
Coach Rivera’s gaze darted toward the door. “I am saying he is not the only one who has a secret.”
Sheila’s heart pounded. She did not expect anyone else to hear that. She never anticipated hearing anything that made her question her own assumptions. This is the most surprising thing anyone can learn.
Coach Rivera continued, “You’re not supposed to know this.”
Sheila’s voice was firm. “Then why tell me?”
Coach Rivera’s expression hardened. “Because you’re not going to quit.”
Sheila’s jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving.”
Coach Rivera sighed. “Then you have to know what you’re dealing with.”
Sheila stared at him. “And what is that?”
Coach Rivera leaned in. “This is bigger than you.”
Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “Then why is it my problem?”
Coach Rivera’s voice was quiet. “Because you’re in it already.”
Sheila’s heart pounded. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to believe. She didn’t know who to trust. And she didn’t know how to defend herself. The door was suddenly opened.
Atticus Finch entered and stepped inside. His eyes sharp and unreadable. He glanced at Sheila. Then he looked at Coach Rivera. His voice was low. “What is she doing here?”
Coach Rivera’s jaw tightened. “She’s asking questions.”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “She is not supposed to be asking questions.”
Sheila felt her chest tighten. Atticus’s gaze moved to her. Then he added, “You shouldn’t be in here.”
Sheila’s voice was cold. “Neither should you.”
Atticus looked up at him. “I'm not the one being targeted.”
Sheila gazed at him. “Then why are you here?”
Atticus’s voice dropped. “Because you’re in danger.”
Sheila’s heart raced. She was not sure whether she should have trusted him. She didn’t know if she should hate him. And she didn’t know whether he was the one she should fear. But one thing was clear. He was the only one who had been honest with her. He was the only one who could guard her.
Coach Rivera stepped aside, his eyes focused on both of them. Then he said: “You need to go away.”
Atticus’s voice was low. “No.”
Coach Rivera looked at him. “You don’t get to decide.”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “I do.”
Sheila stared at him. She felt her heart pounding. She felt the fear rise. She felt the anger. She felt the pull. Atticus Finch was not just a storm. He was a force. And now Sheila Feint was faced with a decision to make: join him in the storm or leave it and be another victim.
- Writer
