AGAINST THE ICE

Chapter3

Rory POV

I always thought reputation crumbled with scandal. But I was wrong. It crumbled with a single tweet.

I was sitting on the edge of the gym bench, fingers numb around my phone, the cold metal pressing into my spine as if anchoring me to this moment. A tweet. A blurry photo. A storm unraveling, one character at a time.

The caption read:

“Ashford’s daughter getting cozy with the new Wolves recruit. #PuckBunny #NepotismMuch?”

The grainy photo—clearly taken at the airport lounge—showed Max and me sitting too close, angled toward each other, mid-conversation. It wasn’t overtly damning, not in a legal sense. But perception didn’t need proof. It just needed momentum. And Twitter had it in spades.

Max appeared before I could fully gather my thoughts, striding over from the weight rack. His presence changed the air. The quiet behind his movements held something heavier than silence.

"Let me see," he said. His voice wasn’t gentle. It was all tension.

I turned the phone toward him. He scanned the image, eyes narrowing.

"It’s not even incriminating," he muttered.

"You think that matters?" I whispered, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from unraveling.

"It’s nothing," he insisted.

I laughed—sharp, bitter. "It’s everything."

He crouched beside the bench, elbows on his knees, lowering his voice. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

I looked at him. His face was sincere, almost apologetic. I hated that it made something flutter in my chest.

"I sat next to a player. And now I’m trending for the wrong reasons."

He didn’t move. "Let me handle it."

I shook my head. "No. You handled things just fine the last time—by vanishing."

That hit its mark. He stood abruptly, jaw tightening.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," I added, more to myself than him.

"What exactly?" he asked, frustration slipping into his voice. "Us sitting on a plane? Surviving a blizzard?"

"You and me. It wasn’t supposed to follow us here."

He ran a hand over his face. "It didn’t. Someone dragged it here. There’s a difference."

I stood slowly. "That doesn’t matter. Not in my world."

And then I left him there, in the middle of the gym, under flickering lights that didn’t seem bright enough anymore.

Back in my office, the lock clicked shut behind me. My heels echoed against the hardwood as I crossed to my desk, collapsing into the leather chair like I’d just run a marathon. The screen of my phone stayed black. I didn’t wake up. I didn’t need to. The image was burned into my brain.

I turned on my computer. Outlook pinged instantly.

DAD: Board meeting at 4. Bring full notes on Max’s integration.

Perfect.

The boardroom was cold—cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. All business. No warmth.

Dad sat at the head of the table, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. On either side of him sat men who’d known me since I was a kid but never quite looked at me like I belonged.

"Let’s begin," he said, nodding to me.

I stood, spine straight, clipboard in hand. "Max Logan has completed his onboarding. He’s participated fully in training, attended every meeting on time, and shown no behavioral issues since joining the organization."

There was a pause. A beat too long.

"And the tweet making rounds this afternoon?" Tom Benton, our PR director, asked without looking up from his phone.

"Baseless," I said. "An obvious attempt to discredit both myself and the player."

"Still, the optics—" another board member began.

"Are exactly why we shouldn’t feed into speculation," I interrupted, tone firm. "There’s no policy violation, no misconduct. Just a manipulated perception."

Tom gave a half-shrug. "A little smoke, a little fire. That’s all the public needs."

"Then it’s our job to control the message," I replied.

Dad finally spoke. "We don’t need rumors distracting us from the season. Keep things clean, Rory."

I nodded. "Understood."

But I felt his eyes on me long after the meeting ended.

He found me in the hallway afterward, as I turned toward the offices.

"Rory."

I stopped. "Yes?"

Dad didn’t speak for a long moment. Then: "You sure there’s nothing you need to tell me?"

I met his gaze, carefully neutral. "No. It’s nothing."

He nodded. "Let’s keep it that way."

The words settled into my bones like ice.

By six, the building was mostly empty. I stayed behind. Partly because I needed to work. Mostly because I didn’t want to go home.

I sat at my desk, staring at the tweet again. The likes had doubled. The retweets had tripled. The image wasn’t going away.

A knock sounded.

I didn’t look up. "Come in."

Max’s voice followed. "You’re still here."

"So are you."

He walked in slowly, stopping just short of my desk. "You’re quiet."

"You’re not."

He gave me a look. "You always go for the kill when you’re cornered?"

"Only when I know I’m bleeding."

He sat on the edge of my desk. "Let me help."

I laughed—dry, tired. "Help how? Are you going to time-travel and undo the flight, the motel, the conversation?"

He didn’t answer.

"Didn’t think so."

"Rory—"

"You left," I snapped. "And now I’m here, cleaning up the pieces of something that was never supposed to matter."

"It mattered to me," he said quietly.

My breath caught.

He shifted closer. "You think I ran because I didn’t care? I left because I did. I knew exactly who you were, and I knew I’d already screwed up by touching you."

My eyes locked on his. "And now we’re both paying the price."

His gaze darkened. "Then let’s stop pretending we didn’t make a choice."

"You think that’s how this works? That if we just own it, everything fixes itself?"

He leaned forward. "No. But at least we’re being honest."

I hated that part of me still wanted to believe in that kind of honesty. That there was still something inside me that leaned toward him, even when I knew better.

Then the email came in.

I saw the subject line first:

Conduct Violation Report - Staff and Player

My hand gripped the mouse. Clicked.

I read the first sentence twice before it landed.

"Someone filed a complaint," I whispered.

Max stilled. "What kind of complaint?"

"Anonymous. About us."

He stood slowly. "You think it was someone on the board?"

I shook my head. "Doesn’t matter. The ball’s already rolling."

He exhaled hard. "Then we hit back. Together."

"We can’t," I said, voice shaking. "Together is what started this."

He moved around the desk, stopping in front of me. Not touching. Just close.

"Then maybe together is the only way to end it."