The First Reckoning
953 Words
Chapter Five: The First Reckoning
Nora's POV
"You're sure about the lineup?" Theo asked, pacing behind the bench.
"I'm sure."
"Falcons haven't lost an opener in two years."
"Then tonight's a good night to start."
The horn blasted and the crowd roared so loud I felt it in my teeth. Across the ice, Grayson lined up for the faceoff. He missed the draw cleanly.
"Eyes on the puck, Knight!" his coach shouted.
By the third period, my players moved like they'd written the playbook themselves. The breakout opened exactly where I'd drawn it. Twice. Three times. Grayson chased shadows all night, his head turning toward our bench more than it turned toward the play.
"He's not watching the puck," Theo said beside me.
"I noticed."
"You did that on purpose."
"I designed a system. What he does with his attention isn't my problem."
The final horn went off. My team flooded the ice, sticks flying. Theo grabbed my shoulders and spun me once before he caught himself and let go.
"We just beat the Falcons."
"We did."
"Say something."
"Good game."
He laughed. "That's all I get?"
"That's all you get tonight."
I found Grayson in the tunnel afterward, alone, his gear bag slung over one shoulder, like he'd been standing there a while trying to decide whether to leave.
"Nora."
"Grayson."
"Got a minute?"
"I have a team to debrief."
"A minute. That's all I'm asking."
I stopped walking. "Talk."
"I was terrified that night," he said. "Sponsors in my ear, my father two feet away, cameras everywhere. I told myself I was protecting something. I wasn't. I was protecting myself."
"I know."
"You know?"
"I've had three weeks to figure it out. You're not as complicated as you think you are."
"I was wrong. About all of it."
"That part I already knew."
"The bond never left me," he said. "Not for one day. And neither did you."
"You didn't just break the bond, Grayson. You broke my trust."
"I know."
"Then you know that's not something I hand back because you finally lost a game that mattered to you."
"I'm not asking for it back tonight."
"Good. Because you wouldn't get it."
"I'm asking for a chance to earn it."
"Chances cost something. You used yours already."
"Then I'll find another one."
"That's not how this works."
"Tell me how it works. I'll do whatever that is."
"It doesn't work on a schedule, Grayson."
"I'm not leaving. Not this time."
"You left the first time standing two feet from me."
"I know what I did."
"Then you know why a minute in a tunnel doesn't fix it."
"I'm not trying to fix it tonight. I'm trying to start."
"Start somewhere else. I have a team."
"Nora—"
"Goodnight, Grayson."
I walked away before he could say my name a second time
The rink had emptied out by the time I reached my office. I locked the door and pulled up the scouting reports I should've finished hours ago.
A folder sat on the desktop that didn't belong there. League Affairs — Internal. I hadn't downloaded it. I hadn't touched League Affairs files in months.
I clicked it anyway.
The first memo was dated the morning after the draft. The morning my life rearranged itself on live television. Three names sat at the top, names I recognized from sponsor boxes and league dinners. Names that had shaken my hand at banquets and called me talented to my face.
Recommend Knight proceed with public rejection. Image risk too high otherwise. Bennett's background does not align with brand positioning. Advise swift, public resolution.
I read it twice, hoping the second read would change something. It didn't.
"They told him to do it," I said, to no one. "They told him, and he did it."
I scrolled further. More memos. More names. A timeline that went back further than I wanted to follow, my career discussed like something to be managed instead of someone who'd earned a seat at the table. One line near the bottom stopped me — a note dated four days ago, flagging "the Bennett situation" as unresolved. Active. Being handled.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I let it.
The door handle rattled.
I went still, hand on the mouse, eyes on the screen. The rattling stopped. Then a sound I knew, metal against metal, a lock being worked instead of a hand knocking.
"Hello?" I stood, my chair scraping back. "Who's there?"
No answer.
"This is a private office."
The handle turned. The lock gave.
I had just enough time to grab my phone before the door swung open and two figures stepped through, faces covered, one of them reaching for the light switch like he already knew where it sat.
The lights cut out.
"Get away from the desk," a voice said in the dark.
"Who sent you?"
"That's not something you need right now."
A hand closed around my wrist, right over the place the mark had burned weeks ago, and pulled. I twisted, grabbing for anything, and my fingers found something taped beneath the filing cabinet instead. Small. Cold. A second phone, screen lit, recording.
Not mine.
"Leave it," the first voice said. "We're behind schedule."
"What about the files?"
"Wipe the desktop. Take the laptop. She doesn't leave this room until—"
"Get your hands off her."
Theo's voice, from the doorway.
The two men pushed past him into the hallway before he reached me, but one of them turned back, just
long enough for the hall light to catch what the mask didn't cover.
A jacket. Iron Wolves, navy and gold, the same one hanging in our own locker room.
My team.
- Writer
