Sawyer told me everything that night.
The fight after the ceremony, the one the anonymous messages kept hinting at, hadn't been about hockey at all. It had been about Caleb, drunk and devastated after losing the scholarship, throwing a punch at a wall outside the venue and shattering two bones in his hand instead of Derek's face. An injury that, combined with the lost scholarship, had quietly ended any remaining chance at a hockey career before it even started.
"That's the whole story," Sawyer had said, voice heavy with old guilt. "Whoever's sending you these messages isn't giving you new information. They're just trying to make old pain sound like a secret."
It hadn't erased the unease of the anonymous texts, but it had answered the questio
