Twenty minutes later, the meeting’s over and now it’s time to lace up and hit the ice for practice. Players file out toward the locker room to suit up, but before I can even exit my row, Callum is walking in. His eyes scan the crowd and land on me, and he doesn’t have to say a word.
I know by that look on his face he’s here to see me.
I make my way down to him and we loiter until the room is cleared. When we’re alone, he holds out his phone to show me an article online from thePittsburgh Times.
“You’ll want to read it,” Callum says, his voice clipped.
I take the device and start reading. The title jumps out at me in bold serif font:
A Decade of Silence: Hazing, Tragedy and the Secrets of Juniors Hockey
By Jillian Towne
Just over ten years ago, a promising young player named Nathan Gentry died after a night of drinking and alleged hazing while playing for the Muskogee Wraiths, a junior hockey team based in Minnesota. The case sparked whispers but no charges—until suddenly, there were.
My heart slams against my breastbone as I read a succinct summary of the criminal complaints against Jace, Peter, Ryan and Colton and how two minor-aged witnesses were able to help the district attorney get guilty pleas. I glance up to see Callum watching me warily and then return to reading.
Now, for the first time, one of the two unnamed witnesses from that investigation is speaking out.
“I was fifteen when it happened,” says Mila Brennan, who contacted me after receiving multiple anonymous threats over the past several months. “I overheard my brother and three other players talking about what they’d done to Nathan. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—knowing that by helping the police, I was condemning my brother, but I had to do the right thing.”
According to her account, she overheard how Gentry, a rookie already struggling under the pressure of elite-level play, was subjected to a brutal hazing ritual organized by several of his own teammates, which led to his death.
“He was still breathing when they walked away,” she says. “They just assumed he’d sleep it off.”
Gentry aspirated overnight. His body was found by a rink employee the next morning.
Initial investigations stalled due to a wall of silence from the team. But prosecutors were later able to press charges after two key witnesses came forward. The identities of those witnesses were protected to prevent harassment or intimidation, but according to my sources, their testimony was critical in securing plea deals for two players and junior hockey bans for others.
Mila says she had dated Gentry briefly and overheard her own brother discussing the incident the night it happened. When she told her parents, they urged her to stay quiet.
“They called it stupid boy fun. They told me it was a tragic accident. But I knew better,” she says. “I knew they left him to die.”
Another teammate, unnamed in this story, also testified. According to Mila, he’d gone to the police first, quietly, but the case didn’t progress until she corroborated the story.
“He was brave,” she says. “He did the right thing before anyone else. But the team turned on him. Just like my family turned on me.”
Today, Mila lives out of state and works remotely. She has been terrorized by threats purporting to cause her harm—emails, messages, voicemails from burner numbers.
“I don’t know who’s behind it but it’s clear they want revenge,” Brennan said. “I live in constant fear.”
When asked why she chose to speak out now, she admitted it was for her own protection. “Because if something happens to me, I want people to know why.”
A spokesperson for the Wraiths declined to comment, as did the league.
The words blur.
Not because they’re poorly printed. Because I stopped breathing somewhere in the middle of the paragraph that begins with “Another teammate, unnamed in this story…”
I clench Callum’s phone so tightly, I’m afraid it will crack. My eyes lock onto the photo provided along with the article—Gentry. Fifteen years old. Smiling with his helmet tucked under one arm. He doesn’t know this photo will outlive him. He doesn’t know people will forget his name while remembering the headlines.
“Did you know about this?” Callum asks.
My eyes lift to his and I shake my head. “She never said a word.”
“It won’t be long before someone figures out you’re the other witness.” Callum scrubs his hand through his hair. “Now that Mila’s outed herself.”
“I can’t believe she fucking did that,” I growl, anger flushing through me and settling into my bones.
