But to them? It’s a scandal. By the next morning, it’s everywhere. My phone won’t stop buzzing—texts from Ray, from the label, even from my brother back home.
Outside my hotel, a swarm of cameras is waiting—paparazzi shouting my name, asking if I’ve spoken to Finn, if we’re separating, if the marriage was always a “PR stunt.”
They’re outsidehishouse, too. I see the photos online—Finnpulling into his driveway after practice, his face is solemn and unreadable, with reporters shouting from the sidewalk.
They plaster it everywhere.
Finn Hides Out at Home Amid Marriage Drama
Is Finn Training Alone… or Nursing a Broken Heart?
Kate Spotted Without Her Ring? Sources Say She’s Focused on ‘Career First’
I nearly threw my phone at the wall. I’venevertaken my ring off—but that doesn’t stop them from running grainy photos of me holding a microphone, hands blurred, claiming I’ve “ditched it.”
And suddenly, it feels like the walls are closing in.
Like no matter how far apart we are physically, we’re both trapped in the same damn spotlight—each of us boxed in, ripped apart by strangers who don’t know anything about what’s really going on.
And the worst part?
I don’t even know what’s really going on anymore, either.
Because those doubts are still sitting heavy in my chest, and now, it’s not just the media asking questions.
It’s me.
31
FINN
FLIGHT RISK
Slapshot/BlisteringSlapshot:A powerful, full-windup shot that sends the puckrocketingtoward the net. This might also be used to describe the look on her face when I’ve disappointed her, because it feels like a snapshot hitting my balls.
I know something’s wrong the second I see her name light up my phone.
My wife is texting me. She doesn’t usually text during training camp hours, not unless it’s something important. And right now, my gut’s already tight from the headlines circling like vultures.
I wipe the sweat off my face, sliding my thumb across the screen.
Her message hits me like a punch to the ribs.
We’re done. Don’t bother calling. I saw everything.
I stare at the words, waiting for them to make sense—but they don’t. They can’t. I call her immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Again. And again. Nothing.
The locker room fades out around me—teammates talking, trainers yelling, the noise all blurring into static.
She thinks I’m with Tessa.
I already know that’s what this is. There was only one place Kate hadn’t been with me that I even saw Tessa. It had to be the night the team went to the restaurant—yeah, she knows we go there. I figured Kate wouldn’t like it, but I saw the TikTok’s. I thought we’d talk it out later, once we weren’t both in the middle of everything.
I never touched Tessa. Hell, I never evenwantedto. I’m into my wife, I’d never do anything to screw up a future with Kate.
I was there with the team—half the damn offensive line sitting at the table, but of course, the media cropped every shot to make it look like it was just me and Tessa, cozy in some dark corner.
