Ch8

ENZO

"Do you have any absolute, earthly idea what you have done?"

First of all, something like this has never happened to me before. It's never happened to any of my teammates either.

As the captain, I make sure that they're on their best behavior. It's not easy to manage the affairs of teenage guys, some older than I am. But, I've done a good job so far with the guys.

That's why, I'm more ashamed of my conduct that afraid of what it could mean for my career. The guys look up to me. They listen to my rules about keeping their personal shit out of the team.

And now look. Just look at the mess I've made. Fuck this. I raise my head to look at Coach, at how his face looks. He slams his fist down on the desk, sending a stack of reports scattering across the floor of his office.

If this was any other teammate being reprimanded, I'd make a move to pick the reports up from the ground. But I don't even move. I just sit, staring at a smudge of black tape on the toe of my sneaker.

"Look at me, Moretti!" Coach roars. "The athletic director has called me three times in the last twenty minutes. The board of trustees is convening an emergency meeting. And my phone is ringing off the hook with scouts asking me if my projected top-three draft pick is a liability."

Fuck. That does sound bad.

"Coach, the audio..."

"The audio is catastrophic. I don't care about the context. I don't care that it was recorded inside a private residence. That is not the fact. The fact is, the entire school, the entire athletic conference, and now the local media are listening to you and Noah talk about covering up a scandal. Do you know what this does to the Wolves' season? We are three weeks out from the playoffs, Enzo. Three weeks!"

"I didn't know I was being recorded," I say.

That's the truth. Nova had come downstairs to get her water bottle or something like that. I don't even know what to believe anymore. I initially thought Nova couldn't do something like this.

But Noah had text messages from the team chat. The rumors from the media room were already bleeding into the athletic department. Everyone was saying her name.

"I don't care if you knew or not!" Coach shouts, pacing behind his desk like a caged animal. "Optics are reality in this business, Moretti. You know that. Your father knows that. Right now, you look untouchable in the worst way possible. If this gets picked up by states sports syndicates, you can kiss the first round goodbye. You'll be lucky if a team takes a flyer on you in the late fifth."

The office door suddenly rattles and flies open. Noah enters, taking one glance at Coach before focusing on me. He walks forward, extending his right arm. In his grip, is my phone and the screen is flashing an incoming call.

"Noah, what the hell do you think you're doing bursting into my..."

"Coach, just hang on." Noah says. He thrusts the phone directly into my face. "Enzo. Take it. It's your dad."

My stomach bottoms out. If Coach's shouting is insane, a call from my father is worse.

I swallow the dry lump in my throat and reach out, taking the phone from Noah's shaking hand. Noah steps back, leaning his back against the closed office door, burying his face in his hands.

I press the phone to my ear. "Dad?"

"Tell me it's an AI voice generation," The man says. There was no greeting. No 'are you okay.' His voice is just cold. "Tell me right now, Enzo, that the audio circulating on the internet is a deepfake."

"It's not," I say softly. "It's... it's my voice, Dad. It was a private conversation in Noah's living room last night."

"You absolute idiot," my father whispers. "Do you have any concept of what I have been doing for the last three hours? I am sitting in an airport lounge in Chicago, supposed to be boarding a flight to meet with your agent, and instead, I am fielding calls from the Montreal front office asking me why my son sounds like a criminal."

"Dad, listen to me, someone leaked it intentionally, it was stolen from..."

"I don't give a damn who leaked it!" He snarls. "Who cares about the leak? It's the words, Enzo! You admitted to God knows what, and you did it while sounding like a boy who doesn't know how to handle his business. The scouts don't care about your morals. They care about your focus."

"Is that all you care about?" I deadass fire the question back.

I mean, fuck this.

This man doesn't care about me one bit. I've been over here for three years and not once has he called to ask how I am. It's always about hockey. He doesn't watch my games to tell me welldone when I do well. He watches my games to reprimand me if I make a mistake.

That's all he cares about and I hate him for that.

"I don't know what you expect me to bring up at this point when your career is the only thing that matters right now!" my father shouts back. "Your hockey career pays for your lifestyle, Enzo. It is the culmination of fifteen years of my time, my money, and my execution. I did not spend my life molding you into a top-tier athlete just for you to flush it down the toilet over some high school drama in a family living room! Who even took the recording?"

I look up. Noah is staring at me from the door, his eyes bloodshot.

"Nova," I mutter. "Everyone is saying Nova took it."

"Sarah and Richard's girl?" my father asks. "The little journalist? You let a teenage girl sit in a room with you and record a conversation that could cost us ten million dollars? Are you completely brain-dead, Enzo?"

"She didn't mean to post it, Dad..."

"I don't care what she meant to do! She did it!" He barks. "Listen to me very carefully. You are going to put your Coach on the phone. You are going to issue a public statement drafted by our family attorney within the hour, claiming the audio was taken out of context and that you are fully cooperating with any school investigation. And as for Noah Graham and Nova Graham? You don't speak to them. You don't speak to Noah, and you stay the hell away from that girl."

"Noah is my linesman, Dad. He's my best friend."

"He's a liability until this clears," my father says coldly. "Put your Coach on. Now."

I slowly pull the phone away from my ear. I stubbornly don't hand it to Coach. I just look at the screen, press the red end-call button, and hand the phone back to Noah. If he wants to speak with Coach, he knows who to call.

Noah takes the phone. "What did he say?"

"Exactly what you think he said," I reply. I turn to look at Coach, who's watching me with wide, expectant eyes.

"He's handling it." I say.

Before Coach can respond to me, Noah’s phone begins to ring.

Noah glances down at the screen, his brow furrowing. He looks up at me. "Thank goodness. It's my dad, Enzo. He's calling from his trip."

"Answer it," I say. "Put it on speaker."

Noah presses the button and holds the phone between us. "Dad?"

"Noah," Richard’s voice comes through the speaker. He sounds tired, but unlike my father, there's no ice in his tone. "I just got off the plane in Denver. My phone lit up with twenty different alerts the second we hit the tarmac. Is Enzo with you?"

"Yeah," Noah says, looking at me. "He's right here. We're in Coach's office."

"Enzo, son, are you there?" Richard asks.

I swallow hard, stepping closer to the phone. "I'm here, Mr. Graham."

There's a brief pause on the line, before Richard speaks again. "First things first, kiddo. How are you holding up? Are you okay?"

The question catches me completely off guard. It feels like a physical blow to the chest. My own father hadn't asked if I was breathing, he had asked about draft rankings and front offices. Hearing Richard call me son, hearing the worry in his voice, almost makes my eyes blurry.

"I'm... I'm alright, Mr. Graham," I manage to say, though my voice cracked slightly. "Just trying to figure out how everything went sideways so fast."

"I know, Enzo. I know," Richard sighs. "I listened to the audio in the taxi on the way to my hotel. It’s a mess. A total disaster. But I want you to know we’re going to get through it. I’m trying to reach your dad now, but his line keeps going straight to voicemail."

I let out a laugh that feels more like a choke. "Don't bother, Mr. Graham. I just got off the phone with him."

"And? What did he say? Is he coordinating a legal team?"

"He told me to stay the hell away from your family," I say bluntly.

Noah’s head snaps up, his eyes widening. Even Coach goes completely still behind his desk.

"What?" Noah mutters.

"He told me we're done talking," I continue, staring directly at the phone in Noah's hand. "He said he doesn't want me anywhere near Noah or Nova, and that I'm supposed to cut ties completely until our family attorney drafts a statement. He doesn't want us speaking to any of you."

"He said that to you? After everything?" Richard breathes. "Jesus Christ. Look, Enzo, listen to me very carefully. You ignore him. Do you hear me? You are practically a brother to Noah, and you are like a son to Sarah and me. We are not cutting you loose because of a PR scare. We are a family, and we handle things together."

"Mr. Graham, everyone is saying Nova is the one who recorded it," I say, the words hurting to say out loud. "Noah thinks she did it too."

"I don't care who recorded what right now," Richard says. "I haven't been able to get ahold of Sarah or Nova yet, but when I do, I will get to the bottom of it. Until then, you and Noah stick together. Don't let your father isolate you, Enzo. Can I speak to Coach, in private?"

This time, I hand the phone to Coach while Noah and I walk out of the office. I'm glad to breathe in fresh air and not the suffocating air in Coach's office.

Noah drops to the floor, his eyes staring afar off. "So, what do you want to do?"

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb. Your dad said to stay away from my family."

I nod. "I don't know what to do. Your sister's ruined my life, dude. And she's nowhere to be found. You said it yourself. Her stuff was gone when you went home to check. This is how it sounds. Your sister ruined me and your mom helped her escape. If you were in my shoes, what would you do?"