Leaked

“Tell me this is fake.”

My phone hit the table between us.

The headline glared up in bold black letters.

Anonymous Source: Star Teammates Were Secretly Involved for Years.

Blake didn’t touch the phone.

He just stared at it.

Goal right now?

Contain it. Control it. Kill the story before it kills us.

“Where did it start?” he asked, voice steady in a way that scared me.

“SportsBreak forum first. Then a blog picked it up. Now it’s everywhere.”

His jaw tightened.

The article didn’t name dates.

Didn’t give proof.

But it didn’t have to.

It hinted.

Youth camp photos.

The old championship clip where we looked at each other too long.

They almost kissed in the hallway last week.

They connected dots we had tried to erase.

“They’re calling it a long-running secret romance,” I said flatly.

Blake finally looked up at me.

There was no anger in his eyes.

Just calculation.

“Who’s the source?” he asked.

“Anonymous.”

“Convenient.”

My stomach twisted.

This wasn’t just gossip.

It was dangerous.

Our biggest sponsor had a morals clause in both our contracts.

No scandals.

No distractions.

No behavior that could “harm brand image.”

And secret relationships between team leaders?

That counted.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

I answered.

“Yes?”

A smooth voice came through.

“Good morning. This is Clara from Vantage Athletics. We’d like to schedule a call immediately.”

Sponsor pressure.

My throat went dry.

“Of course,” I said. “We’re available.”

Blake watched me hang up.

“Vantage?” he asked.

I nodded.

He swore under his breath.

“They won’t drop us over a rumor,” he said.

“They might freeze the campaign.”

The campaign we shot last month.

The one launching next week.

Built around rivalry.

Competition.

Not romance.

Another buzz.

This time Blake’s phone.

He glanced at it and went still.

“It’s Hale.”

The owner.

Of course it was.

He answered the speaker.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hale didn’t bother with greetings.

“What the hell did you two do?”

His voice filled the room like smoke.

“Nothing,” Blake said evenly.

“Then why is my inbox full of board members asking if our franchise captains are lying to the public?”

Silence.

I forced myself to speak.

“It’s an anonymous rumor. There’s no proof.”

“Proof?” Mr. Hale barked. “Perception is proof.”

Conflict rose fast.

“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Blake said.

“You nearly kissed in a hallway full of cameras,” Mr. Hale shot back.

My chest tightened.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said.

“Oh?” His tone turned cold. “Then explain what it was like.”

I couldn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to call it.

A mistake?

A moment?

The truth finally slipping through?

“We need a statement,” Mr. Hale said sharply. “Today. Deny everything.”

The words landed heavy.

Deny everything.

Blake’s hand brushed mine under the table.

Steady.

“We can say we’re focused on the season,” he said.

“No,” Mr. Hale snapped. “You say there has never been any romantic involvement. Past or present.”

My heart skipped.

Past or present.

That meant erasing years.

Erasing youth camp looks.

Erasing the championship kiss that no one knew about.

Erasing us.

“That’s a lie,” I said before I could stop myself.

Blake’s fingers tightened around mine.

Mr. Hale went quiet for a beat.

Then, softly, “Is it?”

The question hung in the air.

Dangerous.

“We’re talking about a long time ago,” Blake said carefully.

“I don’t care if it was kindergarten,” Mr. Hale replied. “If this becomes a story about deception, we lose leverage.”

Leverage.

Not trust.

Not integrity.

Leverage.

“You built an entire marketing push on our rivalry,” I said. “You knew this could surface.”

“I built it on tension,” he corrected. “Not romance.”

The difference felt thin.

“If sponsors think you manipulated fans with a fake feud,” he continued, “they’ll pull funding.”

Fake feud.

The words hit hard.

It hadn’t been fake.

It had been messy and real and painful.

“Deny it,” he repeated. “Or I start making calls you won’t like.”

The threat wasn’t subtle.

Trades.

Reduced minutes.

Benching.

Blake’s jaw flexed.

“We’ll handle it,” he said.

“See that you do.”

The line went dead.

Silence rushed in.

My hand slipped from his.

“They can’t force us to lie,” I said quietly.

“They can bench us.”

“That would make it worse.”

“Not for them,” he said. “For us.”

Emotional tension coiled tight between us.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

I stared at the article again.

It mentioned a source claiming we were “more than teammates” during our first championship season.

No names.

No dates.

But enough detail to sting.

“Someone knows,” I whispered.

Blake nodded once.

“Or someone’s guessing well.”

“You think Hale leaked it?” I asked.

His eyes flicked up.

“It boosts engagement.”

“He sounded furious.”

“He always sounds furious.”

A bitter smile tugged at my mouth.

True.

My phone buzzed again.

Social media notifications flooding in.

Fans are divided.

Some are excited.

Some are angry.

Some accuse us of lying for years.

Reputation at risk.

“They’re calling us frauds,” I said softly.

Blake stood abruptly, pacing.

“I don’t care about trolls,” he muttered.

“I do.”

He stopped in front of me.

“Why?”

“Because I worked too hard to be taken seriously.”

“And you think loving someone makes you weak?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

The accusation stung.

“I’m saying they’ll reduce us to a headline,” I shot back. “Not athletes. Not leaders. Just a scandal.”

His expression shifted.

Softer.

“They already do that,” he said quietly. “With or without proof.”

The truth is that it hurts.

My phone buzzed again.

This time a message from a teammate.

Is it true?

Simple.

Direct.

Terrifying.

Blake saw my screen.

“They’re asking already.”

I nodded.

“They deserve honesty.”

“Do they?” he asked. “Or do they deserve focus?”

Conflict cut deep.

Honesty meant admitting we had once been something real.

Denying meant protecting careers built on careful distance.

“Press conference in an hour,” Blake said suddenly. “Hale just texted.”

Escalation.

Public denial.

My stomach dropped.

“They’re moving fast,” I whispered.

“They always do.”

He stepped closer.

Close enough that I could feel his warmth.

“We have to be on the same page,” he said.

“Are we?”

His eyes searched mine.

“Were you ever going to tell them?” I asked.

“About us?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated.

That hesitation hurt more than the rumor.

“I didn’t think it mattered anymore,” he said finally.

“It mattered to me.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Regret flickered across his face.

“I never wanted to hide you,” he said quietly.

“You did.”

“I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?”

“This.”

He gestured at the phone.

The noise.

The chaos.

The doubt.

A knock hit the door.

PR manager.

“Five minutes,” she called.

Blake looked at me.

“So,” he said softly. “We deny everything?”

My chest felt tight.

If we say yes, we erase our past.

If we say no, we risk everything we built.

“They want us to say there was never anything,” I whispered.

He nodded.

“Was there?” he asked gently.

The question stole my breath.

Because the answer wasn’t simple.

Not then.

Not now.

“Yes,” I said finally.

His eyes closed briefly.

“Then denying it…” His voice trailed off.

“Feels like betrayal,” I finished.

Another knock.

“Time.”

Blake held out his hand.

Not for show.

For strength.

I took it.

Just for a second.

Then we let go.

As we walked toward the press room, cameras already flashing beyond the doors, one thought kept echoing in my head

If someone leaked this now…

Who benefits most from forcing us to lie?