All Chapters of only one crown: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“The airport's closed.”Our team manager’s voice cut through the hotel lobby like a knife.Snow slammed against the glass doors in thick waves. Wind howled so loud it drowned out the soft piano music playing near the bar.“You’re joking,” I said.“I wish I was.” He rubbed his forehead. “The storm came in fast. All flights are grounded until at least tomorrow night.”A low wave of curses moved through the team.We had just lost in overtime.Tempers were already high.Now we were stuck.Blake stood across the lobby, snow melting in his dark hair, jaw tight. He hadn’t looked at me once since the final buzzer.Not after that missed pass.Not after the goal that cost us the game.Goal at this moment?Get a room. Get space. Avoid him.The manager clapped his hands. “Listen up. Hotel’s overbooked because of the storm. We’ve got most of you covered in doubles.”A few guys groaned.He hesitated.“And… one suite left.”Silence.My stomach dropped.“Who’s not assigned?” someone asked.The manage

“Sit.”Mr. Hale didn’t look up from the city spread out behind his glass wall when he said it.Blake and I stayed standing.His office sat at the top of the arena, higher than the press box, higher than the lights. Dark wood. Sharp lines. Everything is clean and controlled.Like him.Goal at this moment?Find out why we were called up here after practice.Avoid saying something that would cost us our careers.“We’re fine standing,” Blake said evenly.Mr. Hale smiled faintly at the window’s reflection.“Still stubborn,” he murmured. “Both of you.”That made my stomach tighten.He turned around slowly, hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit.“I wanted to congratulate you,” he said.“For what?” I asked.“For last night’s numbers.”He tapped a tablet on his desk and turned it toward us.Clips of our assist played on a loop.Views climbing by the second.“Twenty-three million in twelve hours,” he said. “Jersey sales are up thirty percent. Sponsors calling nonstop.”Blake cross

“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

“Say it again.”Her voice shook, but her chin was lifted like she refused to fall apart in front of me.We stood in the empty practice rink. Midnight. Lights low. Ice untouched.I had asked her to meet me here.Neutral ground.Honest ground.Goal right now?Tell the truth. All of it.Even if it burns everything down.“I chose my career,” I said.The words sounded worse out loud.Her laugh broke, sharp and wounded. “I know that part.”“No.” I stepped closer. “You don’t.”She crossed her arms like she was bracing for impact. “Then explain it to me. Explain why I wasn’t enough.”That hit deep.“You were more than enough,” I said roughly.“Then why did you let me go?”Because I was scared.Because I was selfish.Because I thought I had to.“I thought if I lost hockey,” I said slowly, “I’d lose everything.”Her eyes filled, but she blinked fast. “So you cut me first.”Conflict burned between us.“I didn’t cut you,” I argued. “I stepped back.”“You disappeared.”“I was protecting what I wor

Take the C off if you can’t lead us.”The words landed hard in the middle of the locker room.No music. No jokes. Just the sharp echo of skates hitting concrete and the low hum of the vents above us.I froze halfway through untying my pads.Blake didn’t.He stayed seated, elbows on his knees, tape still wrapped around his wrists.“Say that again,” he said calmly.Too calmly.Ryan stood across from him, still in full gear, helmet tucked under his arm.“I said if your head isn’t here,” Ryan repeated, “maybe the C shouldn’t be either.”Gasps moved through the room.Goal at this moment?Stop this from blowing up.Keep the team from splitting down the middle.Blake stood slowly.He didn’t puff up. Didn’t shout.That almost made it worse.“My head is here,” he said.Ryan laughed once. “Is it? Because all I see lately is media chaos and side stories.”Side stories.That’s what they were calling us now.Me.The relationship.The photos.The headlines.I stepped forward before I could st