Page 171 of Over the Line

I’m sorry. I love you. I want to make this right. Please call me.

I got no response.

CHAPTER 41

LIAM

When I stepped back into the locker room with my heart in my throat, everyone stilled. The whole room went silent. All eyes and lenses were on me.

Chris was nowhere in sight. My remaining teammates looked puzzled. They probably expected me to say something. And as both the captain and the star of that bullshit AI-generated video, I probably needed to say something.

Say what, I had no idea. But something.

“Saints,” Coach barked, making everyone jump.

I turned to him and gulped. “Yeah, Coach?”

He gestured sharply into the hall, and his expression said “Right the fuck now.”

I strode past my teammates, refusing to look any of them in the eye. I’d done a walk of shame or two in my life, but this was excruciating. It was entirely possible no one would’ve cared one way or another about Garrett and me dating had we come out on our own terms.

Being outed like this? Fuuuck.

In the hallway, I was genuinely surprised my heartbeat wasn’t echoing off the cinderblock walls. Maybe it was—I could barely hear over the cotton in my ears.

And Coach was pissed.

“You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” he demanded, and his fury and volume escalated with every word. “You told the goddamned fans—the fucking internet, Saints—you’re screwing the rookie’s dad? You didn’t even bother to let Kanes or the team know before you⁠—”

“I didn’t.” I showed my palms the same way Marcus had. “Coach, we didn’t tell anyone.”

His face was a deep red, and he narrowed his eyes. “Then what the hell was⁠—”

“It was fake,” I said quickly. “I’m pretty sure I know who made it, even though I have no idea how he found out, but that video? It’s fake. It’s AI.”

He blinked. Slowly, he straightened. “What?”

I swallowed. “I watched it, and it’s definitely fake. It never happened. I swear to God.”

Coach worked his jaw. “You didn’t deny that you’re involved with Kanes’s father.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled, wobbling a little on my blades.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Saints,” Coach muttered. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

I wiped a hand over my face, then looked at him. “We’ve⁠—”

“Are you serious?” He rubbed his eyes as if this whole thing were giving him a headache. Dropping his hand to his side, he looked at me with that look he gave rookies who’d forgotten how to skate. “Kanes’s dad? Seriously?”

My face burned and acid climbed my throat as shame roiled in my stomach.

“How long has this been going on?”

I dropped my gaze to the concrete between us.

“How long, Saints?”

I swallowed again, then made myself look at him. “Since November.”