Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I can do nothing but accept his word.
I push through to the front and get my key as quickly as possible. I brush off Atlas’s request to grab lunch and hightail it to my room.
I toss my bag onto the bed and sit heavily on the edge, my phone in hand. Rafferty’s words echo in my mind. The press ambush, the doping accusations—it’s a mess. He did a great job in maintaining his composure, especially in the face of something so inflammatory, but I know it’s eating at him underneath.
And now, I have to call Farren. She’s not going to take this well.
I scroll to her name and hit dial before I can second-guess myself. The phone rings twice before her voice comes through, warm and lilting. “What’s up, stud?” I can’t think of what to say and my silence causes her distress. “Is Rafferty okay?”
Because why else would I be calling?
“He’s fine,” I say, resting my elbows on my knees. “But something’s happened.”
“What?” she asks sharply, the easy warmth gone.
I hesitate for half a second before diving in. “There was an incident at the airport earlier. Some reporters cornered him, making false claims—”
“What claims?” Farren asks, her voice rising with alarm.
I rub the back of my neck, wishing I could soften the blow. “Someone’s accused him of doping.”
A sharp intake of breath crackles through the line. “What? That’s… That’s insane! Raff would never—”
“I know,” I cut in firmly. “We all know. The team knows. But you know how these things work. It’s already out there, and now he’s got to deal with the fallout. Callum sent him to get a drug test and the team will handle it, but…”
My words trail off.
But what?
Exactly what’s going to happen, I can’t say.
“Jesus,” she whispers, and I can hear the panic through her words. “What’s he going to do? What’s the team going to do?”
“He’s handling it,” I say, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “And the team’s got his back. He’s got a spotless record, Farren. This isn’t going to stick.”
“But what if it does?” she presses, her voice cracking. “What if it screws everything up for him? His career, his reputation, everything he’s worked for?”
“It won’t,” I say firmly. “He’s Rafferty. He’s not just a good player—he’s a good person. People know that. And we’re all standing by him, no matter what.”
There’s a long pause, and I can practically hear her wrestling with her emotions. “I hate that this is happening to him. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I agree quietly. “But he’s tough, Farren. He’ll get through it.”
Her voice wavers, and the depth of love she has for her brother is so clear and pure, it makes my heart ache. It makes me wonder what it would feel like if that were directed at me.
“What if he doesn’t?” she whispers.
“He will,” I say, my response softening. “I’ll be right there with him, making sure of it. You don’t have to worry about him being alone in this.”
She exhales shakily and I search for something to ease her mind, something to take the edge off her worry. “You know,” I start, “this reminds me of a time when I thought my career was over before it even started.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can tell I’ve got her attention. I rise from the bed and pace the room, letting the memory come back to me.
“When I was in juniors, there was this scout who came to watch me play. Big deal guy—everyone knew his name. I was having the game of my life, thinking this was my ticket to the next level. But then I made this dumb mistake, turned over the puck in the last minute and it cost us the win. The scout walked out before I even made it off the ice.”
Farren stays quiet, but her breathing is steady now, like she’s waiting for the rest.
“I thought I’d blown it,” I continue. “I spent weeks beating myself up, thinking I’d ruined everything. But then, out of nowhere, my coach pulls me aside and hands me a letter. It was from that scout. He said he didn’t care about the mistake—he saw potential in the way I played the rest of the game.”
I let out a small laugh. “Turns out, it wasn’t about one moment. It was about the bigger picture. And Rafferty? He’s got a hell of a bigger picture going for him.”
Farren’s silence stretches for a beat, and then she says softly, “You really believe that?”
“Without a doubt,” I say. “And you should too. He’s going to be okay, Farren. We’re all going to make sure of it.”
Her exhale is steadier this time, the sharp edges of her fear dulling. “Thank you. For being there for him. For me.”
“Always,” I say, meaning it more than I probably should.