Kaleb

My nerves are on edge. Every fibre of my being is prepared to face the consequences of outing a team member. I'm okay with that. What I'm not okay with is working with the media. I've never liked their stance on privacy. They don't understand the word. In the past week, news about Mel has spread across the country like wildfire. Condolences have gotten so bad we've had to make our social media accounts private.

When comparing Mel's illness to Brenna's case of sexual assault, Brenna has it worse. Society feels terrible when someone suffers from an illness. But when something that is deemed "political" rises to the surface, that notion of division is created. Both sides of the coin will devour Brenna's social media. People will support her and people will blame her. I admire her for agreeing to this. Especially considering she's looking out for other women, too. Not just herself.

My hands are jittery and I don't know what to do with them. I grab my water bottle and crack the lid open, taking a long sip. There's an ache in the back of my throat. Whether it's from an oncoming cold or stress remains to be seen.

After I've set the water bottle down, Shea grabs my wrist. He leans close to me. "Take a deep breath, KJ. We're gonna be okay."

Hearing him say that makes me was to laugh. Before we stepped onto the platform, Shea was almost shitting his pants. "Fucking hypocrite," I mutter.

A grin splits his face. "Of course I am. Always have been. But keeping my thoughts positive is the only reason I'm sitting here right now. Otherwise, I'd be running down the street to the nearest convenience store, buying ice cream, and eating it until my colon explodes."

I wrinkle my nose. "That's way too much information, Shea."

"No, it's not," he snorts. "You have experienced my battle with dairy many times."

"Yeah," I fire back, "and you're the fucking idiot who keeps eating it. Why don't you switch to almond milk-based desserts? They're not bad."

Shea looks disgusted. "You need dairy in your life. There is no replacement that can make up for the creaminess of ice cream. Or milkshakes. Or cheesecake. Or—"

I dig my elbow into his ribs. "Fine. You've made your point. You could at least take some pills before ingesting dairy, though. It would be a favour to us all." I pause. "Do you remember that book we used to read in elementary school? Walter the Farting Dog? Because that's who you remind me of when you eat dairy."

He tosses his head back, laughing. His arms stretch out behind him and he runs his palms down his neck as he returns to a sitting position. "Damn, KJ. You're ruthless."

A small smile peeks through. Genuine smiles have been difficult to come by. I appreciate them when they decide to make an appearance. Just as much as I appreciate the people trying to help them break through.

Grabbing the water bottle, I take another sip. A few more seconds tick by and then Coach Brinsen joins us. He sits in the empty seat next to Shea. A ball cap did not cover his bald head today. Nor is he wearing his usual blue windbreaker. Instead, he's dressed in a suit jacket.

I would comment on his choice of style, but the formality is also reflected in Shea and I's clothing. We're in jeans and dress shirts as opposed to T-shirts and compression shorts. It feels wrong to dress up for something so serious. We're not attending some fundraiser—we're letting the world know that a teammate sexually assaulted another teammate's wife—and other women. Brenna's hoping her voice will make other women comfortable speaking out.

Coach Brinsen looks at us. "How are we feeling?"

Shea shrugs.

I pick at the label of my water bottle.

Our coach sighs. "Me too, boys. Me too."

For several minutes, we try to have a casual conversation. But it appears the topics are too heavy. After discussing the weather, we get onto Melody and the cancer that's spreading through her body. Although it makes my heart ache, some of the tension eases the more I discuss it. Especially when we shift from cancer to the wedding. We're still making something good out of the bad, and I can't help but feel a little excited. Mel's the love of my life. At least we get the opportunity. At least we have time to come to terms with what's happening.

Finally, the media filters into the room. By the time it's ten o'clock, the seats have filled. And when the camera rolls, they throw their questions at us. At first, we discuss how we're feeling about the game against Colorado tomorrow. What we think of the line changes. How Shea and I feel about playing on the same line as Isaac Addison now. They ask why Mikael has been shifted down to the fourth line, and Coach Brinsen is the first to respond to this question.

Coach Brinsen appears ignorant when he speaks. He flicks an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of his suit jacket. "It was the only punishment I could inflict without being fired."

A murmur goes through the crowd.

"Why would you be fired, Mr. Brinsen?" a reporter calls out.

My posture turns rigid. Here we go.

Leaning forward, Shea clears his throat. "There has been an altercation with Mikael. An altercation that the organization is failing to resolve." He pauses, surveys the crowd, and then continues. "Mikael Keravinen sexually assaulted my wife. We have proof of the incident from the security tapes and will release the footage after this interview. I want to stress that the organization is doing nothing. In fact, KJ, Coach Brinsen, and I were threatened with the loss of our jobs should we speak out. The organization has every intention of removing Mikael from the team, but only if he plays a role as a viable trade piece. They still want him to play in the NHL."

Shea's voice is ten times louder by the time he finished his spiel. The crowd is going crazy. They're shouting out questions and scribbling notes across their pads of paper. People want to know more information.

What did Mikael do to Brenna?

How did it happen?

Was she asking for it?

Shea's face turns stone cold. "Who the fuck just said that?"

His voice is dangerously low. The crowd goes silent.

"Seriously!" He slams his palms against the tabletop and stands up. The force is so abrupt, he knocks his chair over. "You clearly have a reason to not believe my wife without seeing the footage. So let's hear your question again. I'd like to know why you're asking it."

When no one responds, he throws his water bottle across the room. It whacks the back wall, narrowly missing someone's head. I grab his arm and pull him down to his chair. "Sit the fuck down, Shea," I hiss. "I understand how horrible this is, but we're at work. We have to be professional."

He slumps in his chair. "I'm not fucking apologizing."

A reporter clears his throat. "It's difficult to believe without the footage being seen. Miss Harrison— "

"Smith," Shea snarls.

The reporter stutters, adjusting his glasses. "R-right. Mrs. Smith is known for, how shall I phrase this? Spending time with men. Is there a possibility she was asking for it? Not based on what she was wearing, but because she, perhaps, has an interest in Mikael?"

Before I can stop him, Shea slams his fist against the table. It rattles the water bottles and name plates. "Someone get him out of this fucking room before I crawl over the table and kill him." He fixes the reporter with his dark gaze. "How dare you. How dare you assume the worst about my wife. She is pregnant with our fucking child!"

A collective gasp goes through the crowd. Aside from close friends and Brenna's hockey team, no one knew.

"We have been loyal to each other since high school. Yet you have the fucking audacity to assume you know more about my relationship than I do?" Shea shakes his head. He's vibrating with anger. "Get the fuck out of this room. Or I swear on my life, I will put you in the hospital."

"Shea," I mutter, resting a hand on his knee.

Luckily, the reporter clues in. He collects his belongings and saunters out of the room with his tail between his legs.

Asshole. I hope he loses his job over this one.

Keeping my hand on his knee, I clear my throat and turn to the crowd. "We are exposing the truth because it is important. For too long, women have been questioned and judged by their existence. Factors like clothing, norms, politics, and religion have never ceased to interfere with their daily lives. What's happened here isn't right. Brenna did not lead Mikael on. Nor did she provide consent. What we need here today is justice." Removing my hand from Shea's knee, I push away from the table. Shea and Coach Brinsen follow me. "That will be all the questions for today. We appreciate you all coming out."

Flashes bounce off of the walls. Voices shout after us.

But the three of us keep our backs to them. Unity weakens the villain. And although Shea and I have our own reasons to break, we keep our heads held high.

* * *

Seven hours after we release the footage through an anonymous Instagram account, Brenna's inbox is flooded with messages about Mikael. Some are praising her for her bravery. Others are asking how they can file an allegation. As horrible as it sounds, Brenna knowing she's not the only one makes her relax a little more. None of these women should've endured Mikael's wretched ways, but at least there's a network of support now. At least they can fight this battle together. They have our support every step of the way.

While Brenna and Mel continue to scroll through Brenna's inbox, huddled in the booth's corner, Shea, Isaac, Coach Brinsen, and I are enjoying some greasy pub food and a couple of beers. Other teammates will join us later. We arrived early to talk to Isaac about Ella.

I shake my head in disbelief. "So that asshole showed up?

Isaac takes a sip of his Kokanee beer and nods. "Yep." He sets the glass down. "Not at the right time, though. I think he already knew we were meddling. But he showed up. I wasn't worried about Ella. She can fend for herself and she has a great support system from her uncle and co-workers. I'll keep going to these sessions, though. Maybe extend them until Mikael's been dealt with."

Shea nods. "That's a good idea." His arm is wrapped around Brenna's waist, and he plants a kiss on her cheek. She's not paying attention to him. Brenna's screen distracts her and Mel. But Shea doesn't seem to mind. "We can't let this happen to another person."

"It won't," Coach Brinsen says. He plucks a fry from his plate and pops it into his mouth. "There's too much backlash from the public. If Mikael isn't held accountable, the NHL will look bad. This will sour its reputation if it's not dealt with. Never doubt the voice of the public."

As Coach and Shea continue to discuss the outcome, I turn to Isaac. "How was the session? Did Ella kick your ass? She's damn good at her job. During off-season, Ella always trains Shea and I. You should join us this time."

The tips of his ears go red. "Good. It was good."

Grinning, I nudge him in the ribs. "Spill, man."

Isaac sighs, setting his beer down. "She's gorgeous, KJ. And she has a heart of gold. But her personality? Fuck. She's so determined and easy-going." He looks down at his bottle and picks the label. "She's like a song you could listen to on repeat for the rest of your life."

I lean back, pressing my shoulders against the padded booth. Sure as hell, I know what that feels like. Ella was addicting in high school. Hence the reason we were on and off throughout our time at MBSS. All I wanted back then was to be close to her. It's a wonder we never had sex.

"Man," I sigh, clapping him on the back. "I know the feeling. Ella is something else. We used to date in high school."

Issac rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, she mentioned that. Which is why..."

"Why...?" I ask.

"I was wondering if there's some kind of code against dating exes. I know she's been through a lot, KJ, and I won't do anything unless she's one-hundred per cent into it. But is it cool if I, you know, try? Maybe ask her out?"

I cock an eyebrow. "How soon are we talking?"

His lips part. "Not soon! She's been through a lot. The last thing I want to do is overwhelm her. I'd ask her out when the time feels right."

When the time feels right.

I'm drawn back to the moment I met Melody. In those dingy washrooms at Prospera Place while the walls shook from too much bass. The right time is important, and I have full trust in Isaac. He's a good guy.

"Man," I say. "She's all yours. Ella deserves the world. I think you could give that to her."

A dark flush spreads across his cheeks. "Thanks, KJ."

I clink my bottle of beer against his, wishing for a little more good in the world.