The answer to all of Hendrix's problems was meat.

Barbequed, smoked, roasted...it didn't matter. His stance was that it solved everything. Which is probably why he had a pan of bacon roaring at seven-thirty in the morning when I stepped into the kitchen. Hendrix was at the stove, flipping the protein pancakes that tasted more like cardboard. His hair was a mess, and the faint yellowing-bruise along his temple was a reminder of how close we'd come to losing him on the ice.

"Smells good in here," I said, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee. The bitter aroma wafted up, and I took a slow sip, letting the heat settle in my chest.

I wasn't one for caffeine, but the lack of sleep had been catching up to me. I leaned back into the counter, my eyes heavy as I tried to get myself up and ready for the day. For the past week, it had been a struggle to even get out of bed. The rumor of the atrocity I supposedly committed had spread like wildfire around campus. I couldn't even walk between classes without people staring.

Anxiety welled up in my chest and I forced the thoughts away before they crippled me again. I eyed my teammates still by the stove. "You sure you should be up and doing things around the house this soon?"

I already knew the answer to the question. Hendrix was a lot like me in the sense that he got antsy if he wasn't able to do anything for too long.

He glanced over his shoulder with a short grin. "The doc said I can start doing light stuff, so I figured I'd make myself useful."

"Thank god," Easton muttered from the table, his laptop open in front of him. "It was getting dark there for a moment."

He wasn't wrong. Besides the times when it was Celeste's turn to cook, we were living off overcooked eggs, mushy rice, and bland chicken breast.

The kitchen settled into a comfortable silence with the sizzling on the stove and Oliver's meowing as the background track to our morning. I brought my coffee to the island and pulled up a seat while breakfast was being prepared.

Oliver's meowing was relentless, a sharp, demanding cry that echoed through the kitchen. He was perched on the table beside Easton, pawing at his arm as a way to get his attention. As if the constant meowing wasn't enough.

"Alright, alright," Easton muttered, abandoning his work to grab a can of cat food. He popped it open, the metallic smell wafting out as he spooned it into Oliver's dish. The cat immediately dove in, purring as if he hadn't been fed in weeks.

"He acts like he's never been fed in his life," I muttered, peering down at my phone.

"He's just dramatic. Apparently it's an orange cat thing," Easton replied, shaking his head. "By the way, has anyone heard from Celeste? She didn't come home last night."

The question hit me like a brick to the chest, though I kept my expression neutral. "What do you mean she didn't come home?"

Easton shrugged, sitting back down. "Her room's empty. And she wasn't in film class yesterday afternoon either."

My stomach tightened, the coffee suddenly tasting burnt on my tongue. A dozen scenarios ran through my mind, none of them good. Was she okay? Had something happened? I wanted to swipe to my messages and text her, but my pride held me back. She probably didn't want to hear from me.

"Maybe she stayed with a friend," Hendrix drawled as he slid a plate of pancakes onto the table.

"Yeah, probably," Easton said, though his tone wasn't convincing.

It wasn't like Celeste to not come home––especially without saying anything to him. The tension in my chest grew heavier, but I forced myself to focus on the plate of food I was piling up.

"Speaking of Celeste, the recital is coming up," he said, making his way over to make a plate. "I'm buying tickets today. Who wants one?"

"I'll go," Hendrix said, pouring syrup over his stack of pancakes. "Let me just check with Ella to see if she can make it."

"Booker's in too," Easton added. "I spoke to him about it yesterday."

Everyone seemed eager, but I stayed silent, staring at the plate in front of me. Celeste's broken smile sucked the air out of me. The idea of showing up after what transpired in the kitchen yesterday felt wrong. Would she even want me there?

"Sousa?" Easton prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," I said, my voice low.

The room went silent after that, no one pushing the topic further. I'm sure by that point both of my teammates had realized I was most likely the reason why Celeste didn't come home the night before. But I wasn't going to confirm their suspicions, no matter how long Easton glared into the side of my head. I couldn't, so I took a sip of coffee instead.

I had managed to survive the awkward silence for a few minutes until my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Coach's name flashed across the screen and I dropped my fork as I swiped to answer.

"Sousa," Coach's familiar voice came through, steady and direct. No good morning or how have you been doing. "I need you to come into my office this morning."

I hesitated, dread pooling in my stomach. "Is this about the investigation?"

"Just get here," he replied, and the line went dead.

_ _ _ _ _

The locker room was colder than usual when I stepped inside, the faint scent of coffee and the distant hum of the rink filling the air. I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets and I closed the distance to the cramped office in the corner. Coach Miller sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for me to take a seat.

I lowered myself into the chair, my pulse thundering in my ears. "What's going on?"

Coach leaned back, crossing his arms. "The charges have been dropped."

Relief flooded my chest, but it was soon replaced by confusion. The video of me at her house played in my mind. The unanswered text messages. The ignored phone calls. Mila made it clear she wasn't backing down. "How is that possible?"

Coach's mouth twitched. It was as if he was trying to smile, but sometimes I didn't think he knew how. "A video surfaced."

"A video?"

He offered me a stern nod. "In it Mila admitted that she had lied about the whole thing. All it took was for the authorities to question her about it and she sang like a canary."

My mind raced as I processed his words. "Who sent it in?"

He shook his head. "No idea. The authorities didn't disclose that. They wouldn't even release it considering it was possible evidence," he explained, clicking a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him. "Coincidentally, whoever tipped off the police also sent a copy to the department for review."

With wide eyes I rose from my seat and inched closer. He turned his monitor toward me, pressing play on the video. The foot of Mila's face was grainy––almost as if it was shot behind a piece of fabric.

"And that's why you lied?" The person on the other side of the camera asked. Even over the noise of the Underground, her voice was familiar. "Because you're desperate and pathetic?"

Mila sneered back. "Maybe he deserves it," she snapped. "He humiliated me. Why shouldn't I humiliate him? I was there for him––way before you came along! I was there for everything. Every loss, every call, every horny fantasy of his. I was there. Not you. And do you think I got any kind of recognition? Any kind of commitment? No. Instead he switches lanes and starts fucking you the minute you move in."

My heart pounded, my throat growing tight. Celeste.

"You're destroying his life, Mila. For what? Because he didn't want you?"

Mila brought her face closer, and from the glossy look in her eyes I knew she was drunk. What came next was in a whisper. I strained my ears. "That's exactly why I did it. That man wasted my fucking time. Now it's my turn to waste his. All those years training for the NHL? He might as well kiss them bye-bye because no team who gives a shit about their reputation will touch him with a ten-foot pole."

This was what I was waiting for. An admission. Something, anything, to clear my name. But now that I had it, it rocked me.

I stumbled back a step, my jaw going slack. Hendrix's home cooked meal threatened to make its way back up. I brought a fist to my mouth in a poor attempt to keep it down.

"Breath, son," Coach ordered, the room had gone quiet and I realized he had paused the video.

I didn't need to hear anymore. I forced in a breath, turning to face the door in order to collect myself.

Celeste had done it. She'd gone to Mila, pushed her to admit the truth, and somehow gotten the whole thing on tape.

My little dancer had saved my fucking ass.

And I had pushed her away.

"Take the day, Sousa," Coach said, arms resting on his desk. "Clear your head. But be ready to work tomorrow. You're back on the roster."

I nodded numbly, standing on autopilot as I left the office.

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

Celeste to the rescue! Honestly, this scene made me think of Ella getting her rat-bag ex in trouble after what he did to Hendrix. These Fenton girls are a different breed lol

Happy reading!