Chapter 2 The fallout

She doesn't regret it.

Not the press conference. Not calling Ivy out. Not even the way her voice cracked when she said Liza's name.

She meant every goddamn word.

But that doesn't stop her hand from shaking as she unlocks the door to her apartment, knuckles scraped from a snapped skate lace she yanked too hard before the presser. Her place is a mess-gear dumped by the door, the reek of liniment and sweat still clinging to the walls. Coffee half-drunk on the table. A protein bar wrapper torn like it fought back.

She tosses her keys into the bowl and yanks off her hoodie, pacing the living room like she's still in the penalty box with too much time and not enough ice. Her phone buzzes from the counter again.

32 missed texts.

She scrolls through them like a bruise-press clippings, fire emojis, teammates saying damn, Navarro, and one blunt line from her coach:

"Hope you know what you're doing."

She doesn't. Not really.

She just knows she's tired. Tired of pretending the league is fine. Tired of watching girls like Liza swallow their trauma just to keep a jersey. Tired of seeing Ivy fucking Ransom's face on cereal boxes like she's the patron saint of women's hockey when she-

Rey stops.

Runs a hand over her mouth.

When she didn't say a fucking thing.

She punches the fridge. Not hard, not like she'll break it. But enough to feel something. Her knuckles sting.

She sinks to the floor. Breathes.

It had to be said. Ivy had to be called out. That kind of silence is complicity, and Rey knows how silence works-how it eats you alive. How it gets girls like Liza erased and predators like Halverson promoted.

But still. There's a sour twist in her stomach that won't go away.

She scrolls Twitter.

#IvyKnew is trending.

So is #NavarroUnfiltered.

One post has the clip from the press conference cut with slo-mo footage of Ivy skating off the ice, dramatic music swelling. The caption reads:

"When your idol becomes the villain."

Another one's worse. It's just Rey's face-mid-sentence, eyes full of fury-and the text:

"Clout-chaser. Didn't care when it was her teammate last season."

Rey stares at the post. Blinks. Her mouth goes dry.

It's bullshit. She did care. She just didn't have proof. Didn't know who to trust. And by the time she'd found out, the girl was gone. Transferred mid-season. Quiet, clean, brushed away.

She should've said something then.

She didn't.

Maybe that's why it feels like her rage today wasn't just for Liza.

Maybe it was for herself.

Later, in the shower, the water scalds. She scrubs until her skin feels raw, but nothing washes off the burn under her ribs. Her phone buzzes again. This time it's her agent, Sloane.

She lets it go to voicemail. Twice.

Third time, she picks up.

"Jesus, Rey," Sloane says before she can say hello. "You dropped a damn nuke."

Rey leans against the bathroom sink, towel wrapped around her, steam curling from her shoulders. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cocky. You just became the face of player rebellion."

"Someone's gotta do it."

Sloane sighs, and it's the kind of sigh that sounds like it's paired with wine and a PR crisis. "I get it. I do. But the league's already calling. They want a sit-down. And-brace yourself-they're floating an idea."

"I'm not apologizing."

"I didn't say that." A pause. "They want you to do a public reconciliation."

Rey freezes. "With who?"

"You know who."

She doesn't answer. Doesn't breathe.

"Ivy fucking Ransom?" she finally says, voice low and dangerous. "You think I'm gonna stand next to her like this is all fine? Like she didn't-"

"They want a redemption arc. You and her, side by side. United front. 'Strong women, stronger together' or some garbage."

Rey laughs, sharp and bitter. "Absolutely not."

"They'll spin it. They'll say you held her accountable and she listened. She learns, you lead. Could even boost both your brands."

"I'm not a fucking brand."

"You're a star," Sloane says gently. "And this league doesn't forgive stars who go rogue. Think long-term."

Rey hangs up.

Not because Sloane's wrong. But because she's right.

That night, she can't sleep.

She lies on the couch, sports bra digging into her ribs, ankle sore from practice. Her TV plays an old game on mute-one of Ivy's, of course. Highlight reel of the classic Ransom style: smooth, lethal, pretty as hell.

The way she skated always pissed Rey off. Too clean. Too effortless.

Too perfect.

Because Ivy's silence wasn't just a personal failing. It was part of the system.

And Rey? Rey is done playing nice with systems.

She finally falls asleep around 3 AM. Her phone buzzes at 6:17.

Unknown Number.

She groans, flips it over, and almost ignores it.

But something in her gut says pick up.

"Navarro," she says, voice gravel.

Silence. Then: "I didn't know she recorded it."

Rey sits up fast. "Ivy?"

"Yeah." Ivy's voice is raw. Hoarse. Like she hasn't slept either. "I just-I needed you to know. I didn't know Liza recorded that conversation."

Rey stands. Paces. "That's what you're calling about? Damage control?"

"No." A pause. "Maybe. I don't know. I just-Jesus, Rey. I didn't think anyone would believe I cared. I fucked up, but I didn't-God, I didn't mean to let her down."

"You did."

"I know."

The silence hangs heavy. Rey's jaw clenches.

"Why'd you let it happen?" she asks, quieter now. "You saw it. You knew."

"I was scared," Ivy admits. "I thought if I pushed, I'd lose everything."

Rey laughs, but it's not kind. "Welcome to the club."

"I deserved that."

"Damn right you did."

More silence. Ivy's breath catches on the other end of the line.

Rey closes her eyes. Her voice softens against her will. "What do you want, Ivy?"

"I don't know," she says, and it sounds like a truth she hates. "I think I just wanted to hear your voice."

Rey says nothing.

"I'm sorry," Ivy adds, small.

And fuck her, Rey believes it.

That's what pisses her off the most.

Later that day, Rey gets a second call. This time from Liza.

Her voice is shaky. "Thanks for what you said."

Rey swallows. "You didn't owe me that."

"I'm glad you said it. I didn't think anyone would."

Rey exhales. Relief. Guilt. It mixes. "You okay?"

"I will be."

That should be enough.

But after they hang up, Rey's phone buzzes again. A text this time.

Ivy Ransom:

They want us to do the reconciliation thing. PR stunt. You in?

Rey stares at the screen.

A thousand answers flicker in her mind-rage, refusal, sarcasm.

But instead, she types:

Only if I get to call you out again after.

Ivy:

Deal.

And just like that, the ice under their feet gets a little thinner.