Chapter 27: Not My Truth to Tell

The silence in the clinic, after she found out the truth It felt heavy My chest rose and fell unevenly as I sat on the examination bed, the sharp sting in my ribs still pulsing beneath the surface. The nurse adjusted the medical sheet over my shoulders with practised efficiency, her movements calm in a way that made my panic feel almost unreasonable.

Because nothing about the last few minutes was reasonable. She had seen it, she had looked at me her expression says it all everything had shifted in that single moment where words became unnecessary.

She didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations, nor did she call for security or raise her voice. She just stood there for a second longer than normal, like she was choosing what kind of person she wanted to be in this situation.

Then she turned, facing me fully. She didn't ask me the reason or care to know why. There was no accusation in her eyes, no curiosity that felt invasive. Just a professional stillness that made my skin feel too tight.

She just said, "Whatever your reason for doing this is best known to you, but it is not my truth to tell."

The words landed, I didn't believe what I heard, it felt like I lost my sense of understanding words. I was actually waiting for her to reprimand me like saying what kind of stupid stuff I was actually doing. For a second, I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt tight, my thoughts scattered.

Because it didn’t give me anything to push back against. She moved then, breaking the tension without acknowledging it, and began treating my wounds.

Her hands were careful. She checked my ribs, pressed lightly around the injured area, and made small notes I couldn’t see. Every touch sent a dull echo of pain through my body, but I barely reacted.

“You’re lucky,” she said after a moment. “It isn’t as severe as it could have been.”

The word felt strange in my head. Lucky didn’t come with a binder digging into your skin under hospital lights or the fear of being seen too closely. Still, I nodded because it was easier than arguing.

She finished adjusting the bandages and stepped back slightly, her eyes scanning me one last time with professional detachment. “You’ll need to avoid hockey for the next couple of days,” she continued. “Rest. No physical strain. If you follow that, you’ll be fine.”

nothing about this situation felt like something that could be fixed by a few days of rest. I simply sat there, letting the instructions wash over me as they belonged to someone else entirely.

For the next few hours, I remained in the clinic.

The world outside continued without me. Somewhere beyond the closed door, the tournament was still happening. The noise of it crowds cheering, whistles, skates carving ice reached me in distant waves, like a life I was no longer part of.

Time passed in uneven fragments. Moments where I stared at the ceiling I tried not to think.

Eventually, the door opened. Daphne stepped inside. Her hair was slightly messy, cheeks flushed like she had rushed over from an overly crowded place. She paused when she saw me properly, her expression softening immediately.

“I saw what happened,” she said quietly as she approached. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

She pulled a chair closer and sat beside the bed.

Her voice lowered slightly. “Are you alright?”

I shifted carefully, ignoring the ache in my ribs.

“I am lucky that nothing was broken at least,” I replied.

The words felt rehearsed. But they were easier than explaining anything real.

Daphne studied me for a second, then nodded as she accepted it, even if she didn’t fully believe it.

“How did the game go?” I asked after a moment.

Her expression changed instantly lighter now, animated in the way people became when they talked about something exciting.

She smiled briefly. “Crestwood won,” she said. “After an intense game. Kieran came back to the pitch with all motivation.”

I exhaled slowly.

“I guess we are really ready for this championship,” I replied.

“Obviously,” she said. “We are. Kieran was on fire tonight. I guess scouts will really be looking for him now.”

Her voice softened slightly at the end, almost thoughtful.

“And his father will be proud.”

That last sentence made something shift inside me.

More like a quiet alertness.

My eyes narrowed slightly. “Why doesn’t he ever talk about his family?” I asked.

Daphne leaned back in her chair, tilting her head like she was weighing how much to say.

His family is complicated, she said finally. “You wouldn’t want to know anything about that arrogant monkey. I still can’t believe he helped carry you off the ice.”

There was a faint smile in her tone, like she was half-teasing and half-genuinely impressed despite herself.

But I wasn’t really listening anymore.

The mention of his family had lodged itself somewhere deeper than it should have. Suddenly, I was interested in Kieran’s family more than I should be.

Not because it mattered to my plan or anything. Just because it felt like another piece of him I hadn’t accounted for.

Daphne was still talking when voices approached outside the clinic.

The door opened again.

The hockey team came in.

Landon first, then Milo, then Theo.

They looked tired, sweaty, still carrying the aftermath of the game in their posture. Their energy filled the room immediately, pushing out the quiet Daphne and me had been sitting in.

But Kieran wasn’t there.

I noticed it instantly.

A gap where he should have been standing. A presence was missing in a way that felt more noticeable than the people who were actually present.

I pushed myself slightly upright. “Where is Kieran?” I asked Theo.

He hesitated before fully giving in

His expression shifted Then he said, with a quiet, almost disappointed tone,

“Unfortunately, he wasn’t at the team celebration either.”