Chapter 59 The podium

Chapter 59 The podium

"Get out of the way, Sienna," Knox said, his voice hitting the lobby like a hammer.
Sienna didn't move. She stood at the base of the arena stairs, her back against the glass display case that held the university’s national championship trophies. Her red varsity jacket was damp from the snow, and her eyes were bloodshot. She held a stack of manila folders against her chest, her knuckles white.
"The board hasn't officially stripped my family’s voting rights yet, Knox," Sienna said, her voice a low, desperate scrape. "If you walk up those stairs and name the secondary donors in that medical fraud, you aren't just taking down the Dean. You’re killing every scholarship on this team. Ask Miller if he wants to lose his ride over your moral victory."
"The scholarships are already safe," I said, stepping up next to Knox. I held my wrapped hands steady at my sides. "The league sponsorship cleared the emergency bank transfer ten minutes ago. Your father's money is gone, Sienna. Nobody is listening to you anymore."
Sienna’s mouth twisted into a hard, ugly line. She looked at the reporters gathering in the main lobby, their cameras already pointed toward the podium at the top of the stairs.
"You think they care about the truth?" Sienna whispered, looking back at me. "They want a scandal. They want to see the golden boy and the coder girl fall apart. The second you tell them the relationship was a contract, they'll turn on you like wolves."
Knox stepped into her space, his massive frame forcing her back against the glass. He didn't lift a hand. He just leaned in until his shadow completely covered her pale face.
"Then it’s a good thing it’s not a contract anymore," Knox hissed.
He didn't wait for her to reply. He caught my wrist, his fingers avoiding the burned skin of my palms, and pulled me past her. We marched up the stairs, our boots echoing off the marble.
The arena lobby was packed. Every varsity player was there, standing in the back of the room with their arms crossed. Miller was at the front, his eyes meeting Knox’s with a single, sharp nod. The reporters were shouting questions, their flashbulbs creating a constant, blinding flicker in the air.
Knox led me straight to the center microphone. He didn't look at the cameras. He looked at the sheet of ice visible through the glass doors behind the podium.
"Three years ago, this university framed a player to protect a donor's bank account," Knox said, his voice booming through the speakers without a single tremor. "They used a sick man's login to forge the data, and they threatened a student to keep the secret. The Dean is in handcuffs, and the Shaw firm is finished."
A reporter jumped up, thrusting a microphone forward. "Ryder! What about the girl? The blog says you paid her to stay in the house!"
Knox turned his head slowly, his blue eyes locking onto the reporter. He reached out and took my bandaged hand, lifting it so the whole room could see the white gauze.
"Lila Bennett saved the evidence that cleared my brother's name while the room was on fire," Knox said, his voice dropping into a quiet, heavy tone that silenced the shouting. "She stayed in that house to finish her father's work. And as for our relationship—the contract is in the trash. She’s staying with me because she wants to. Not because I paid her."
The room erupted. Reporters scrambled toward the stage, but the hockey team moved in a single, synchronized wave. Miller and the other seniors stepped in front of the podium, their massive shoulders forming a solid wall of jerseys that blocked the media from reaching us.
Knox leaned down, his mouth inches from my ear as the noise of the crowd turned into a dull roar.
"You ready to go?" he whispered.
"To the rink?" I asked, looking up at him.
"To the apartment," Knox said, a small, real smile finally breaking across his face. "The game isn't until Friday. We have forty-eight hours of peace."
He kept his hand locked in mine as he led me off the stage, through the tunnel of players, and out into the quiet, falling snow of the parking lot.
The war was over. The lie was gone. And for the first time in months, I didn't have to look over my shoulder.