Chapter 186 : Under my Punch.

Chapter 186 : Under my Punch.


HAYDEN’S POV:

My knuckles were still throbbing like a motherfucker.

Every single time I clenched my fist, a sharp, biting pain shot straight up my forearm, reminding me of Ryan’s stupid face breaking under my punch.

We were sitting in the team facility’s locker room, and the silence was so heavy you could fucking cut it with a knife.

My phone was facedown on the bench next to me, buzzing against the wood like an annoying goddamn insect. I didn't even want to pick the piece of shit up.

I already knew what the internet was saying. I already knew my face was plastered all over every sports network from coast to coast.

The locker room door swung open with a loud bang, and Stephen walked in. He looked completely exhausted, his shoulders slumping under his training gear.

He didn't say a word at first. He just walked over to his locker, tossed his gym bag inside, and let out a long, ragged sigh.

"The camp just released the official statement," Stephen said, his voice quiet but steady.

I finally looked up, wiping a sweat-drenched towel across the back of my neck. "And? What did those corporate suits have to say?"

"They completely condemned Ryan's actions," Stephen replied, turning around to face me. "They confirmed the internal investigation findings. The statement explicitly says Ryan was the one who leaked the private tape, he was the one who tried to extort us, and he was the sole aggressor outside the courthouse. They threw him completely under the bus, Hayden. The fucking bastard is officially done."

I let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Good. Fuck him. He deserves to rot in whatever fucking hole he crawls into."

"Yeah, well, it’s not all fucking sunshine," Stephen said, stepping closer and locking eyes with me. "The statement also mentioned that the camp does not condone violence of any kind. They're trying to protect their own asses, Hayden. They cleared your name regarding the leak, but they didn't exactly throw you a parade for breaking a guy's jaw on the courthouse steps."

"He came at me first!" I snapped, my voice rising as the anger flared up in my chest all over again. "The psycho shoved me twice! He called me a fucking faggot in front of a thousand cameras! What the fuck was I supposed to do? Just stand there and take it like a bitch?"

"I know!" Stephen shouted back, throwing his hands up in the air. "I fucking know, Hayden! I'm not saying he didn't deserve it! But you have to look at the bigger picture here. We are so goddamn close to the draft. Our entire fucking lives depend on what happens in the next few weeks."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and sat on the bench across from me. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Listen to me," Stephen said, his tone dropping into something desperate and dead serious. "Our careers are bigger than this fucking scandal now. We can't let a pathetic loser like Ryan drag us down into the mud with him. He's got nothing left to lose. We have everything to lose."

He was right. As much as I hated to admit it, the motherfucker was completely right. But knowing it didn't make the burning in my chest go away.

Trying to focus on training after that was a total fucking nightmare.



The next morning, the media presence outside the facility was ten times worse than before. The paparazzi and sports reporters were practically camping out by the security gates.

The second my car pulled up, the flashing lights started again, blinding me through the windshield. They were shoving their cameras against the tinted glass, screaming questions through the closed windows.

"Hayden! Are you worried about team scouts dropping you from the draft?"

"Hayden! Do you regret assaulting Ryan?"

"Is your anger management going to cost you your career?"

"Get the fuck out of my way," I muttered under my breath, revving the engine and forcing them to scramble back as I drove through the gates.

Inside the facility, the atmosphere wasn't any fucking better. Every time I walked down the hallway, I could feel the coaches and staff staring at the back of my head.

Nobody said anything directly to my face, but the whispers were fucking deafening. I could see it in their eyes….they looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb, a liability who could blow up at any second.

During drills on the field, I poured all that toxic, suffocating energy into my movements. I ran harder, hit harder, and pushed my body until my lungs felt like they were on fire.

But the media attention followed me everywhere.

Even during practice, I could see reporters with massive zoom lenses hanging around the fences, trying to catch any sign of me losing my shit again.

It was driving me absolutely insane.

The constant surveillance felt like a chokehold around my neck.

Later that afternoon, after a brutal lifting session, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water onto my face.

I looked at my reflection, staring hard at the dark circles under my eyes and the raw, bruised skin on my knuckles.

The fear from yesterday returned, creeping into my stomach like a cold poison. The headlines were still calling me unstable.

If a single team decided I wasn't worth the drama, my entire life's work would fly right out the window.

But as I stared at myself, the fear slowly twisted back into a hard, vicious resolve.

Ryan had tried to destroy us. He had violated our privacy, leaked our intimate moments to the entire world, and tried to extort us for a lousy fifteen grand. And when that failed, he tried to take me down in a fight.

I gripped the edges of the porcelain sink so hard my hands started shaking.

I silently promised myself right then and there…never again.

I was done being defensive. I was done letting other people dictate my future.

Ryan was a fucking parasite, but he was a parasite without a host now. He was completely broke, facing criminal charges, and blacklisted from the sports world forever.

He would never threaten our lives again and he sure as fuck would never have the power to ruin our futures.

I was going to lock my anger down, put my head down, and play so fucking well that no team in the country could afford to pass me up.

I dried my face with a towel, threw it into the hamper, and walked out of the room.