Headlines and Heartbeats
Chris
He didn’t think he’d be back in the spotlight for something off the ice again—not this fast, not like this.
But there it was.
A grainy photo. Anna. His front porch. Just enough shadow and implication to light the media fuse.
His agent called twice. Left a voicemail that sounded like she’d aged a decade overnight. Coach hadn’t said anything yet—but Chris could feel the shift. The subtle silence that meant trouble was brewing behind closed doors.
Worst part? He’d been stupid enough to think they’d had privacy. That just because the moment had been real, it wouldn’t be twisted into something else.
Now Anna was in it. Because of him.
He slammed his locker shut and muttered a curse under his breath.
Across the room, no one looked at him.
That silence? That was louder than any headline.
---
Anna
The HR rep’s voice was kind—but tight. Controlled. Like she didn’t want to be saying what she was saying.
“Right now, we’re not accusing you of violating protocol,” she said, fingers steepled across her desk. “But public perception is part of this job. And this… situation… is now public.”
Anna nodded once. “I understand.”
“You’re one of the best we’ve had. We want to support you. But you’ll need to maintain strict professionalism moving forward.”
Meaning: No more Chris.
Not like that. Not even close.
Anna left the office with her spine straight and her heart in her throat.
The minute the door closed behind her, she leaned against the wall and let her breath out slow.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. And neither had she.
But in this world, truth came second to image. And they were now the wrong image.
---
Chris
He found her in the hallway between the medical suite and the coaching offices.
She didn’t look up at first.
“Anna.”
The sound of her name in his voice—low, uncertain—made her look up.
And the look in her eyes stopped him cold.
Not anger. Not fear.
Disappointment.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he said.
She gave a dry laugh. “You think I did?”
He reached up to run a hand through his hair but let it fall. “You okay?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m managing.”
A pause.
Then: “They’re not going to bench me over this,” he said. “But they could pull you from the team.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between them like a warning line.
He stepped closer. “I can fix it.”
“No, Chris.” She shook her head, voice sharp now. “Don’t try to fix me. That’s not your job.”
“I’m not trying to fix you. I just—” He swallowed. “I hate that I made things worse for you.”
She looked away.
“I came over because I wanted to,” she said quietly. “Because you looked like you needed someone to see past the press, the expectations. And I did. I do.”
That made his heart stutter.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a woman in a man’s world. One misstep, and I’m replaceable.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re not replaceable.”
She didn’t say anything.
And maybe that was the worst part.
---
Anna
She sat in her car for almost fifteen minutes before starting the engine.
What terrified her wasn’t the fallout or the rumors or the HR meetings.
It was how much she wanted to go back to his apartment. Not as a doctor. Not even as a friend.
Just as a person. A woman. Someone who had stopped trying to feel anything years ago—and was suddenly feeling everything.
She knew what would happen next if they kept pushing this line. The team would lose faith in her objectivity. Chris’s name would drag hers down. It wasn’t fair, but it was the truth.
And still…
She didn’t regret last night.
And that, more than anything, made her dangerous.
---
Chris
He didn’t sleep that night.
Instead, he replayed every second. The way she’d said his name. The way her voice cracked when she talked about being replaceable.
He wanted to storm into every office and tell them to back off. That she hadn’t done anything wrong.
But he knew how it worked.
And he couldn’t protect her—not from this.
So instead, he skated harder. Lifted longer. Hit the ice like it owed him something.
And when he got home, he stared at the note she’d left him the night before. The one in his wallet.
> If you want to talk—really talk—I’ll be at the rink.
He pulled it out.
And wrote something on the back.
---
Anna
The next morning
There was a note on her desk.
Folded once. Familiar handwriting.
> I never expected you to stay. But you did.
Whatever happens next—I see you. And I’m not going to stop.
Her hand trembled slightly as she set the note down.
She didn’t know if this was the beginning of something.
Or the beginning of the end.
But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone in the fight.
And that meant something.
Maybe everything.
---