Zara called at 7 AM. Not texted – called. Zara didn't call unless something was on fire.
"Don't go on social media."
Which meant I immediately went on social media.
The screenshots were everywhere. A girl I'd never seen – blonde, pretty, soft features – claiming she was pregnant with Rhys Maddox's baby. DMs that looked like his account, his profile picture, his handle. Conversations that referenced specific details – his apartment, his schedule, a scar through his left eyebrow. Intimate enough to be convincing. Specific enough to make my stomach turn inside out.
The hockey group chat had it first. Which meant thirty players knew before I'd even finished reading the thread. Which meant the coaching staff would know by lunch. Which meant by the time I walked across campus today, every pa
