Chapter 5 Violent maniac
I feel the blood draining from my face.
If the words were stuck in my throat before, theyāve simply disappeared now. They evaporated the moment Tristan filled the silence. But in the next second, it settles again, heavier, more suffocating, making my heartbeat pound even louder in my ears.
ā¦What?
Violent maniac.
Each word lands like a punch to the stomachāwords I never thought Iād hear coming from him. And yet, heās repeating them, as if he heard exactly what I said.
But thatās not possible, right?
Thereās no way he couldāve overheard my conversation with Leahā¦
Time stretches for seconds longer than it should. At least, thatās how it feels. Like everything stopped. Like the world stopped spinning. Like everyone disappeared, and itās just Tristan and me. But not in a good way. Not in that foolish idea of butterflies in your stomach. Thereās only anxiety. The kind that tightens your gut and makes you wonder why life is so damn unfair.
But weāre not alone. Mr. Smith makes sure to remind me of that, with a forced laugh that triesāand fails miserablyāto ease the tension.
āNo one here thinks youāre a violent maniac, McKenna,ā he says with a dismissive wave, as if the idea is absurd. āWe know those internet rumors are ridiculous lies.ā
The corner of Tristanās mouth lifts into something beyond a smile. Itās brief, dry, almost a silent provocation. He doesnāt take his eyes off me for a second.
Heās waiting⦠because he knows exactly the effect he has.
I swallow hard, my throat scraping. My hands are cold and damp, and Iām painfully aware of my body, of the way Iām standing, stiff, shoulders tense, breathing too shallow to look normal.
āMmm?ā he murmurs, his voice low and drawn out, carrying a kind of exhaustion that doesnāt match the rigidity of his shoulders. āYou donāt think that, Alisson?ā
Just like that, all eyes are on me. Not just his dangerously green ones, slightly narrowed and coldly controlled, locked onto mine, but also Mr. Smithās, brown and curious, faintly lined at the corners. And especially my brotherās, wide and pleading, begging me to say the opposite of whatās running through my head.
āNo.ā My voice comes out thin, strained, too fake. A thread about to snap under the weight of the lie. But a single word doesnāt seem enough, because they keep staring, waiting for something more sincere, more convincing. āIāI think the internet tends to exaggerate things. People say things in the heat of the moment. Sometimes they donāt really think it through.ā
Oh my God, I sound like a hypocrite. I feel like one. A liar.
I can barely look at him without remembering how his fist connected with the jaw of the guy whoās supposedly his best friend, so how am I supposed to sound convincing?
Mr. Smith is right. How am I supposed to convince thousands of people watching a reality show that Tristan McKenna is different when I donāt even believe it myself?
Even so, I force a smile that obviously looks fake and out of place⦠but to my genuine relief, itās enough for the CEO to clap his hands once, cutting through the tension. Iām grateful, even if it makes me flinch slightly.
āAlisson is right. People on the internet are being swayed by baseless lies about you. Thatās why this show is so important, McKenna. Itās your chance to show them youāre not the person they claim you are.ā
āI donāt need that shit.ā He finally tears his eyes away from me and turns them toward the CEO, his harsh tone sending a chill through me. āYou just said theyāre baseless lies, didnāt you? This will blow over soon. Everyone will forget about it when another celebrity screws up. Isnāt that how it works?ā
āTristanā¦ā Logan tries to step in, his tone calm and persuasive, but that only draws Tristanās contained anger toward his agent.
āI already told you this idea is stupid, Logan. And you think itās a good idea to make me live with this?ā He gestures toward me without looking at me.
This.
The word stings⦠but I donāt shrink like Iāve been burned. Not like I usually would. I donāt know what gets into me. I square my shoulders, cross my arms, and lift my chin instead of lowering it.
āā¦Someone who clearly hates me. Thatās your idea of cleaning up my image? Pair me with someone who already sees me as gutter trash?ā
āI donāt hate you.ā That part is true. Hate is a strong word. It requires the other person to have some kind of power over youāenough to get under your skin and hit your nerves. Tristan doesnāt have that. Itās just a strong dislike.
He crosses his arms as well, waiting.
āYouāre being rude,ā I frown. āHow do you expect to convince people otherwise with that attitude?ā
Loganās eyes widen at me, but I donāt have time to regret what I said because Tristan is already looking at me again. Really looking.
And my bravery crumbles like a sandcastle.
I donāt need words to know exactly whatās going through McKennaās head. He knows. He heard what I said to Leah on the phone. And I donāt know what makes me want to disappear moreāhim knowing what I really think when Iām supposed to pretend to clean up his image⦠or the fact that he saw me fall pathetically on the sidewalk.
But what truly unsettles me is the way his eyes narrow, like theyāre saying, So thatās how you want to play?
āYes⦠Thatās it!ā Mr. Smith suddenly says, making both of us flinch slightly and look at him at the same time. āYou were right, Logan⦠Alisson is perfect for this!ā
āWhat?ā We say at the same time, but Tristan looks almost offended.
āYouāre buying this girlās bullshit act?ā
āExcuse me?ā I gasp.
āIām not seeing an act!ā The CEOās wolfish smile widens. āIām not seeing scripts⦠Iām seeing truth⦠The kind of thing the audience will eat up.ā
āMy life isnāt a fucking spectacle,ā Tristan snaps, and for a moment, I think heās going to explode again, go after the CEO and show him that wild side, too⦠But he stays put, arms crossed, body turned toward the man, his focus so intense that nothing else exists but the two of them. āWhat matters is what I do on the ice. Not off it.ā
āThatās true,ā Mr. Smith nods. āBut if you want a real shot at Nationals with serious sponsors, rather than being reduced to a āpromising nameā and a star who burned out too fast, youāre going to need a lot more than talent.ā
Tristanās jaw tightens, teeth clenching in a way thatās almost imperceptible to anyone not paying attention, but I am. Damn it, Iām paying way too much attention. His chest rises in a slower, more controlled breath, like heās holding something back that wants to break free.
And for a moment⦠his green eyes falter. Not completely, but enough. Something raw flickers through them, too quick to name but intense enough to make me forget to breathe⦠and then itās gone, replaced by that calculated ice that seems to follow him off the rink.
āSo thatās it?ā Tristanās voice comes out lower now, but no less dangerous, just more⦠contained. āThe price is my damn privacy?ā
āWe donāt want to sell your privacy, Tristan⦠we want to give you the best opportunityā¦ā Logan tries to explain softly.
āOpportunity to make millions of people think Iām a lunatic?ā he shoots back flatly.
āNo⦠One to prove them wrong.ā Mr. Smith tilts his head, firm. āBut of course⦠that depends entirely on you.ā
