Chapter 291

My heart sank. "What do you mean, not playing?" I asked, my voice rising.

Timothy appeared unusually subdued. "I'm not being allowed to play," he explained. “Conflict of interest.”

"So they’re really going with this little tale, huh? Who told you to step down?"

"The coach," Timothy replied. "He thinks it wouldn't look good for the team if I played."

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me. "So, you're being punished for something you didn't do?" I exclaimed, unable to contain my outrage.

Timothy's jaw clenched. "It's more complicated than that," he replied, his words tinged with regret. "Given the circumstances, it's best for me to lay low anyway."

My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. "Circumstances? What are you talking about?" I pressed, desperate for clarity.

"The evidence," Timothy said quietly, his gaze fixed on the ground. "It's heavily against me."

I felt a surge of disbelief. "But you're innocent! You couldn't have...," I started, unable to fathom the gravity of it all.

Timothy reached out, placing a hand on my lower back, but that only fueled my discontentment.

"How were they allowed to do this?" I exclaimed. "This is unjust, Timothy. You should be out there playing!"

Timothy's demeanor was a mixture of resignation and weariness. "The coach didn't want the bad press. They thought it would be best for me to lay low for now without bringing negative attention to the club…again."

My frustration bubbled up. "What do they know? There wasn’t even any solid evidence.”

He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a weariness that broke me. "Evie, you saw it yourself in court. The evidence against me is damning. I might have been the last person to see her, according to the hotel recordings."

The weight of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. "But that doesn't mean you're guilty!" I protested desperately. "There has to be an explanation, something we're missing."

Timothy shook his head, a sense of resignation in his demeanor. "The world sees what it wants to see, Evie. And right now, it sees me as guilty."

I felt a surge of helplessness wash over me. How could the truth be so clouded by perception and circumstantial evidence? Where was the actual investigation?

As we sat in silence, the game began without Timothy. It was a bitter sight, watching the game unfold without him on the ice, and the crowd seemed extra cheerful at his absence.

“How’d your father get off so easy?" I remarked. “He tampered with crime scene evidence, and yet there seem to be no repercussions for his actions."

Timothy's expression tightened at the mention of Kamran. "It's not the same for everyone," he said, his voice heavy with bitterness. "My dad’s influence in this town outweighs anything I have."

"But that's not fair," I interjected, feeling a surge of indignation. "It shouldn't be about who holds more influence. Justice should be blind, right?"

Timothy hesitated before speaking, his gaze fixed on the ground. "You need to understand. The day we went to the lab, it might have been misconstrued by the police."

Confusion gripped me. "Misconstrued? What do you mean?" I pressed.

Timothy's shoulders slumped. "They might have seen our visit as suspicious, even though it was to incriminate Stella for her crimes."

"That's absurd! Anybody there could back you up. Clark definitely could!"

"Then he’d just get in trouble," Timothy replied, frustration etched on his face. "I don’t know what good it would do anyway."

I shook my head. "So, they used that against you? Manipulated it to fit their narrative?"

Timothy nodded solemnly. "It's possible, but the video was all they needed apparently."

The echoes of the roaring crowd reverberated through the sports center, carrying with them a crescendo of cheers. Among the cacophony, a distinct name soared above the rest—Alex Richards. The fervent chants filled the air.

Curiosity mingled with a sense of apprehension as we made our way closer to the ruckus, drawn by the energy and curiosity of witnessing the spectacle. As we reached the vantage point, the sight unfolded before us—a commanding display of skill and prowess as Alex Richard's team surged ahead, dominating Timothy's team in his absence.

I felt a lump form in my throat, a pang of frustration piercing through me.

"They're chanting for Alex," Aria observed.

My gaze swept across the field, and a surge of disquiet washed over me. Timothy's absence from the lineup was glaring. The team lacked his guidance, his leadership, and it was evident in their struggle against Alex Richard's dominant play.

"They’re kicking their asses," Lucas remarked.

The cheers, once an anthem for Timothy's team, were now a symphony for his adversary. My breathing grew ragged, my frustration mounting as I witnessed Timothy’s so-called fans flip so easily. They booed Timothy’s team, urging them to lose.

"Evie, calm down," Lucas urged, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure this out."

"But they're losing because of all the lies!"

Aria stepped closer, her voice calm and soothing. "We understand, Evie. But losing our cool won't help Timothy or the team."

Lucas nodded in agreement. "We need to focus on finding a way to help him, not let anger cloud our judgment."

The chants of the crowd grew louder, the echo of Alex Richard's name like a relentless siren. With each passing second, I struggled to steady my breathing, already feeling faint.

"We can't just stand here," I repeated, looking around at them as they stared at me in concern. "We have to do something."

"We will," Timothy cooed, rubbing circles into my back. "But we need to be strategic about it. Reacting impulsively won't help."

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my emotions. "Okay, okay. But you know this isn't right," I muttered.

His gaze followed mine, a grim expression etched on his face. "I know, Evie. But right now, I can't do much."

Before I could respond, a sob escaped my lips. Without a word, I turned on my heel, my steps quickening as I hurried away from them and all their pitiful stares. The emotions churning within me were unbearable, leaving me gasping for air in the crowded hallways.

I bumped into various strangers before finding a more isolated spot, cleared of any onlooking eyes.

I barely registered Timothy's footsteps following me, his presence a comforting yet unexpected intrusion in my desperate chase for air. I paused, turning to face him, my chest heaving with emotion.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, the words rushed and unsteady. "I don't know what to do."

Timothy's expression softened, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "Evie, you don't owe me anything. This situation—it's not fair to any of us."

A wave of guilt washed over me. I had brought Timothy into this chaos, and now I felt powerless to shield him from its repercussions.

His voice broke through my thoughts. "My PR team—they want me to keep my image as clean as possible. They want me to maintain favorable relations with the Fitzgeralds."

Confusion knitted my brows. "The Fitzgeralds? What does that have to do with anything?"

Timothy hesitated, his words measured. "Stella's family—they're connected to mine. And... I plan on attending her funeral because of that."

His revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Stella's tragedy had intertwined our lives in ways I hadn't anticipated, and Timothy's decision to attend her funeral seemed both unexpected and wrong.

"I'm inviting you, Evie," Timothy continued, his voice tinged with a vulnerability I hadn't witnessed before. "I could use your support. If you're willing."