45. HOPE
CHAPTER 45
HOPE
I manage to find the willpower to extricate myself from Cade, but there’s no hiding the tremors racking my body. Or the way my chin trembles.
This is my worst nightmare come to life and I wish I could grab Cade’s hand and run away with him to a Caribbean island, never to be seen again.
But I can’t do that. Running would be a tacit admission of wrongdoing. And yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have been making out like teen hornballs at work, but how is this a crime?
Pressing my hands against the scalding hot skin of Cade’s chest, I offer a nod to him to let me go. His hands slide off me and he steps away, allowing me to hop from the table and face the intruder.
“Go ahead,” I say, folding my arms. “Report us. I guess it was time HR and everyone knew we were dating, right, Cade?”
Cade recovers from the shock quickly. A shake of his head makes a smirk fall in place instead and he reaches for my hand. “My thoughts exactly.”
Otto sputters for a bit before pointing at both of us. “This is not gonna go well for either of you. Especially you, Garcia.”
“Are you threatening her? Because I could report you for that .” Cade’s voice turns low, dangerous. Even chock full of cortisol like I am, it still gives me butterflies. And sensing my eyes on him, Cade holds my hand a little tighter.
“What? No, I—This is up to Steve.” Otto points at the door. “I’m going to talk with him right now, you two stay put and don’t—don’t get frisky again.”
“He’s a real peach,” mutters Cade, glaring as my mean coworker walks out of the storage room.
And that’s when I collapse back on the table behind me, pulling my hand free from his grasp so I can cover my face. Muffled, I say, “I am so screwed. I’m gonna get fired and I’m never gonna be able to pay off my student loans.”
“Hey, Hope. That’s not gonna happen.” His hands wrap around my wrists, gently freeing my face. Something in it makes his breath hitch. “I’m so sorry to have caused this.” One of his hands shakes slightly as it rises to my face. When his thumb swipes softly at my cheek is when I realize I’m crying.
“I’m sorry too,” I whisper. “You just had the most amazing game and I just ruined it.”
“You didn’t. Whatshisface did.” Cade tilts his head. “Then again, who knows what would’ve happened if he didn’t interrupt when he did.”
I give a weak smile. “You’re right, I guess it could’ve been worse.”
“Listen.” He lifts my chin so I’m forced to meet his intent eyes. The blue in them is as comforting as it spikes my pulse. “I’m not gonna let them hurt you or your job in any way, do you understand?”
“But—”
“No buts.” Leaning forward, Cade places a soft kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin for a second too long until he pulls away. “I’ll figure something out.”
I sigh. I almost wish I could somehow undo the past ten minutes and yet, I don’t. At some point, the team was going to find out that Cade and I are together, and I never intended to date him in secret for the whole season or more. Maybe this isn’t the absolute worst that could’ve happened.
“C’mon,” I say without much energy, grabbing his forearms to guide him backward. Standing on my own two feet again, I say, “Let’s get you iced for real this time.”
*
The whole thing results in a suspension. For me.
And without pay.
I’m not at all saying that Cade should’ve been suspended too, but that a suspension is a completely disproportionate reaction to this. But I don’t know what Otto Bergman said in my boss’s ear, because Steve found me after I was even done icing Cade, and Cade was back out in the dugout, and sent me home suspended until further notice.
When I tried to defend myself, Steve spoke over me. “I will kick off an HR investigation and if you’re found to not have acted wrongfully, you’ll be reinstated with backpay. But right now I can’t hear any details from you before the investigation, okay?”
Not okay, but humiliation clamped a hand around my throat and choked me up. I basically gathered my stuff and ran off to my car in tears.
But the drive home has started to help me regain my senses.
Why the hell are they treating me like I’m on par with a stalker?
I park all crooked in the driveway but I don’t really care. Rushing to the house, I only let renewed tears fall when I’m confined by the familiar four walls. I toe off my sneakers angrily and stomp to my bedroom like someone’s chasing me.
Shutting the door, I find myself reflected in the full body mirror behind it. One look at the team logo on my chest and I get angry all over again. Grunting like a cavewoman, I rip the shirt off me, ball it up and violently throw it on the floor.
That felt nice. I do the same with the annoying white pants I have to wear for most games. Last but not least, I pull the hair tie off and free my hair to be as wild and as in the way as it damn well pleases. In fact, I even mess it all up with my hands to drive the point home.
I’ve been doing the same thing at work that I did during my unfortunate relationship with my ex.
I’ve been confining myself into a little box, just making myself smaller and smaller until I fit in with the rest. When in truth, I was never going to fit in. I was always going to be a girl in a boys club, no matter how much I tried to act like the boys. And now, because I’m different, because I dared to step out of my little box, they’re gonna can me. Because I have no doubt that’s how the so-called investigation is gonna go. Their own biases will be judge, jury, and executioner. Especially if Otto freaking Berger is the only testimony they’ll care to listen to.
Yanking open my closet, I grab the nearest T-shirt from the shelf but it turns out to be a team one, and I toss it behind me. The next one is from my college so I put it on. And I don’t know if it sets me back to a time when I was smart and wanted to eat the whole world, but a lightbulb goes off in my head.
What does my damn employee contract say?
After rummaging in my closet for a bit, I locate the shoebox where I stored it in and take it to the living room, where I sit for the next hour reading every minutia.
And find exactly zero clauses expressly forbidding me from dating a colleague. Literally the only such mention is to say that relationships outside of the professional realm between leaders and subordinates are frowned upon . And I’m not Cade’s boss nor is he my boss, so what gives?
I’m drafting a text message about this to the cowboy when the front door bursts open.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” Rosalina says as greeting, barging into the living room.
Audrey shuts the door behind her. “We heard what happened. Are you okay? Is there anything we can do?”
“Is there anyone we can kill?”
I snort. “No need for that, but I may have just found the tools I need to defend myself right here, in my contract.” I smack the piece of paper in my hand. “Gather around kids, we’re going to brainstorm how to bring down the pearl-clutching men of the Orlando Wild organization.”