Chapter 32 #2
Tessa’s office was tucked behind media operations, all glass walls with blinds she used like weapons.
When I arrived, the blinds were already closed.
Jace was there before me, sitting in one of the chairs, bouncing one heel so fast it blurred.
He had a bottle of water in one hand and a pen in the other, clicking it open and closed without realizing.
Tessa stood behind her desk, tablet in hand, expression calm enough to make me more nervous.
“Close the door,” she said.
I did.
Jace stopped clicking the pen. Then started again once. Then put it on her desk like it had betrayed him.
Tessa looked between us. “I’m going to ask direct questions. If either of you lies to me, this meeting is useless.”
“Understood,” I said.
Jace nodded. “Yeah.”
“How long has this been happening?”
I glanced at Jace. He looked at me, then away.
“A few months,” I said.
Tessa’s face didn’t change. “Emotional or physical?”
“Both.”
Jace shifted in his chair. “Not at first. It got complicated before it got physical. That probably doesn’t help.”
“It helps me understand timeline,” she said. “Is it serious?”
“Yes,” I said.
At the same time, Jace said, “Yes.”
The word sat there.
Tessa took it in without commentary. “Are your previous relationships over?”
“My marriage is ending,” I said. “Olivia knows there is someone else. She does not have a name.”
“My relationship with Vanessa is over,” Jace said. “She knows I wasn’t honest about why. She doesn’t know Declan.”
Tessa made a note. “Who else knows?”
“Roman,” Jace said, then winced. “Or, not because I sat him down and gave him a slideshow. He figured out enough.”
“Roman Vega has eyes and a functioning brain,” Tessa said. “I assumed that was inevitable.”
Jace looked briefly relieved despite himself.
She turned back to me. “Any staff?”
“No.”
“Any players besides Roman?”
“Not that we know,” I said.
“That is not the same as no.”
“I know.”
“Any messages, photos, doorbell cameras, rideshares, hotel footage, anything that ties you together outside normal team contact?”
Jace went pale around the mouth.
I answered because he looked like his mind had just split into too many directions. “Messages, yes. Nothing explicit that I’m aware of. No photos. We’ve been careful with cars. Hotels were team environments, nothing public. My house has exterior cameras, but I control that footage.”
Tessa looked at Jace. “Anything on your end?”
“No photos,” he said quickly. “Texts. Calls. I don’t think anything obvious.
I delete sometimes, but not always because if I make a habit of deleting everything, that feels suspicious, which is maybe insane but also maybe true.
Vanessa might have seen my mood. Not proof.
Just, me being terrible at acting normal. ”
“That matters,” Tessa said, not unkindly. “People rarely find a secret from one perfect piece of evidence. They build it from patterns.”
Jace nodded, jaw working.
She set the tablet down. “Now the actual problem. You are the head coach. He is a player you directly supervise.”
“I know,” I said.
“No, I need you to sit with the full shape of that. You influence his ice time, discipline, media access, leadership opportunities, lineup decisions, contract perception, and his day to day workplace environment. Even if this is fully consensual, and I believe you when you say it is, the organization will see a power imbalance.”
Jace leaned forward. “He hasn’t used any of that against me.”
“I’m not accusing him.”
“He’s benched me when I deserved it.”
“I believe that too.”
“I don’t want people thinking he manipulated me.”
Tessa’s voice stayed even. “They might.”
Jace recoiled a little, not from her, from the truth.
I hated that I couldn’t shield him from it.
Tessa looked at me. “And people may think you favored him.”
“I haven’t.”
“They may think you overcorrected to hide it.”
I had no answer for that. Because she was right. Every decision could be reinterpreted once the relationship had a name.
She continued, “If ownership finds out from someone else, they will move fast and defensively. Their priority will be the franchise. Not your relationship. Not your personal lives. Not even fairness, at least not at first. Containment.”
Jace’s knee started again.
I reached for him under the edge of the desk, then stopped myself.
Tessa noticed. Of course she did. She didn’t comment.
“What happens if another player notices?” she asked.
“Depends who,” Jace said.
“No. It depends how. If they notice because you tell them, that is one situation. If they notice because they walk in on something, see a message, or feel roster decisions are compromised, that is another.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.
“What happens if media gets involved?” she asked.
I said, “It becomes bigger than hockey.”
“Yes. Sexuality, marriage, infidelity, power, favoritism, locker room culture. They will use all of it. Some outlets will pretend concern while feeding the machine. Some fans will be supportive. Some will be vicious. Your families will get calls. Olivia may get calls. Vanessa may get calls.”
Jace whispered, “Fuck.”
Tessa’s expression softened for the first time. “That is why we’re having this conversation now instead of after a camera catches you looking at each other the wrong way.”
Silence settled in the office.
Jace rubbed both hands over his face. “So what do we do?”
“I’m not legal counsel,” Tessa said. “You need that. Separately and possibly together, depending on what counsel advises. You need to understand league policy, team policy, contract language, and disclosure obligations. You also need to decide what outcome you’re willing to accept.”
I looked at her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning if the relationship continues, one of you may need to leave the direct reporting structure.”
Jace’s head lifted.
She held his gaze. “That does not automatically mean a trade. Do not spiral there yet.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, too fast.
“Jace.”
He inhaled, held it, let it out. “I was maybe halfway there.”
“It could mean internal restructuring. It could mean disclosure with safeguards. It could mean Declan recuses himself from certain decisions involving you, though in a head coach role that gets complicated quickly. It could mean the organization decides there is no workable solution. I’m not saying that to scare you.
I’m saying it because pretending otherwise is how people end up cornered. ”
I felt the stone in my stomach settle heavier.
Jace looked at me then. Not panicked, exactly. Scared, yes. But present.
“We said consequences attached,” he said quietly.
“We did.”
Tessa glanced between us, and for a moment she wasn’t the media manager handling risk. She was a woman who had watched too many grown men assume feelings made them exempt from fallout.
“I’m not judging you,” she said. “That isn’t my role, and frankly, it wouldn’t be useful.
I care about protecting the team. I care about protecting people from avoidable damage.
That includes both of you. It also includes Olivia, Vanessa, Roman, and every player who may be affected by a workplace decision they don’t understand. ”
Jace flinched at Vanessa’s name, but he didn’t look away.
Tessa picked up her tablet again. “First step, speak with counsel. Not the team’s lawyer first. Independent.
Each of you. Do not put anything emotional in writing from this point forward that you aren’t prepared to see on a screen in a conference room.
Do not discuss this with Roman yet as strategy.
He can be your friend, Jace, but don’t make him part of the operational mess. ”
Jace nodded. “Okay.”
“Second, clean up your routines. No private spaces at the arena unless there is a documented work purpose. No closed doors. No lingering. No arriving or leaving together. If you are seen together outside work, have a reason that does not sound invented by a panicked intern.”
Despite everything, Jace muttered, “I would be a terrible panicked intern.”
Tessa gave him a look.
He sat back. “Sorry.”
“Third,” she said, “start thinking about disclosure before discovery. I am not telling you to walk into ownership tomorrow. I am telling you that if someone else forces the timeline, you lose control of the narrative and possibly the options.”
My mouth felt dry. “How long do we have?”
Tessa’s answer was honest, which meant it was not comforting.
“I don’t know.”
Jace’s hand closed around the water bottle hard enough to crackle the plastic.
Tessa leaned back in her chair. “But you need a plan before someone else discovers the relationship and forces the decision for you.”
No one spoke after that.
Outside her office, the arena kept functioning. Phones rang. Someone laughed down the hall. A door opened and shut. The building moved around us like it always did, indifferent to the three of us sitting in a room with the future spread out in pieces none of us could yet assemble.
Jace stared at the floor, his knee finally still.
I looked at him, then at Tessa, then at my own hands.
For months, hiding had felt like the problem.
Now I understood it had only been the first one.