Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Silas
The sound of my fingers drumming on the conference room table is too loud. Scout reaches over and stops my hand, shooting me a look. Behave, she tells me with her eyes.
I swallow and nod at her. This is the least comfortable I've ever been. I'm offering myself up to HR as a sacrifice. My career here is on the line. But it's worth it to protect Scout, if that's what needs to be done. I squeeze her hand and she smiles at me.
Those moss-green eyes and dark honey brown waves could get me to do anything. If she asked, which I doubt she would.
There's a reason I begged her to let me do all the talking in this meeting.
We sit across from the team's general manager Jared Duke, the head of HR, and the team's legal counsel.
I try not to fidget with the water bottle they've placed in front of me.
My suit feels too tight even though I had it tailored last month.
I tug at the collar, feeling constricted in dress clothes.
I'm used to hoodies and joggers, not this corporate armor.
My dirty blond hair is pulled back in a low bun, trying to look professional, but I can feel strands falling loose.
This isn't a disciplinary meeting, but it feels like one anyway.
"We appreciate you coming to us directly," Jared says. He's got that politician smile that could mean anything. "Why don't you tell us what this is about?"
I straighten my shoulders. "Scout Nash and I are in a relationship. It's consensual, it's serious, and I want everything documented properly so there's no question about propriety or her position with the team."
The HR director, a woman named Patricia who always wears pearls, makes a note on her tablet. "How long has this been going on?"
Scout's eyes find mine. I squeeze her hand again.
"Officially? About two weeks. Unofficially? We've had feelings for each other longer than that."
"And Ms. Nash, you work as a gopher, correct?" the legal counsel asks. His name is Marcus and he looks like he bills eight hundred dollars an hour just to frown at people.
It's hard not to scowl at him. "Scout runs the Mobility Monday program now. She also assists with player wellness and recovery protocols."
"We're just gathering all the information." Patricia pulls something up on her screen. "It says here, Ms. Nash, you were assigned as Mr. Huxley's temporary caregiver after his surgery?"
"That ended before we got together romantically," I say quickly. It's mostly true. We were already involved through the app, but they don't need those details.
Jared leans back in his chair. "Silas, I'm going to be direct. This creates some complications. Not insurmountable ones, but complications nonetheless."
"I'm aware." I resist the urge to pull at my collar.
"Are you?" Marcus interjects. "The optics alone could be problematic. Professional athlete and team employee. There's an inherent power imbalance."
My jaw tightens. "She doesn't work for me. She doesn't report to me. Her job has nothing to do with my performance or position on the team."
"But you have influence," Patricia points out. "Your status with the team. Your relationship with management and other players. These things matter."
"That's why I'm here. I want everything above board. Whatever paperwork needs to be filed, whatever disclosures need to be made, I'll do it. If there are problems, I want to handle them properly."
Jared studies me for a long moment. "And you, Ms. Nash? You agree to disclosure?"
"Yes." She nods. "We discussed it together."
"And if we determine that one of you needs to change positions or departments?"
The question lands like a check against the boards. "Then it better be me. Scout's worked too hard to establish herself here. She's got the Mobility Monday program running perfectly. The players respect her. If someone has to make a sacrifice, it won't be her."
Patricia and Marcus exchange glances. Jared drums his fingers on the table.
"That's not usually how these conversations go," Patricia admits.
"Usually the athlete expects us to make the problem disappear," Marcus adds. "Transfer the employee, create distance, minimize exposure."
"I'm not asking you to make anything disappear. I'm asking you to protect Scout while we handle this professionally."
Jared stops drumming. "You're serious about her."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Dead serious. This isn't some fling or convenience thing. I plan to marry her."
As soon as Scout is ready to be a hockey wife, I'll have a big ring waiting for her.
"Silas." Scout chides me softly.
I slide her a look. "What? It's the truth."
"Well," Patricia says after a beat of silence. "That changes things somewhat."
"Look," I lean forward, needing them to understand. "Scout's finally finding her confidence, her place here. If this relationship costs her that, I'll walk away from her before I let that happen. But I'm hoping you'll help us find a way to make this work."
Marcus makes more notes. "There are precedents. Other teams have dealt with similar situations."
"The Sharks had a player marry their nutritionist," Patricia offers. "They created clear boundaries and reporting structures. It worked fine."
Jared nods slowly. "Here's what we can do.
Scout maintains her current position but reports directly to the head trainer instead of through the general player services hierarchy.
That removes any perception of influence from your end.
We'll file formal disclosure paperwork that protects both of you.
If any issues arise, they get addressed through HR, not team management. "
"And her job is safe?" I press.
"As safe as anyone's job ever is in professional sports," Jared says. "Her performance determines her position, not her relationship status."
I don't miss Scout's relieved sigh.
"What about public perception?" Marcus asks. "If this becomes public knowledge?"
"When," I correct. "When it becomes public knowledge. We're not hiding."
Patricia smiles slightly. "Then we recommend a simple approach. If asked, you confirm you're together. No details, no timeline, just acknowledgment. The less dramatic you make it, the less the media will care."
"I can do that."
"There's one more thing," Jared says. "The other players. Have you considered how this might affect team dynamics?"
"Most of them already know. Nobody's made it an issue."
"Good. Keep it that way. Professional at the rink. Do whatever you want on your own time."
Marcus slides a stack of papers across the table. "These are the disclosure forms. Both you and Ms. Nash need to sign them. There's also a conduct agreement that outlines acceptable behavior in professional settings."
I scan through them quickly. Standard stuff mostly. No public displays of affection during team events. No preferential treatment in either direction. No discussing team business outside of appropriate channels. All things we're already doing.
"I'll get these back to you by tomorrow," I say.
The meeting ends with handshakes and promises to process everything quickly. Leaving the executive floor, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Not because the conversation was easy, but because it's done. We're official.
At practice, nothing seems different on the surface. The guys run drills, coaches yell corrections, equipment managers hustle between tasks. But I catch Scout watching from the tunnel. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away. Neither do I.
"Get your head in the game, Huxley," Cross barks, but there's amusement in his tone.
After practice, I find Scout in the recovery room setting up for tomorrow's mobility session.
She's got her honey blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, loose waves escaping to frame her face.
She's wearing black yoga pants that hug her slender frame and a tight Havoc tank top.
Those moss-green eyes are focused on arranging resistance bands with careful precision.
She looks confident, competent, completely in her element. Beautiful doesn't begin to cover it.
"Did you mean what you said earlier? About wanting to marry me?"
"I probably should've run that by you first." I rub my hand over the back of my neck. "But I meant every word. I'd marry you tomorrow if I thought you wouldn't run screaming into the sunset."
She turns to face me, expression unreadable. "Are you proposing?"
"No. When I propose, you'll know it. This is just intention. Direction. Whatever you want to call it."
Scout reaches up and cups my face with both hands. "I want to call it perfect."
The kiss she gives me is soft but thorough, and when she pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
"We should probably avoid doing that here," she says, but she's smiling.
"Probably."
Beck walks in, takes one look at us standing too close, and immediately backs out. "Nope. Don't want to know. Didn't see anything."
We break apart laughing.
"I should finish setting up," Scout says.
"I should shower."
"You really should. You smell like hockey gear and bad decisions."
"You love my bad decisions."
"No, I love you despite your bad decisions."
I head for the showers feeling that same settled warmth that's been constant since we figured our shit out. This is what being chosen feels like. Not the dramatic movie version with grand gestures and perfect moments, but this quiet certainty.