Chapter 17 Sloane #2
His words hit like a punch, and I sucked in a breath. This wasn’t the kind, easy-going, charming man I knew. This version was upset and pissed off. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, wanna talk about what’s fair and not fair?” His brows arched, his voice louder than I’d ever heard. His pulse raced at the base of his neck, and worry gripped my lungs.
He needed to be calm today, not worked up.
Without overthinking, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into a conference room off to the side.
“What are you doing?” he barked out.
I shut the door, leaned against it, and pointed to a chair. “Sit your ass down.”
“Is this some kinky foreplay?” He grinned, but his smile wasn’t joyful or kind. It was feral. “By all means, strip for me, Sloane.”
“Would you stop it?” I hissed, grinding my teeth together. “Your pulse is racing, and you have sweat on your forehead. You probably worked out too hard, taking your frustration out from me. I can’t have your heart overworked today.”
“Is that Doctor Mercer speaking, clinically, or Sloane, who gives a shit about me?”
“Both, now shut your mouth, my god.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, wincing at the pain in my forehead. I rubbed that too, but Oliver cussed.
“Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry, Sloane.” The chair creaked up, his presence immediately in front of me. He cupped my face, his large hand covering my entire left side. “You’re hurting too. God, I don’t want to be the reason you’re upset, ever.”
I pushed his chest, forcing his hand to drop from me. “I’m fine,” I emphasized the word, both of us knowing it wasn’t true. “But we need to stop this.”
“Stop, what?” This time, his voice was cold, robotic. “Be clear with me, Sloane. Very clear.”
I closed my eyes, prickles of pain sharpening behind them.
I hated being weak, and this man somehow got all my vulnerable sides.
My lip trembled, but I forced myself to work through being upset, breathe through it.
Feelings only lasted ninety seconds unless you fed them energy. “I can’t do this at work with you.”
“What does that mean? We pretend nothing happened here? You ignore me?”
I met his blue eyes, shaking my head. “I don’t want to hurt you. The thought of hurting you causes me pain, Oliver. But I’m finally getting treated with respect here. If they thought for a second…it would kill me professionally. I need you to understand that, please.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, his eyes blazing. “Okay.”
“I’m not pretending nothing happened or that we don’t have a connection.
Of course we do. I just… don’t know how to handle it yet.
I’m sorry I ran out this morning. I panicked.
I’m panicking now, but I can’t lose my career.
I gave up everything to be here. But I also don’t want to hurt you.
” The moisture in my eyes settled, and I took a deep, calming breath.
“Can we get through the game tomorrow, then maybe we can talk? Figure this… thing out?”
Oliver stared at my eyes, then my mouth, back to my eyes before he deflated. All the anger and stress rolled off him, and his lips curved up in an easy smile. “Yeah, we can do that, Sloane.”
I nodded, relieved to buy myself two days. I shuddered, and Oliver used that moment to take my hand in his and intertwine our fingers. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed the inside of my wrist, the gesture so, so sweet.
“I’m into you, Sloane. So fucking into you, and I regret acting out, but the thought of not seeing you vulnerable again sucked. So yeah, take your time. I’ll be here, and I’ll behave.”
I stared at our hands, conflicted feelings going to war in my chest. I didn’t give them space to take over, just as my phone went off.
Mac: Booth needs you. Come to his office.
“I gotta go, but please keep your pulse down.” I released his hand and stared up into his face.
God, he was so hot it was wild. I brought my fingers up to his temple, running them through his hair as he closed his eyes and sighed.
It was such a contented, happy sound that I smiled.
Then, without saying anything I left him in the conference room and headed to meet Booth.
Booth stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but edged with something closer to concern than usual.
His gaze flicked between the monitor and me, waiting.
Mac leaned in over the screen, flipping through updated medical logs, his lips pressed into a flat line as he scanned the timestamped documentation.
Every few seconds, his finger paused over a detail—flagging it for memory.
William sat off to the side, calm and composed as always, but the legal packet in front of him was open, his highlighter already making tracks down the margin.
The tension in the room wasn’t combative. It was quiet and heavy, a pressure I knew all too well. Everyone here had a role, and mine had changed again.
“Sloane.” Booth nodded once, then gestured toward the mounted screen. “We need you to be the one to deliver the update to the team.”
I couldn’t have heard him correctly. I was new, a nobody. “You want me to address the entire roster?”
“Yes.” His voice didn’t waver. “Because this isn’t a medical update. It’s a mental shift. The players deserve someone who understands the weight of it and can speak to the bigger picture.”
Mac didn’t look up from his tablet. “You’ve been in every meeting, every review, every compliance session. You’ve seen the trajectory. You’ve written the protocols. They need to hear this from someone who understands the stakes—and who’s earned the right to speak plainly.”
William, still seated, closed his folder. “It’s not about PR. It’s about leadership. And whether you want to admit it or not, they listen when you talk.”
Mac finally glanced up. “You didn’t witness what happened, Sloane. You managed it. Kept it from becoming worse. That fucking matters.”
His words landed harder than I expected. Not as a compliment—but as a confirmation. They weren’t asking me to soften the blow. They were asking me to lead it.
“We’ve drafted a few talking points for the League and any local media inquiries,” Mac added, sliding the tablet toward me. “You’ll help us shape the language. We want your input.”
I stepped closer to the screen, reading through the language slide by slide.
The phrasing was sharp. Direct. Hayes’s name wasn’t used once.
The focus stayed on safety. Staff protection.
Commitment to health and mental performance standards.
It was good. Professional. Neutral enough to pass League scrutiny but strong enough to carry a message.
“This works,” I said. My voice came out even. Steady. “And I’ll lead the team meeting.”
William looked up from the legal file. “You’ll write the internal debrief summary too?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’ll send the first draft of media language to Comms by EOD.”
Booth tapped the side of the table once. “We’ll bring the roster in at one.”
He moved toward the whiteboard, already noting the timing. Mac handed off the tablet. William pushed back from the table and stood without a word. But before he reached the door, he paused.
“Mercer,” he said, voice quieter now. “You don’t need to prove anything to us. Sorry I made you feel like you had to”
I looked at him, more than surprised. He didn’t wait for a reply. Just left, the file still in hand. I had ten minutes before the team meeting, and my nerves went from zero to sixty.
I’d never addressed an entire team before—the staff, sure, but the roster?
Holy. Shit. This was an opportunity to earn respect but, more importantly, ease the worry of the team.
I quickly ran to the bathroom and checked my makeup and hoodie.
My outfit was more casual than I would’ve liked, but I had my custom Vans on that gave me confidence.
Mac, Booth, Ivy, and William were giving me a shot to be one of the team, and I wouldn’t blow it.
The auditorium was full.
All sixty-something players, plus coaching staff, medical, performance, comms. Even PR squeezed along the back wall. The lighting was low, and the screen behind me stayed black, like I asked. No graphics. No slides. No headlines. I didn’t need backup today.
I stood at the front with a clipboard in hand, but I didn’t look at it. I’d memorized every point and knew what I had to say here. This wasn’t about updating but about care. We were humans first, and that point was often forgotten in the hustle of the sport.
Booth sat off to the side, arms crossed. Mac stood against the wall by the doors. William was nowhere in sight—probably already on a call with the League.
I cleared my throat once. The low hum of sideline conversation faded instantly.
“Thank you for being here,” I said. My voice echoed as silence greeted me. Jordan nodded, an encouraging smile, and Oliver stared with his intense blue eyes near the back. “I want to acknowledge what’s been circulating since Thursday—about Marcus Hayes and the incident that occurred in my office.”
I paused, studying expressions, but everyone’s faces remained neutral.
“You’ve likely heard rumors. Or seen headlines. This is your space to get the truth.”
A few players leaned forward. Quinn. Noah. Ty had his jaw locked so tight I saw the tension in his cheek from ten feet away.
“Hayes is currently on a medical leave of absence,” I continued. “It is league-sanctioned and indefinite. He’s being evaluated by external providers. As of this morning, he has been removed from the facility access roster, and his locker has been cleared.”
I let that sit for a second.
“No one’s asking you to erase your history with him. I’m not here to change how you feel about him. But I am here to protect every person in this room—including the staff.”
A breath from the second row. Noah, probably. I couldn’t quite tell.
“Everything in this organization is built on trust. On safety. And when someone compromises that, it has to be addressed. I filed a formal misconduct report. I followed policy, and the organization backed that process.”
This time, they nodded. Ivy’s presence behind the bench row mattered—she stood with her arms crossed, watching every reaction like she’d jump to my defense. That made me feel like I belonged, something I’d wanted my entire life.
“Moving forward,” I continued, “we’ll be offering optional one-on-one sessions with me or anyone on the mental performance team. No reports. No judgment. If you’re struggling with what happened—if you’re angry, confused, or feel off—you’re not alone.”
A beat.
“And Monday morning, we’ll hold a quiet check-in for Hayes’s position group. Jordan and a few others have already agreed to help support that. Just a space to talk.”
I scanned the room. “That’s it from me. If you have questions, my door is open. I’ll give you the truth. But for now—focus on game day.”
I didn’t ask for questions. I didn’t need applause. I turned to Booth, gave a small nod, and stepped down from the riser.
The room stayed quiet for a second.
Then one of the rookies—Ty, I think—spoke, loud enough for the people around him to hear. “Damn. Mercer’s a badass.”
A few chuckles. Someone clapped. Then another. It wasn’t applause, not really. It was respect.
I felt it all the way to my core.