Chapter 30 Jacob
Jacob
There are moments in life where you realize something bad is going to happen. You wake up and feel this god awful sense of dread creeping down your spine.
Or maybe that’s just me. But either way, I have realized I am rarely wrong when that feeling comes up.
So when I got the email from the Athletic Director requesting an impromptu meeting as soon as possible, I knew it was going to be bad.
There’s no other reason for the random meeting to occur.
The door closes behind me, and the moment I sit down in front of those three faces…Coach, the Athletic Director, and my advisor. I know I should’ve worn something sturdier than sweats, because what comes next is going to require at least emotional armor.
The AD clears his throat and starts. “Jacob, we want to talk with you about your current assignment.”
Coach offers an encouraging smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know we think highly of your work here.”
My advisor nods. “Your grades, your evaluations, your professionalism…it’s all impeccable.”
I shrug half heartedly because praise with this tone always means the opposite of good news. I clear my throat, “Thank you.”
The AD shifts in his seat and shoots a glance at the other two. He looks nervous and uncomfortable and that only amps up my anxiety. “A member of the men’s hockey team came forward expressing discomfort with your involvement with the team.”
There it is. The words I’d feared and somehow knew were coming. The team has been cold and distant, even Hugh has been a stranger in the apartment. I don’t think he is placing the blame on my shoulders, but he is unhappy with the relationship I started with Griff.
Honestly, looking back I can see how badly I fucked up. I never should have started a relationship with someone on the team….but I can’t make myself regret it. Being with him meant a lot to me and I had been…fuck, I had been so happy.
What I should have done is come clean to Griff about Sabrina’s cheating before I started anything with him. Our entire situationship is tainted by the omission.
I frown and work really fucking hard not to cry like a baby. “Discomfort?”
Coach exhales. “We’re referring to interactions that could be perceived as crossing professional boundaries. Even if your intent was not improper…”
“…perception matters,” the AD finishes behind him, eyes sympathetic but resolute.
“So… what does that mean?” I ask, already feeling the room tilt.
“You’re an exceptional student. A tremendous asset to this program,” my advisor says gently, like she’s bracing me for a fall. “But this kind of situation, something that could be interpreted as sexual harassment, puts your future at risk. It could affect your standing at Harvard.”
I blink away the burning tears. “Wait…my Harvard acceptance? It’s being taken?”
The AD squeezes his fingers together on the table and meeting my eye.
“We’re not trying to punish you. But we have to address what was reported.
We feel the best course is to reassign you.
At this time, it would simply be a reassignment with no repercussions on your Harvard admission.
There will be no formal claim of sexual harassment. ”
“…reassign me?” I echo, heart already twisting into knots. Holy fuck, Griffin went to the administration about me. He is having me pulled from the team because he can’t even stand being around me.
“Yes,” Coach says, uneasy. “You’ll be shifted to work with another team effective immediately. You will no longer be a member of the men’s hockey support staff.”
My breath goes fluttery, stupidly light in my lungs. “…so I’m fired?”
“It’s not a firing,” the AD says quickly. “You’re being reassigned to protect you and the program. We don’t want this to escalate. We don’t want to make waves over someone’s sexual orientation or personal feelings.”
Not wanting to make waves.
Like I’m some stone in a pond that suddenly needs to be discreetly removed. I feel my cheeks turn red and I can barely get my thoughts in order because these words that they are using feel so fucking foreign. Sexual harassment? Sexual Orientation?
“So you’re moving me because of rumor and discomfort? Because I’m bi-sexual and that’s a problem?” My voice is flat, but I can feel it shaking.
“We’re trying to protect your future,” my advisor repeats, almost pleading. “This really has nothing to do with your preferences, Jacob. It’s just about ensuring that everyone feels safe and comfortable.”
Coach doesn’t say anything. What’s he supposed to say? I kind of thought that he would chime in. Say that I did nothing wrong because sexual harassment feels like a big fucking stretch.
I nod once, because I don’t want to explode in here like a caged animal and ruin every relationship and trajectory I’ve built.
“Okay,” I say. “Understood. Can I-um, do I get to know who my accuser is?”
I ask the question already knowing it could only be Griffin. But I need to know. Or I guess I want to know. Because then I would at least know for sure that whatever we had is over. Him choosing to not respond to me should be enough but I guess this would be the final nail in the coffin.
Coach gives me a wry almost apologetic grin, “We tend to keep these things anonymous. It’s not a formal complaint so we are taking steps to ensure you are protected, as well as the team member who felt uncomfortable.”
I nod. I feel almost hollow inside knowing that Griffin is so hurt and angry that he would go after the thing I love the most.
They begin talking logistics and future plans but I stop listening around, “We’ll make sure this doesn’t affect your academic standing…”
I don’t have the emotional stamina to deal with what is happening. I feel like someone just ran me over with a semi and then proceeded to back up and do it again. And again.
Griffin’s anger was warranted. I understood the feeling of betrayal because I should have said something. But to go to this length? To have me removed? It feels…painful. So fucking painful.
“Thank you,” I manage to croak out when they finish speaking. I stand up, trying to do it with dignity, and leave.
I don’t remember the walk home.
I remember doors and sidewalks and the vague sensation of moving forward like my body is on autopilot and my brain has fully clocked out, because if I actually let myself think about what just happened while I’m still in public, I’m pretty sure I’d end up sitting on the curb and sobbing.
So I don’t do that.
I get home. I unlock the door. I step inside the apartment that has always felt safe in a way nowhere else really does, and I don’t even bother taking my shoes off before I’m dropping my bag on the floor and pressing my back against the door like I need it to physically hold me upright.
Hughie’s there.
He’s in the kitchen, probably just back from lift or about to head out, holding a glass of water, and the second he looks up and sees my face, everything changes.
He lowers his glass, still clutching it tightly in his hand, and his entire body goes still as he catalogues me. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel because he seems stricken.
“…What happened?” he asks quietly.
And that’s it. That’s the crack.
I open my mouth to answer him like a normal human being and instead my chest caves in on itself and this awful, broken sound comes out of me that I don’t recognize at first because I haven’t cried like this in years.
I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled in, and hands fisted in my hoodie.
“I’m not-” I choke, dragging in a breath that burns. “I’m not on hockey anymore. They fired me.”
Hughie’s glass hits the counter a second later. He’s across the room before I even register movement, crouching in front of me, hands on my knees, and his face tight with fury. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight and barely restrained.
“What do you mean you’re not on hockey?”
“They-” I laugh, and it’s hysterical and awful.
“They reassigned me. Coach, the AD, my advisor. They said someone was uncomfortable. That it was about perception. That it could affect Harvard. That it wasn’t punishment but-” I shake my head hard, tears spilling over now.
“It feels like punishment. They said they were protecting me from a sexual harassment claim.”
Hughie doesn’t interrupt. He just listens with his jaw clenched and eyes locked on the tears spilling down my cheeks.
“They said sexual orientation…like being bi has made me a problem or made someone on the team uncomfortable,” I whisper. “They said sexual harassment. They said they didn’t want to make waves and now I’m not allowed near the team anymore.”
For a split second, I see it in his face. The I warned you. The I tried to protect you. The this is exactly what I was afraid of. But he doesn’t say it, which I am eternally grateful for.
Instead, he pulls me forward, crushing my head into his chest, one arm wrapped around my shoulders so tight it almost hurts.
“That’s bullshit,” he says low and steady into my hair. “That is absolute fucking bullshit.”
I sob harder at that, because somehow his anger feels like permission to fall apart.
“I fucked up,” I choke. “I crossed lines. I….I loved that team, Hugh. I loved working with them. I was good at it.”
“I know,” he says immediately. “I know you were.”
“I feel like he just… erased me,” I whisper. “Like I was a liability instead of a person. He went to the fucking school instead of talking to me.”
Hughie’s jaw flexes and his grip tightens just a fraction. He knows exactly who I’m talking about. I know he probably wants to say a lot of shit but right now I don’t think I could handle hearing it. I’m so fucking…broken inside.
“He doesn’t get to decide your worth,” he says. “Griffin crossed a line doing this.”
I pull back just enough to look at him, face wrecked, eyes red and swollen, chest still stuttering. “You told me to be careful.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, and yeah…there it is again, that quiet I told you so sitting right under the surface. He just nods once, honest but gentle.
“I did,” he admits. “Because I was scared for you. Not because you did anything wrong. Your…relationship was consensual.”
That almost hurts worse.
He cups the back of my head and presses his forehead to mine. “And this? This doesn’t mean you were wrong to feel things. I…fuck, man. I wish I would have went to Griff right away. Or at least, never asked you to keep the secret. This is my fault too.”
I close my eyes and lean into him, letting myself cry it out fully now, ugly and shaking and uncontained, because for all his flaws, Hughie has always been the one place I don’t have to be composed or impressive or perfect.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
“You move on,” he says simply. “You let yourself be pissed and sad and wrecked. And then we figure it out together.”