Chapter 22 Return #2
When the door closed behind him, Jace slumped back against the couch and exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for an hour. “That was...”
“Good?” I offered.
“Yeah. Actually.” He looked at me, something lighter in his expression than I'd seen in weeks. “Thank you. For texting Rook. For making that happen.”
“You're welcome.” I walked over to the kitchen, started consolidating leftover containers. “Now eat more of that food, take your meds, and get some rest. We're going to the facility in the morning.”
“Got it.” He stood, testing his weight on the bad leg. “I'm going to shower and crash. You staying?”
I looked at him—exhausted but less haunted than he'd been at the cabin, standing in his own space instead of hiding from it. “Yeah. I'm staying.”
“Good.” He disappeared into the bathroom, and I finished cleaning up, putting his apartment back in order while my brain ran through tomorrow's conversation.
This was going to be a fight. But it was a fight worth having.
Paul and June were waiting outside my door when we finally made it to my office. Paul leaning against the wall in his expensive suit, arms crossed, face carved from stone. June standing beside him with her tablet clutched like a weapon, perfectly composed except for the tightness around her eyes.
Fuck.
“Coach Sutherland,” Paul said. Not a greeting. A statement.
“Paul. June.” I kept my voice neutral, kept walking toward the door. “We're back.”
“So I see.” Paul pushed off the wall. “Inside. Now.”
I unlocked the office door and we all filed in. Paul claimed one of the chairs across from my desk. June stood near the window, tablet ready. Jace lingered near the door.
“Sit down, Hartley,” Paul said.
Jace sat carefully, leg extended slightly. I moved behind my desk, staying on my feet.
Paul didn't waste time. “When I called you last week, you told me you were 'checking on Hartley.' You want to explain to me what that actually meant?”
“Exactly what I said. Hartley needed help recovering. I made sure he got it.”
“By disappearing for a week without clearing it with anyone first?” Paul's voice was cold. “You're the head coach, Grant. You don't get to vanish during a critical stretch of the season without running it through proper channels.”
“I left the assistants in charge. They knew what to do.”
“That's not the point.” Paul leaned forward. “The point is you made a unilateral decision about our franchise player and then took off. No approval from medical. No heads-up to PR so we could manage the narrative. I found out where you were because I called you, not because you told me.”
He was right. I knew he was right.
“You're correct,” I said evenly. “I should have contacted you before we left. That was a mistake.”
Paul blinked, clearly not expecting the admission. “Damn right it was.”
June stepped in, voice calm. “We've had outlets asking questions about the nature of your relationship with Hartley. One blog is speculating about favoritism. We need to make sure there's a clean narrative here.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“That you arranged a recovery retreat for an injured player to focus on healing away from media pressure.” She looked between us. “That works as long as there's nothing that contradicts it. So I need to know—is there anything I need to get ahead of?”
“No,” I said firmly.
June studied me for a long moment, then made a note on her tablet. “Keep it that way.”
Paul stood, paced to the window. “Alright. Now let's talk about what actually matters.” He turned to Jace. “You told me on the phone you'd be ready for prelims. Can you deliver or not?”
Jace straightened despite the pain it caused. “I'll be ready.”
“That's not what I asked.” Paul's voice was flat. “Can you play? Or are you going to get out there and be useless?”
“I can play.”
“At what percentage?”
Jace didn't hesitate. “Enough to make a difference.”
Paul studied him for a long moment. “Fine. Then you work with Tess. Daily rehab sessions. I don't care what the doctors say about timelines - I care that you show up ready when prelims start. You miss sessions, you're wasting my time. You half-ass the work, you're done. Clear?”
“Clear.”
Paul turned to me. “And you. You're comfortable putting him on the ice?”
“If Tess clears him for game action, yes.” The words tasted like ash. “But he follows her protocol. If she says he's not ready, he doesn't play.”
“I don't care about protocol. I care about wins.” Paul's jaw was tight. “Tess gets him functional. You get him on the ice. Hartley scores goals. That's how this works.”
“Understood,” I said.
Paul looked at me. “You're back on the bench tomorrow. Full practice. No more disappearing acts. No more decisions I find out about secondhand. You run things through proper channels, or I'll find a coach who will.”
“Understood,” I said.
“Good.” Paul moved toward the door, stopped. “One more thing. If I catch even a hint of something inappropriate between a coach and his player, I will bury both of you so fast you won't know what hit you. Are we clear?”
I felt Jace tense. Felt my own hands curl into fists. But I kept my voice level. “Crystal.”
Paul nodded and walked out. June lingered, eyes moving between us.
“I hope you know what you're doing,” she said quietly. “Both of you.”
Then she followed Paul out, closing the door behind her.
The silence was suffocating. I stood behind my desk, jaw clenched, trying to breathe through the fury.
“Grant—” Jace started.
“Don't.” I held up a hand. “Just... give me a minute.”
I turned to the window, forced myself to calm down. When I could speak without yelling, I turned back.
“You okay?”
“Are you?”
“I will be.” I moved around the desk. “That could have been worse.”
“He basically threatened to destroy us if anyone finds out.”
“Yeah.” I met his eyes. “You still sure about this?”
“I already promised him. I'm not backing out now.”
“Even if it costs you?”
“Even then.” He stood carefully. “I've got Tess. If anyone can get me ready, it's her.”
I wanted to argue. But we'd already had this fight.
“Alright. Let's go see Tess. Get you started.” I grabbed my jacket. “The sooner you begin, the better your chances.”
The training room was empty except for Tess, who looked up from her computer when we walked in. Her eyes moved between us, taking in Jace's limp and my tight jaw, and I saw understanding flash across her face.
“Hartley,” she said. “Heard you were back. Ready to get to work?”
“Yeah.” Jace moved toward the treatment table. “Grant said you're going to fix me.”
“I'm going to get you functional.” She pulled out a folder, flipped it open. “But you're going to do the hard part. This is going to hurt, it's going to be frustrating, and you're going to want to quit halfway through. But if you stick with it, you'll be ready.”
“For prelims?”
Tess was quiet for a moment, studying him. “Maybe. If you do everything I say. If you don't push too hard. If the healing continues at your current rate.” She paused. “But it's going to be close.”
“Close is good enough.” Jace sat down on the table. “Let's get started.”
I watched Tess begin the evaluation—range of motion tests, pain assessments, strength measurements—and felt the worry settle heavy in my chest. Twelve days wasn't enough time. I knew it. Tess knew it. Probably even Jace knew it.
But we were doing it anyway, because Paul had left us no choice.
“I'm going to head back to my office,” I said when Tess started working on his shoulder. “You need anything, text me.”
Jace looked at me, and I saw the fear underneath the determination. “You'll be here? Tomorrow?”
“Every day.” I met his eyes. “I'm not going anywhere.”