Chapter 26 #2
“If you do this, it confirms the story,” June said urgently. “It makes the photos real. It turns speculation into fact. You'll create a media firestorm that will be ten times worse than what we're dealing with now.”
“It's already out of our hands,” Paul said, voice clipped.
“The league office called this morning. They're launching a formal investigation.
Ethics committee, player welfare review, the whole nine yards.
They want to examine every decision Grant's made regarding Hartley. Ice time, benching decisions, the cabin trip. Everything.”
My stomach dropped.
“How long?” June asked.
“Minimum two weeks. Could be longer depending on what they find.” Paul looked at me with cold satisfaction. “They said they'll allow you to coach through prelims but make no mistake, Grant. They're building a case. And when they're done, you're finished.”
“Unless the investigation clears him,” June pointed out.
“It won't.” Paul's voice was certain.
Then the door slammed open.
Rook walked in first, still in practice gear, followed by O'Rourke, Volkov, Mercer, Cho, and half a dozen others. They filled the office, crowding in, and I felt my heart stop.
What the fuck were they doing?
“You can't fire him,” Rook said. His voice was calm, captain-steady, but there was steel underneath.
Paul's face went red. “Get out of my office. All of you.”
“No.” Rook didn't move. “If you fire Coach Sutherland, we walk. All of us.”
The room went dead silent.
“You're under contract,” Paul said slowly. “You can't just quit.”
“We can refuse to play. We can sit out the prelims. We can make this franchise look like a circus that sacrifices good coaches to protect its image.” Rook's voice never wavered.
“Fire him, and we make sure everyone knows why.
We make sure the media understands you terminated him for caring about a player's health.”
“That's insubordination.”
“That's loyalty.” O'Rourke spoke up, arms crossed. “Coach has been nothing but straight with us. He benched Hart when it needed to happen. He pushed us when we needed pushing. He's a good coach. And you're trying to throw him away over some photos that don't prove anything.”
“He admitted to a relationship!”
“He admitted to caring,” Mercer said. “There's a difference.”
Paul looked around the room, face twisted with fury, and I saw him realize the corner he was in. If he fired me, the team would rebel. If the team rebelled during prelims, the franchise would implode. And if the franchise imploded, his job would be next.
June stepped in, voice smooth and calculated.
“The league already said he can coach through prelims. Fire him now and you're creating chaos for no reason. You confirm every rumor. You make this front-page news for weeks. You destabilize the team right before the biggest games of the season.” She paused.
“Or you let him coach, let the investigation run its course, and we control the narrative until we have actual findings.”
Paul's jaw worked. His hands clenched and unclenched. I watched him do the math, watched him weigh his options, watched him realize he'd lost.
“Fine,” he spat. “One more incident—one whisper of impropriety, one photo, one moment that looks questionable—and I don't care what the league says, you're gone. No hearing, no appeal. Done.”
“Understood,” I said.
“And Hartley.” Paul turned his glare on Jace.
“You keep your head down. You play when you're cleared.
You don't give anyone ammunition. When the league interviews you—and they will—you better be very careful about what you say. Because if this investigation finds anything that compromises team integrity, I will bury both of you.”
Jace nodded once, jaw tight.
“Everyone out,” Paul said. “Except June. We need to discuss damage control before the league investigators show up.”
The team filed out slowly, and I followed them into the hallway. My legs felt shaky, and I couldn't quite process what had just happened. They'd saved me. The team had walked into the GM's office and threatened to quit if he fired me.
Rook was waiting in the hallway, and when I walked out, he nodded once. “Locker room. Now. We need to talk.”
The locker room felt different when I walked in. The guys were scattered around their stalls, some sitting, some standing, all watching me. Jace stood near his stall, arms crossed, looking exhausted and wrecked.
I stopped in the middle of the room, looked at each of them, and felt something break loose in my chest.
“Thank you,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I intended. “You didn't have to do that. You risked your careers, your contracts, your relationships with management. And I—” I stopped, swallowed hard. “I don't know how to repay that.”
“Don't need repayment,” Rook said. “Just don't make us regret it.”
“I won't.”
“Good.” Callahan spoke up from his stall. “Because that was some dramatic shit, Coach. Like, movie-level dramatic. You told the GM you love Hart right to his face.”
A few guys laughed, and I felt the tension break slightly.
“Yeah, I did.” I met Jace's eyes across the room. “And I'm not apologizing for it. Not to Paul. Not to anyone.”
“Good,” O'Rourke said. “Because if you'd backtracked after we stuck our necks out, I would've kicked your ass myself.”
More laughter. Mercer shook his head. “You're an idiot, Coach. But you're our idiot.”
“Appreciate that, Mercer.”
Rook stood up, walked over to stand beside me. “For the record, Coach? You're not as subtle as you think.”
Cho piped up from the corner. “You could've picked someone less dramatic than Hart. Maybe someone quieter. Less prone to injury.”
“Fuck you, Cho,” Jace said, but he was almost smiling.
“Just saying. Could've made our lives easier.”
The room dissolved into chirping, guys throwing jabs at each other, the tension finally breaking into something that felt almost normal. I stood there watching them and felt gratitude so overwhelming it threatened to choke me.
“Alright,” I said finally. “Enough. Stop worrying about my love life and start worrying about your defensive zone coverage.”
“Yes, Coach,” they chorused, and I heard the affection underneath the teasing.
As the room started to empty—guys heading to showers, grabbing gear, drifting off to whatever came next—Jace caught my eye and tilted his head toward my office. I followed him out, and when we were alone in the hallway, he stopped and turned to face me.
“You told Paul you loved me,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. I did.”
“Grant—” His voice cracked. “You could've lost everything.”
“I did lose everything. And then the team gave it back.” I reached out, brushed my hand against his. Quick, careful. “But I wasn't going to lie about you. Not anymore.”
His eyes went bright. “I love you too. For the record.”
I wanted to pull him close, kiss him, tell him everything I'd been holding back. But we were still in the hallway, still exposed, still under scrutiny.
“Later,” I said. “When we're not standing in a public hallway where anyone could see.”
“Later,” he agreed. “But Grant?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For protecting me. For fighting for me. For not backing down.”
“That's what you do for people you love,” I said quietly. “You fight for them even when it's terrifying.”
He smiled—small and genuine—and I felt something settle in my chest. We'd survived. Barely. Paul was watching, the media was circling, and one wrong move could still destroy us. But we'd survived.
And for now, that was enough.
“Come on,” I said. “Let's get through the next six days. Then we can figure out what comes after.”
We walked back toward the locker room together, side by side, and I let myself believe—just for a moment—that maybe this could actually work.