Chapter 22
DANNY
The first video hits social media before we even leave the hotel.
I sit in the hotel security office with Noah, head of security, and the four drunk assholes who started this whole thing. My lip’s still bleeding. My knuckles are split. And my phone won’t stop buzzing.
Security’s reviewing footage from the hotel cameras while the drunk guy who recorded us kissing sits there with a smug look on his face.
“He attacked me,” the guy says. “Unprovoked. I wanna to press charges.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “You called us—”
“Danny.” Noah’s hand on my arm stops me. “Don’t say anything else.”
“But he—”
“Don’t.”
The hotel security guard looks at his monitor. “Our cameras show Mr. Masterson grabbing a phone. Then Mr. Tanner here pushed him. Then his friend used a slur. Then Mr. Masterson threw a punch.”
“He assaulted me,” the drunk guy…Tanner…says.
“You provoked him with hate speech,” Noah says, his voice cold and professional despite everything. “That’s on camera too.”
“Doesn’t matter. He hit me. That’s assault.”
My phone buzzes again. I pull it out and frown at a text from Carter.
Dude what the fuck? You’re all over the Internet.
My stomach drops.
Notifications blow up my phone - YouTube, Instagram, TikTok, Facebook. There are already a bunch of videos. They’re taken at different angles, but they all show the same thing.
Me and Noah kissing on the street.
Tanner recording us, making asshole comments.
Me grabbing for his phone.
The fight.
And the comments. Jesus, the comments.
Raptors player Masterson caught kissing a MAN outside team event
Is this the PR guy who supervised his probation??? He’s the coach’s son
Coach’s son and a player holy shit
Violence and now this? Trade him
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Noah leans over to look at my screen. Color drips from his face.
“We need to leave,” he says to security. “Now.”
“We’re not done—“
“Unless you’re pressing charges, we’re done. And if Mr. Tanner wants to press charges for assault, I’ll make sure every media outlet in the country knows he provoked it with homophobic slurs caught on your cameras.”
The security guard looks at Tanner. “You want to press charges?”
Tanner looks at his phone, at the videos already spreading, at the attention this is getting.
“No,” he finally says. “Just keep him away from me.”
“Gladly,” I say.
Noah and I leave through a back exit to escape the attention from the event. We don’t talk. We don’t look at each other. We just walk to the parking garage in silence.
When we get to his car, he finally speaks.
“This is bad.”
“I know.”
“Videos are everywhere. People are tagging the team, the league, and our sponsors.”
“I know.”
“Marshall’s going to call. The league’s going to call. This is going to blow up—“
“I know!” My voice echoes in the empty garage. “I know it’s bad, Noah. I was there. I’m the one who threw the punch.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“He called us—” I stop to take a breath. “He used a slur. What was I supposed to do?”
“Walk away. Like we practiced. Like you’ve been doing.”
“For six weeks. We’ve been together six weeks and I’m supposed to just let some asshole—“
“Yes! Because this is exactly what happens when you don’t!” He runs a hand through his hair. “This is what we were trying to avoid and now it’s everywhere and there’s no taking it back.”
We stand there in the parking garage, both of us breathing hard, the weight of what just happened crushing down around us.
“What do we do?” I finally ask.
“I don’t know. I need to think. I need to—“ His phone rings. He looks at the screen and rakes a hand through his hair. “Shit. It’s Marshall.”
“Already?”
“Someone probably sent him the video.” He stabs the screen. “Bob. Yes, I saw it. I’m with Masterson now. We’re leaving the hotel. Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
He hangs up. “Marshall wants to see me tonight at the arena.”
“What about me?”
“He wants you there tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because he wants to talk to me first. About damage control and about what the hell we’re going to say when the media starts calling.”
“Are you going to tell him? About us?”
Noah’s quiet for a long moment, his eyebrows knitted together.
“I don’t know. Maybe I won’t have to. The videos are pretty clear.”
“Noah—”
“I have to go. Get some sleep. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t post anything. Don’t respond to texts from the media.” He gets in his car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He drives away, and I’m left standing in the parking garage alone.
My phone buzzes with another text from Carter.
Are you okay? Where are you?
I don’t respond.
More texts come in. From Jack. From Tate. From teammates, my parents, all of them asking what happened, if the videos are real, if I’m okay.
I turn off my phone and drive home.
The next morning, my phone has 247 notifications.
Social media is a nightmare. Sports blogs are running stories.
“Raptors Player Masterson in Altercation Outside Team Event”
“Video Shows Masterson Kissing Man Before Fight”
“Is Coach Enver’s Son Dating a Player?”
I force myself to read some of them.
Most focus on the fight. The punch. They speculate about whether I’ll be suspended.
But there’s some focus on the kiss and on Noah and the fact that he’s the coach’s son.
Comments go from supportive to vicious. Some people defend us, some call us disgusting, some wonder about whether I got special treatment during probation because we were sleeping together.
That one makes my stomach turn.
At eight-thirty, I get a text from Noah.
I’m already here. Marshall’s office. Don’t be late.
I arrive at the arena at eight forty-five. The place is quiet. It’s too early for most staff to be here, thankfully.
I head to Marshall’s office. The door’s closed.
I knock.
“Come in.”
I open the door. Marshall sits behind his desk and Noah sits in one of the chairs across from him, looking like he hasn’t slept. Coach Enver stands by the window, his jaw so tight, his teeth might be damn close to cracking.
Fuck.
“Sit down, Masterson,” Marshall says.
I sit in the chair next to Noah. We don’t look at each other.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the videos,” Marshall says.
“Yes sir.”
“Then you know how bad this looks.”
“Yes sir.”
“The league called me at midnight. They’re reviewing the incident. Considering disciplinary action.”
My stomach drops. “How much?”
“Depends on what the investigation finds. Could be anywhere from five games to twenty.”
“Twenty games? For defending myself from a homophobic—”
“For assaulting someone at a team-sponsored event,” Marshall interrupts. “That’s how they’re framing it. And that’s how it’s going to play in the media unless we can control the narrative.”
I look at Noah. He’s staring at his hands.
“What about the slur?” I ask. “That’s on video too.”
“It is. And we’ll use that in our defense. But it doesn’t change the fact that you threw the first punch.”
“He shoved me first.”
“After you grabbed for his phone.”
“Because he was recording us without permission—”
“You shouldn’t have an expectation of privacy in public.
Filming on a sidewalk isn't illegal.” Marshall leans forward.
“Look, I understand why you reacted the way you did. But understanding doesn’t change the optics.
You assaulted someone, it was caught on camera…
again…and now the league has to respond. ”
Silence falls over the room.
Then Coach Enver speaks for the first time.
“What about the other part?”
Marshall glances at him. “I don’t think—”
“We need to address it.” Coach turns from the window, looks at Noah, then at me. “Is it true? What the videos show? Are you two together?”
More silence.
Noah doesn’t move or speak.
So I do.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re together.”
Coach’s face stays stoic. “For how long?”
“Since probation ended. Officially. But—” I stop. “It started before that.”
“Before probation ended?” Marshall looks at Noah. “While you were supervising him.”
“Yes,” Noah says quietly.
“Jesus Christ.” Marshall stands up and paces the area behind his desk.
“Do you understand what this means? The league’s going to investigate whether Masterson received preferential treatment.
Whether the suspension was too lenient because of your relationship.
Whether the entire probation process was compromised. ”
“It wasn’t,” Noah says. “Everything was done by the book. The league made the disciplinary decision. I just coordinated—”
“You coordinated while sleeping with him?”
“Not while supervising him. It was afterward.”
“Semantics. It looks the same from the outside.” Marshall stops pacing. “This is a disaster. The coach’s son in a relationship with a player. A player he was assigned to manage. This calls into question your judgment, Noah. And mine for hiring you.”
“Bob—” Coach Enver starts.
“No. This is bad. For all of us. And for the organization.” Marshall looks at Noah. “I need you to write a statement explaining your relationship to Masterson. When it started, how it developed. I want full disclosure.”
“Are you asking me to resign?” Noah asks.
“I’m asking you to be transparent so we can get ahead of this before it gets worse.”
“It’s already everywhere,” I say. “How could it get worse?”
“The league investigating the probation process. Sponsors pulling funding. Media digging into every interaction you two had. It gets a lot worse, Masterson.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, my brow furrowing at the unknown number. I click on the text.
Alex Naylor, Chicago Tribune. I’d like to get your comment on the videos from last night. Call me.
I show Marshall. “It’s starting.”
“Don’t respond to that,” Noah says. “Don’t talk to Alex.”
“I think it’s too late to worry about one reporter,” Marshall says. “Everyone’s running this story now.”
Coach Enver, who’s been quiet, finally speaks again.
“Noah. Can I talk to you? Alone?”
Marshall nods. “Go. Use the conference room. Masterson, stay here.”
Noah and Coach leave. I’m left alone with Marshall, who’s looking at me like I just cost him his job.
“The way you kissed him in that video wasn’t casual,” Marshall says to me. “Am I right?”
I think about lying, then realize there’s no point.
“Yes. It’s serious.”
“And you didn’t think this might be a problem? For a whole lot of us?”
“Of course I thought it was a problem. That’s why we hid it.”
“Well, you’re not hiding it anymore.” Marshall sinks back down into his chair. “The league’s going to suspend you, Masterson. The question is for how long. And they may also investigate the probation process. If they find evidence that Noah gave you preferential treatment—“
“He didn’t.”
“—then this gets even worse. For him. For Coach Enver. For everyone.”
“What about me?”
“You?” Marshall almost laughs. “You’re a hockey player who punched someone and got caught kissing the PR director assigned to supervise you.
You’ll survive this. You might even come out looking sympathetic if we play it right.
” He pauses. “But Noah? His career in sports PR is over. Coach’s reputation is damaged.
And the organization looks like we can’t maintain basic professional standards. ”
“I didn’t mean for any of this—“
His lips pull into a tight line. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. What matters is what happened. And what happens next.”
We sit in silence. I stare at the closed door, wondering what Coach is saying to Noah.
Wondering if we’re about to lose everything.