Chapter 35
Mason
Istood outside Sutton’s office door feeling like an idiot. Hockey players weren’t supposed to get nervous. We bled on purpose. Faced down guys twice our size without blinking. But asking for help with personal shit? Worse than a puck to the teeth.
Lila’s face from yesterday flashed in my mind, the way it tightened when she saw those comments online. I knocked. Three sharp raps, no hesitation. For Lila, I could do this.
“Come in!” Sutton’s cheerful voice carried through the door.
I pushed it open and found her among a hurricane of papers, promotional materials, and at least three laptops, each chiming with notifications.
Her sun-kissed blonde hair was piled into a loose bun.
She wore something sleek and professional, but she still had that upbeat, beach-day energy, like she belonged on a surfboard.
The office itself looked like a repurposed storage room. No windows. Buzzing overhead lights. Space for her desk and one miserable chair. Basically, a penalty box with a printer.
“Mason!” Her green eyes widened. “What brings you to the fan engagement dungeon?”
I shifted, suddenly aware of how much space I took up in a room this small. “Got a minute?”
“For one of our star defensemen? Always.” She pointed to the chair across from her desk. “Though I’ll admit, this is unexpected. Miami’s already obsessed with you.”
“Yeah, well.” I lowered myself into the chair. It creaked, but it held. “I need advice. Professional advice.” I swallowed. “It’s about my girlfriend.”
“Lila Prescott, right?” A knowing look crossed her face. “The interior designer you’ve been seeing.”
“How’d you…” I started, then waved it off.
“Part of my job is tracking what people are saying about our players online.” Her smile turned apologetic. “So yes. I’ve seen the chatter.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “Then you probably know about what she’s dealing with.”
Sutton leaned forward a fraction. “The Epic Fail Girl thing?”
My jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
“I actually know quite a bit about it,” Sutton admitted. “Not just because of the team accounts. It was unavoidable a few years back.”
Of course she did. Sutton practically lived online. It was her job. “That’s why I’m here. You know how to handle this stuff. Social media. Public image.” I met her eyes. “And Lila needs help.”
Sutton’s expression softened. “How’s she doing? That video went viral. Like grandmothers-sharing-it-on-Facebook viral.”
“Not great.” I exhaled. “My ex, the one you met at the meet-and-greet, accused Lila of that whole sex dungeon debacle.” My hands curled into fists, and I forced them to relax. “Then someone recognized her as the Epic Fail Girl at one of my games. She spiraled hard after that.”
“Yeah, I saw all of it.” Sutton went quiet for a second, her fingers tapping the tabletop.
“Lila took the brunt of the public backlash. From a PR standpoint, you came out relatively unscathed. Upper management’s plan was to slap you on the wrist and then ride it out with no public comment. Let it fade on its own.”
“Yeah, that was fun.” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “The GM had the nerve to threaten me with the morality clause in my contract. Over the so-called sex dungeon. Can you believe that guy?”
Sutton laughed, mischief flickering in her eyes. “Oh, I believe it. If he had his way, we’d all be wearing ‘No Fun Allowed’ T-shirts to work.”
“But I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about Lila.” Frustration tightened my chest. “I wanted this to die, but it keeps following her. She was in a client meeting a few days ago and the guy’s teenage son recognized her. Called her ‘Epic Fail Girl’ to her face.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I stared at my hands for a moment, fingers flexing. “She acted like it was fine, but later that night she cried. Tried to hide it, but I could tell.” I looked up at Sutton. “And there’s nothing I can say that fixes it.”
She nodded, sympathetic.
“It seemed like things were getting better.” I scratched the back of my neck and glanced away while I found the words. “Things between us have been great. Meeting Lila has made this trade to the sauna you people call a city worth it.”
Sutton grinned. “You Canadians and your delicate constitutions.”
“Back home, October already means hoodies, eh? Not whatever hellscape this is.” My mouth twitched with a smile. Sutton had that effect on people. “Anyway, I thought Lila was working through it. She was planning to come to our game tomorrow night.”
“That’s great!”
“Was great,” I corrected, and my mood darkened again. “Then some fan posted a picture of us at dinner last night. Harmless. Until Lila read the comments. It was one of those unofficial fan sites.”
Sutton winced. “She can’t hide when she’s dating you.”
“Bingo.” The memory of Lila’s face when she showed me the post made my ribs feel tight. “Fucking vultures. They smell blood and pile on. Lila doesn’t deserve any of it.”
“So now she’s having second thoughts about coming,” Sutton guessed.
“Yeah. She says she wants to support me, but I can see she’s scared. Scared of cameras landing on her, of being recognized, of the whole damn thing starting up again.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “It’s been five years. When does this shit die?”
“The internet has a long memory,” Sutton said, grimacing. “Especially when something turns into a meme. It’s not just the original video anymore. It’s the derivatives, the remixes, the reaction videos.”
“Great. Exactly what I wanted to hear,” I muttered.
“Sorry.” She turned her laptop toward herself and started typing. “Look, normally this stuff does die down. People move on to the next viral moment.”
“She shouldn’t have to deal with it at all. She’s an amazing person, but all anyone sees is the banana spanx.”
Sutton’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “There are a few ways we could handle it. A press release addressing it head-on. Or a heartfelt post about cyberbullying and how it follows you.”
I shook my head. “That won’t fix anything. It’ll just pour gas on it.”
Her eyes narrowed as she weighed options. “Okay. What about an interview where she talks about her career and her work, and she addresses the video briefly as one silly moment?”
“I can’t see her doing an interview.” I kept my tone even, but the frustration was still there. “She doesn’t want more publicity. That’s the problem. The more she’s connected to me publicly, the more people dig up the video.”
Sutton tapped a pen against her lips, thinking. “What about a funny ‘Where Are They Now?’ video? Something that shows Lila in a few scenarios where she ‘fails’ the same way, but she always gets back up smiling. It could show she can laugh at herself and humanize the whole thing.”
I pictured suggesting that to Lila and winced. “Not gonna happen. She doesn’t want to put herself out there again.”
“Hm.” Sutton leaned back, twirling the pen between her fingers. Then her eyes sparked. “Okay. We think outside the box. If she’s not comfortable being the face of this, maybe…” Her smile turned sharp with excitement. “Maybe you could be.”
“Me?”
“Not just you.” She sat forward, energy climbing. “The team. What if we use the Miami Fusion platform to change the narrative?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “How would that work, exactly?”
“We host a special game night.” The words started coming faster. “An ‘Epic Fail Luck Night.’”
“You want to name a game night after the thing that’s making her miserable?”
“Just listen.” Sutton held up both hands. “What was the most mortifying part of Lila’s video? The banana spanx, right? So what if we turn it into something fun instead of something cruel?”
I stared at her. “I’m not following.”
“We make the banana a good luck symbol.” She started ticking ideas off on her fingers.
“Banana-themed warm-up jerseys. Banana merch with proceeds going to charity, like a children’s hospital.
We get Miamiasaurus Rex involved, maybe with a giant banana costume overlay.
Fan contests. Silly dances. The whole arena leaning into it. ”
“And how does that help Lila?”
“Because it changes the story.” Sutton snapped her fingers. “It takes the humiliation and turns it into something positive. Instead of ‘Epic Fail Girl,’ she becomes ‘the woman who inspired a charity night that raised thousands for sick kids.’”
I leaned back, letting it land. “So instead of hiding from it, or pretending it never happened…”
“We transform it,” Sutton finished. “And the best part is Lila doesn’t have to do anything if she doesn’t want to. She can show up as your girlfriend. The focus stays on the charity and the team, not on her.”
The idea was smart, but I still had one problem. “Can you actually make all that happen? Special jerseys, merch, the whole deal? That’s a lot.”
“If we do it, we go all in. Half measures won’t move the needle.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to decide if she was serious. “And management will sign off on this?”
“I’ll sell it to them.” Sutton leaned back like she’d already won the argument. “It builds community, it generates goodwill, and it’s a fun storyline.”
“And you’re sure you can pull this off?”
Something flickered across Sutton’s expression, like she’d almost said too much. “Trust me. I might be a junior fan engagement specialist, but I’ve got some… pull with upper management.”
“Connections, eh?” I kept my tone dry.
She shrugged, a little too casual. “Let’s just say I can make it happen.”
I held her gaze for a second, curiosity pricking. Sutton had leverage, and she wasn’t offering an explanation. I filed it away for later.
Right now, only one thing mattered. “And you really think this could work? That it could change how people see her?”
“I do,” Sutton said firmly. “People love a redemption story, even when there’s nothing to redeem. And hockey fans love feeling like they’re part of something bigger than a game.”