17. Tessa
TESSA
Story goes live tomorrow at noon. Last chance to comment. - M. Romano, Chicago Tribune
"No, no, no." I'm pacing my apartment in yesterday's clothes, having spent the night stress-cleaning my already spotless kitchen while spiraling about every possible worst-case scenario. "This is not happening."
I call Dax immediately, my hands shaking so badly I can barely hit his contact.
"Tessa? What's wrong?"
"Romano. The reporter from the café. He's publishing tomorrow." My voice cracks on the last word. "Dax, we're fucked. We are so completely, utterly fucked."
"Breathe. Where are you?"
"My apartment. Hyperventilating. Possibly having a mental breakdown."
"I'm coming over. Don't do anything stupid while I'm driving."
"Like what? Set my career on fire? Too late for that."
Twenty minutes later, he's holding me while I ugly-cry into his chest about how this is exactly what happened in Seattle, how I'm cursed, how I should have known better than to think I could have something good without it exploding in my face.
"Hey," he says, tilting my chin up. "Look at me. We're going to figure this out."
"How? Harrison gave us forty-eight hours.
The media threat is now twenty-four hours.
Your trade decision is forty-eight hours.
The team leaves for the road trip in three days.
" I'm counting on my fingers like a deranged mathematician.
"Everything is happening at once and I can't—I can't think straight. "
"Then we go somewhere we can think straight. Neutral territory. Away from here, away from the facility."
An hour later, we're sitting in a corner booth at a diner forty minutes outside the city, surrounded by truckers and early-shift workers who couldn't give less of a shit about hockey drama.
"Okay," Dax says, spreading sugar packets across the table like we're planning a military operation. "Our options. One: we hide. Deny everything, hope it blows over."
"That worked so well in Seattle," I mutter.
"Two: we fight. Go public ourselves, control the narrative, tell Harrison to fuck off."
"And risk both our careers."
"Three: we run. I take the Boston trade, you resign, we disappear and try to make it work long-distance."
The thought of him leaving makes my chest feel like it's caving in. "That's not running. That's surrendering."
"What do you want to do, Tessa? Really want to do, not what you think you should do."
Before I can answer, my phone rings. Coach Martinez.
"Dr. Bennett? I need you at the facility. Emergency team meeting."
"Is everything okay?"
"Just... get here. Soon as you can."
The practice facility feels different when we arrive.
There's an energy in the air, a tension that has nothing to do with upcoming games and everything to do with the fact that apparently half the team is clustered around Jamie Torres in the hallway, having what looks like a very intense conversation.
"Shit," Dax mutters. "They know."
"How could they possibly know?"
"Because I've been playing like garbage and walking around looking like someone killed my dog. These guys aren't stupid."
Jamie spots us first. "There they are. Both of you, conference room. Now."
"Torres—" Dax starts.
"No, man. No more bullshit. We're having this conversation."
The conference room fills up with players, and I'm sitting there feeling like I'm about to be voted off the island when Jamie stands up.
"Okay, so here's the thing," he announces. "We all know you two are together."
My heart stops. "Jamie?—"
"And we also all know Harrison's being a dick about it."
Several players nod, murmuring agreement.
"So we voted," Jamie continues. "Unanimous decision. We think you're both incredible at your jobs, you make each other happy, and anyone who has a problem with that can kiss our collective asses."
"That's very sweet," I manage, "but it's not that simple?—"
"Actually, it is that simple," interrupts Kevin, one of the rookies. "You helped me through my panic attacks. You probably saved my career."
"And you make Kingston tolerable to be around," adds Torres with a grin. "Which is honestly a fucking miracle."
"Hey," Dax protests, but he's fighting a smile.
"Look," Jamie gets serious. "We don't know what Harrison's threatening you with, but we want you to know that if you fight this, you've got the whole team behind you. All of us."
Before either of us can answer Jamie's question, Coach Martinez appears in the doorway looking like he's aged ten years since yesterday.
"Players, out. Bennett, Kingston, my office. Now."
The team files out with supportive nods and shoulder pats, and Jamie whispers, "Whatever you decide, we've got your backs."
Martinez closes his office door and immediately starts pacing. "I just got off a very interesting phone call with three board members."
"About us?" I ask, my stomach dropping.
"About Harrison. Turns out his little surveillance operation and intimidation tactics haven't gone unnoticed upstairs." Martinez stops pacing and looks directly at me. "They're concerned about his management style, especially regarding female staff members."
"What kind of concerned?" Dax leans forward.
"They are questioning whether his methods are creating liability issues for the organization.
" Martinez pulls out a folder. "They've also noticed that team performance has improved significantly since Dr. Bennett joined the staff.
Chemistry's better, player satisfaction surveys are up, even our PR metrics have improved. "
I blink. "They track that?"
"They track everything. And what they're seeing is a coach trying to fix something that isn't broken while potentially exposing the organization to discrimination lawsuits."
"So what does that mean for us?" Dax asks.
"It means you might have more support than you think. But it also means Harrison's getting desperate, which makes him dangerous."
An hour later after the discussion with Martinez, we're sitting when Dax suddenly asks.
"What do you want to do, Tessa?"
The honest answer surprises me. "I want to fight. I'm tired of running, tired of letting assholes like Harrison and Marcus Williams destroy good things."
"Even if it means I might lose Boston?"
"Dax, if you take that trade to protect me, you'll resent me forever. And if I let you sacrifice your dreams for me, I'll never forgive myself."
"And if we both lose everything?"
He cups my face in his hands. "You realize I love you more than hockey, right? More than Boston, more than any contract they could offer me?"
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true. Yeah, Boston would be incredible. But without you? It would just be hockey. And I've been just playing hockey my whole life until I met you."
I'm definitely crying now. "You're going to make me ruin my mascara."
"I'll buy you new mascara. I'll buy you a whole fucking makeup store."
"That's very romantic in a capitalist sort of way."
"I'm trying to tell you I choose you, Tessa. Over everything else, I choose you."
After Dax helps me control my emotions we're walking back to my office to plan our strategy when I see him standing by my door. Harrison, in his expensive suit, holding what looks like legal documents and wearing the coldest smile I've ever seen.
"Dr. Bennett," he says pleasantly. "Perfect timing. I have some paperwork for you."
He hands me the documents, and my heart stops as I read the header:
Notice of Immediate Termination for Policy Violations.
"You have one hour to clear out your office," Harrison continues, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Security will escort you out when you're finished."