Chapter 32
Grayson
Ace’s phone has gone off three times, and I can’t believe he’s ignoring it.
Groaning, I reach for him and find his side of the bed empty.
I’m immediately awake but relax when I hear the shower running.
It’s way too early for someone to harass him, and I snatch his phone to silence it, but my heart stops when I see Finn’s name.
Finn never calls, and when he does, it’s not good news.
“Tinny.” I leap out of bed. “Finn has called three times.” The steam obscures my view of him in the glass shower.
“Finn? Google me.” He rinses himself off and grabs a towel.
“I told you that little shit was bad news.”
Trending on social media is the headline Ace Lapointe attacks a fan. Austin clutches his phone in disbelief.
“You aren’t getting involved. Please, please let me take the fall. What’s the worst that can happen?” I plead.
“No. I did it, and I’m taking responsibility.” The phone rings in his hand, and I take it and run. Not mature but effective.
“Finn,” I answer as I close myself in my bedroom with my back against the door so Austin can’t get in. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding. I hit that guy last night because I’d been drinking and he called me a nobody. It’s my fault.”
“You should know enough to text me if something like that happens,” he huffs. “You’re not a rookie, Ward. I expect more from you.”
“I know. The dude was an ass, and he thought Ace hit him, but I told him it was me. He’s lying,” I say without remorse.
“Can anyone back you up?”
“Umm, maybe. Rhys Brant was walking down the street, but I don’t know if he saw anything.” I’m praying to a higher power that Rhys is smart enough to keep his mouth shut if he saw what really happened.
“Both of you need to come in. I’ll work on a statement for your approval.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.
“What. Did. You. Do?” Austin seethes on the other side of the door.
I open it. “Good, you’re dressed. We need to be in Finn’s office for damage control ASAP. I told him the kid lied, and I hit him. If you change our story, I’ll be the liar.” This fact takes him aback, and his mouth snaps shut.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Yup.” I pat his cheek. If I take the blame, it will be yesterday’s news instead of a media circus around him. “I’ll change; there are protein muffins on the counter for breakfast.”
He drags me back to his room and insists I wear his clothes. “We’re not leaving until you put those on,” he says, pointing at the clothes on the bed, including his clean underwear. He seems to need this so I comply.
Austin’s quiet on the ride over, and I’m afraid he’ll tell the truth to be noble and honorable and all the things he is.
“Hey.” I take his hand. “This is a small thing I can do for you. Without you, I’d be living in my parents’ basement, crying about what could’ve been. You single-handedly dragged me out of my misery and helped me find a purpose. I love my job. Don’t paint me as a liar.”
“You fight dirty, and I’m not making any promises.” His blue eyes are clouded with conflict.
The elevator opens, and Finn’s waiting for us and starts talking as if we’re mid-conversation. “Rhys Brant put out a statement confirming Ward’s story that Ward punched”—he scans the paper— “Blaine Dumas after a verbal assault by Dumas.”
“Dumbass is more like it,” I mutter.
“I didn’t hear that. We only have positive things to say in this office. Unless it’s outstanding gossip,” Finn says over his shoulder as he walks toward the nearest conference room, expecting us to follow him.
“Ward, you’re very sorry for the altercation. It’s not like you, and you don’t condone violence to solve problems. The statement will be along those lines. Got it?” he asks and doesn’t wait for a response before he says, “Good.”
Austin is agitated and hates the situation I put him in. His need to tell the truth weighs on him, but it’s too late unless he paints both Rhys and me as liars, which I remind him of when he looks ready to burst.
I agree to a written apology, which needs to be approved by management before it’s sent out to news organizations. As Austin drives us to practice, I smugly read comment after comment that Dumas probably deserved it. He’s attacked for being a fame-seeking dickhead who can’t tell the truth.
“Look who’s here. The newest contender for light-weight boxing championship,” Benz teases.
“Nobody say a word,” Austin barks, and no one questions him. My smugness vanishes, and regret for making him lie settles in its place.
Halfway through practice, Mr. Dimon’s assistant, Wes, texts me to leave practice and come straight to Mr. Dimon’s office. The only thing that comes to my mind is that no good deed goes unpunished, but I’ll gladly suffer the consequences to spare Austin.
I text the group chat that an emergency came up and ask them to give Ace a ride home. I’m purposely cryptic so I don’t create any unnecessary panic.
Wes stands as if he’s nervous as I approach his desk. “He’s in a meeting, but he should be out soon.” He stares at me and doesn’t offer me the usual drinks or direct me to take a seat.
I wasn’t worried until now. Wes is unflappable.
A few minutes later, the mayor and another man exit Mr. Dimon’s office, glaring at me. I’m underdressed for this type of meeting.
Wes waves me into Mr. Dimon’s office and follows with an apologetic glance. He stands off to the side by the windows as Ari greets me from behind his desk.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” He gestures for me to sit.
The air, thick with tension, becomes hard to swallow. I should respond or say something, but my words are stuck in my dry throat.
“I asked Wes to stay as a witness.” He frowns and sits in his chair. “Do you know who left my office before you?”
“The mayor?” I respond, unsure.
“The mayor and the police chief.” He steeples his fingers on the desk. “It seems young Dumas is well connected and wants me to fire you.”
I stare without saying a word. Austin’s fame might have protected him from such pettiness, but as a nobody, I don’t have any clout. The silence drags on, but I don’t defend myself because it’s too late.
After my brain has discarded a million responses, I find my voice. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why?” he asks without anger or judgment.
“I love my job and this organization. I’m sorry about causing trouble.” My voice shakes, but it’s totally sincere.
Mr. Dimon’s eyes cut to Wes. “I promised the mayor and the chief that I would explain Mr. Dumas’s position regarding the altercation. Thank you for witnessing that.” With a nod, he dismisses Wes from the room.
“Help me understand your thought process.” He reclines in his chair.
“Sir, there wasn’t much thinking. I’d been drinking, and Dumas called me a nobody, which, pardon my language, pissed me off, and I hit him. I deeply regret my actions and any harm they might cause the team.” Only one word in my explanation was a lie.
“I don’t appreciate the mayor and chief of police trying to tell me how to run my organization.” He leans forward on his elbows. “I also need one hundred percent honesty to back my employees. Do you see how this leaves me in a bind, Mr. Ward?”
I shake my head. Mr. Dimon has a reputation for being a fair hard-ass, and I won’t break at the first sign of pressure from him. He can’t possibly know I’m lying.
“Did you know I’m the youngest GM in the NHL?
” My head bobs in acknowledgment. “Many people underestimate me because of it or try to intimidate me. I don’t argue with people’s perceptions.
One thing that sets me apart from my competitors is my thoroughness.
Blaine Dumas is the nephew of the mayor, and his father plays golf with the chief of police. ”
“Oh,” I say stupidly.
“Always know who you’re dealing with when you enter a fight, Mr. Ward. You didn’t know who you were dealing with, did you?”
“No,” I admit.
“I’m friends with the owner of the restaurant you were at last night. I asked him for the security camera footage. Would you like to change your story?”
“No, sir.” I’m not letting an entitled brat fuck up Austin’s career.
“Camera angles can be misleading. Dumas insulted me and lunged forward. I thought he was going to attack me or Ace, so I hit him. Ace threw his hands up to block Dumas. I’m sure it must be hard to see it accurately at night when everyone was wearing a black coat.
” I use Austin’s team nickname to downplay our relationship.
Mr. Dimon thrums his fingers on his desk, not breaking eye contact with me. Security camera footage is grainy, so with the wind blowing snow around, there’s no way any video could be decisive.
“It was self-defense on your part. How fortunate for you that Mr. Brant was there to back up your side of the story.” His shrewd eyes never leave mine. There’s a surprising underlying venom when he says Brant’s name.
“It wasn’t a coincidence. Rhys said he followed the guys because they’d been hitting on some women and he feared for their safety.
” I blow out a breath and mentally calculate how long before my savings will run out if I can’t find another job right away.
Austin will never throw me out, but I need to pay my own way.
“Interesting. Would you be opposed to my looking through your phone?” He holds his hand out, assuming I’ll comply, and I do after I unlock it.
He quickly scrolls through several things on my home page. “In the team group chat, you asked for Mr. Brant’s number.” He raises his gaze, waiting for me to explain.
“Yes. After we left, we were afraid Rhys might keep following those guys and run into trouble. You know Ace would blame himself if something bad happened, so I asked for Rhys’s number so Ace could text him.”
“And you did not text Rhys Brant yourself,” he says sharply, more like a challenge than a question.
“No, sir. Ace had his number from the group chat so there wasn’t a need for me to contact Brant. Ace is Tinny in my contacts. A nickname from middle school,” I add at his raised eyebrow and glance at the logo on my shirt. Players have slightly different gear than the staff.
“What social media do you have?” he asks, and I list the apps I have on my phone.
He scrolls and when he seems satisfied, he returns my phone.
“I won’t let outsiders dictate who I employ, but I am going to follow company policy.
This situation has been blown out of proportion, and I’ll do everything I can to minimize the impact on you.
But Dumas is pressing charges, and per your contract, I have to suspend you until the issue is resolved.
You’ll have to go down to the station to make a statement of self-defense, and I’ll send a lawyer with you.
” He stands and reaches across his desk to shake my hand. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
“I’m not fired?” I ask. My head swims with questions that I’m terrified to ask.
“No, wait by Wes’s desk for the attorney to escort you to the police station. Here’s the card of the detective you’ll be speaking to. He’s expecting you.” He offers me the business card.
“Will I be arrested?” The insanity of the situation is beyond words. That little prick Dumas figures he can do whatever he wants.
“Not if I can help it.”
I walk out in a daze and stop short when I see half the team waiting outside his office.