25. Violet
Chapter 25
Violet
T wo days after Crosby’s injury, my hand is clasped in his, swinging a little as we walk into The Midnight’s practice facility and offices. I stayed with him yesterday, even if it probably wasn’t entirely necessary. I know how tough these guys are, but I’m certainly not regretting my choice. I just want to be there for him.
It was a day of floaty feelings, gentle touches, and soft, whispered words of love between naps and meals on the couch. Reading a book with Crosby’s head in my lap while he slept felt precious after his early morning confession. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to memorize the moment. I wasn’t sure if it was the concussion talking at first; maybe he was still half asleep. But the more he opened up to me, the more my heart split to welcome the words he was saying.
From the very beginning, there was something effortless about falling for Crosby. Even when I was scared to admit it, terrified I was repeating past mistakes, Crosby has been safe. He’s loyal. Protective. Gentle and understanding in all the ways I’ve needed. It took little thought to tell him I loved him in return.
This morning, I floated through getting ready at his house, the high of new love permeating every part of me. As desperately as my body craved to show him the depth of how I felt, sex had to take a backseat to healing. Instead, we showered together, exploring each other with unbridled attention, intention weaving through every touch, kissing as often as we breathed. Lost in the steam and the perfect elation of holding nothing back, my body buzzed with the same feelings of a powerful orgasm.
I helped Crosby pick out a thermal long-sleeve and his trusty black joggers, giggling through his protests when I tied his shoes. I found a pair of black skinny jeans in a drawer Crosby had cleared out for me, matching them to one of his well-worn team hoodies, his last name emblazoned just above the curve of my ass. It earned a pained growl from him that had nothing to do with bruised ribs.
“You’re really going to walk around the facility with my last name on your back, and I’m just supposed to be relaxed about it?” he grumped, grabbing my hips tightly before walking me against the wall of his bedroom. I couldn’t give an answer before his lips crashed into mine possessively, a bruising and heated kiss I can still taste as we enter the lobby.
“Violet!”
We both turn at the sound of my name, Ethan walking quickly toward us while he tucks his phone into his pocket.
“Hey, you two,” he greets as he stops before us, turning his attention to Crosby. “Are you feeling alright, man?”
Crosby’s shrug is noncommittal. He’s here to be evaluated by Doc and line up what his return to play process will look like, it doesn’t surprise me he’s not forthcoming with any information to the head of the social media department. Ethan doesn’t seem bothered, as though his question was more perfunctory than personal.
“Well, hopefully, it’s all fast healing.” Ethan nods to himself. “You heading upstairs, Vi?”
“Yeah,” I answer, turning to Crosby to give him a hug goodbye on his good side. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“I’m going to catch a ride out with one of the guys when morning skate is over,” Crosby informs me. I force down my concern, but Crosby hasn’t had any worrying symptoms over the last thirty-six hours. I only took one day off, and there’s only a couple hours until morning skate is over. I’ve messaged Gus, and he’s promised to hang out with Crosby this afternoon while I work.
With a slight chin raise in farewell to Ethan, Crosby disappears down the hall leading to the locker rooms and physical therapy offices. Alone with my boss, I give a tight smile as we walk to the elevators.
I take in Ethan’s furrowed brow and the way his hands are shoved deeply into the pockets of his black chinos. His hair is sticking up a little, as though he’s run his hand through it, a vastly different appearance than his usually put-together look. He glances back at me before illuminating the call button on the wall. Silence hangs between us, but there’s tension in Ethan’s shoulders.
Waiting for the elevator, I consider my boss. He’s been a good department head to work for. He runs a fair department, distributing responsibilities in an equal manner, supporting professional development, and generally leaving our personal lives outside the office. I’ve learned how to succeed in a field I wasn’t comfortable working in, and some of that has been through the environment he’s created for his employees. The trial and error we’ve been given space to experiment.
But I haven’t missed how there have been subtle shifts over the last few months. Little moments where, despite my personal creative growth and the metric data to back up my performance, Ethan has been frustrated with my work. With me. He hasn’t been forthcoming enough to address it, only my intuition seems to indicate a problem. With Ethan’s demeanor darkening by the second, that gut feeling tries to tell me that today might finally be the day he says something.
The elevator chimes, brushed chrome doors opening. We walk in together, Ethan pushing the button for our floor. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight.
“You didn’t post the video we discussed before the Portland game,” Ethan grinds out before the doors have finished closing, turning pointedly to face me. The look on his face is unlike any I’ve seen from him before.
“Yeah, it seemed a little aggressive. The players weren’t interested in playing into that narrative with Bridger, so I asked them to film something else.” I blink back at him, unsure of his reaction to my decision.
“That wasn’t your choice to make. I gave you an assignment.” Ethan lifts his chin at me. During our weekly Monday meetings with our team, I’ve seen his irritation when his ideas get outvoted. I’ve seen his disappointment when the staff doesn’t secure a desired player interview. I’ve even been in the room when our staff is on the receiving end of a stern dressing down when videos don’t perform. But I’ve never observed this indelicate way he’s withholding his anger. An anger that is pointedly aimed at me.
“You’ve let us change things up before, and I was following the players’ discretion. They didn’t want to make it. I thought the sketch still highlighted the rivalry.” An apology is sitting on the tip of my tongue, but confusion keeps it from slipping loose. I fight the urge to cross my arms despite how defensive I feel, knowing it will likely come across wrong.
“Don’t tell me your boyfriend wouldn’t have done exactly what you asked of him if you just told him to.” Ethan steps toward me. I move automatically until I feel the support bar on the side of the elevator at my back. His hand lifts at his side sharply before he seems to control it, lowering it slowly as his fingers curl into a fist. “It was the perfect opportunity for the team to go viral—a foregone conclusion, given the way the game ended last night. Maybe that bump on loverboy’s head would have been worth something at least.”
I have nowhere to move. Ethan’s face, twisted with anger, is mere inches from mine, the invasion of space nearly suffocating. I search his face, past it, around the small space, for what—I’m not sure. But there are clear alarm bells ringing in my head, the overall feeling of wrongness growing stronger. Just as the edges of panic claw their way into me, Ethan steps back, and the faint ding of the doors announces our arrival.
“Careful, Vi. I’m in charge of you, and no boyfriend or powerful daddy will change that. From now on, what I say goes.”
It’s a parting shot lobbed at me as the doors open, Ethan sliding between them like oil. I grip the bar at my waist, pulse racing. No one enters the elevator as I take a few shuddering breaths, willing the fear from my system. The doors close again, the lift making a return trip to the lobby. I lean my head back, closing my eyes, counting down from ten. When I reach zero, I open them, the adrenaline waning. I hear the dull ding signaling that the doors have opened.
“Hi, Violet. How’s Crosby—” Ava’s voice cuts off as she steps into the elevator. I stand a little taller, trying to look unbothered, but she sees through me instantly. With a gentle hand on my arm, she says, “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”
Ava’s office smells like jasmine, the rich, sweet floral scent tying together with a deeper, earthier undertone. I can’t figure it out, but it’s familiar. I’m contemplating it from where I’m perched on the gray sofa. The same one I sat on my first day.
“Violet?” Ava calls as she stands in the doorway of her office. She’s dressed in black slacks and a brilliant emerald tee. On anyone else, it might look a little casual, but Ava’s natural grace and impeccable tailoring make the outfit look refined and powerful. I feel neither of those things as my eyes focus and my brain kicks me back to the present.
“Did you say something?” I ask. With a soft smile, Ava sits gracefully next to me, concern etched at the corners of her eyes.
“I asked how Crosby is doing?”
“Oh, he’s sore, and his head hurts off and on. He’s down with Doc right now. But if you know anything about hockey players, they’d rather die than admit any weakness.” I laugh a little thinking of the way Crosby tried to hide the painful grimace on his face this morning as he tried to tie his shoes before I took over. It’s a good distraction, and I latch onto it.
“Physically or otherwise. But it’s good for them to have someone there when they finally do,” Ava acknowledges with her own knowing smile, patience infusing her words. I’m sure in her time here, she’s dealt with her fair share of the man-children on skates. It feels nice to have her understand. A beat passes before she clasps her hands over her knees and looks at me. “What happened this morning, Violet?”
I consider my exchange in the elevator with Ethan. Suddenly, I’m unsure if I should say anything. He was out of line and definitely unprofessional, but maybe there was a reason for it. I made a judgment call, and as my boss, he has every right to question it. He could be facing pressure from the sales department because a missed chance to go viral online can really impact the team financially. A quick search online this morning shows the hit Bridger laid on Crosby was headline news; the former teammates-turned-rivals narrative can be extremely lucrative. Was I wrong?
“Hey,” Ava gently prompts from beside me. Her palm covers my hands which are beginning to twist in the hem of Crosby’s hoodie. I lift my eyes to look at the silent question on her face. She presses her lips together and gives my hands a squeeze. “Start at the beginning. We’ll figure it out.”
I start with the pre-game content assignment, taking her through my decisions and ending at the confrontation I had with Ethan in the elevator.
“I think I might be overreacting now that I’ve said all of it out loud.” I give an uneasy laugh, tapping my fingers against my lips. “That, or I’m too sensitive from the lack of sleep and worry.”
I don’t think I believe myself even as I speak. I can still taste the bitter, unexpected, and potent fear of being in an enclosed space with Ethan—a man who already has power over my life, teasing close to the edge of something potentially violent when he lifted his arm for the briefest second. But there’s a part of me that wishes I did believe my words. The part that drops my eyes to my lap at Ava’s silence that knows how much easier everything would be if I didn’t speak up and complain.
“We’re not going to do that.” Ava’s voice is firm. I look up quickly at the demanding tone. She’s not angry, but there is fire in her eyes and a determined set to her jaw. “We’re not going to fall on the proverbial sword of someone else’s bad behavior because we’ve been taught it only happened because we think we caused it.”
Ava rises from the couch, irritation clear in her measured strides as she paces. I remain still as I watch her work through her thoughts as she rounds her desk to lean on the back of her chair. Whatever clarity she seeks seems to hit her at once when she sends her chair spinning and returns to the couch next to me.
“Thank you.” Ava leans against the back, propping her head on her fist and nodding absently to herself. I sit a little straighter, twisting to face her. “I mean it, Violet. Thank you for telling me.”
“I appreciate you listening,” I say, waiting for whatever guidance she has to impart. Ava smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and falls faster than is reassuring.
“Do you want to report this to Human Resources?” Ava asks. I sigh dejectedly. I’ve been thinking about that since the moment Ava walked me into her office. There were no witnesses. It would be my word against Ethan’s. My boss. A tenured employee with status.
“I don’t think so.” Tears sting at the back of my eyes. I don’t like the idea of leaving this unreported, but even with Ava’s support during my recounting, I don’t think I have it in me to escalate it. I made a mistake in changing the assignment. I can protect myself by doing what I’m supposed to. I clear my throat and press the back of my hands to my cheeks, blotting out the shame.