36. Crosby
Chapter 36
Crosby
“ I don’t want to come across as dismissive, but I want to make sure all of us walk out of here with realistic expectations of what will happen next.” Anthony, my NHLPA representative, is slowly packing up his papers and tablet into a sleek black shoulder bag. “I can’t predict how the NHLPA will process this complaint. Additionally, it will be filed anonymously, but Merrick Daniels, as the team owner in Portland, will have access to what the complaint details since it involves one of his players. It’s also likely the media will be able to draw their own conclusions should any disciplinary actions follow.”
“Understood.” I stand from the plush conference room chair, reaching across the large table to shake hands. Anthony has been here for the last couple of hours, explaining my rights as a member of the association, the steps of the filing process, and the various possible outcomes. Next to me, Coach stands, extending his hand as well. He’s been a silent supporter, sitting next to me, never offering more than a nod or shake of his head, but as Anthony sees himself through the glass door, he turns to me.
“This can’t be easy, but I can’t thank you enough for doing it.” There’s a tightness in his voice, a quick twist of the corner of his mouth, the only indicators that a heavy emotion sits behind his words. When he puts his hand on my shoulder, he gives it a firm squeeze.
“Ahlman’s a world-class dipshit on his own, Coach. But I’d do more than fill out a complaint about it if it kept Violet from being dragged through the mud. She doesn’t deserve it.”
Coach steps back, making for the exit as I pull my phone from my pocket, switching it off silent. I see a string of notifications I ignored during the meeting, including a slew of texts from Violet.
Sparks
Bea is on a plane! On the way here! I told her she didn’t need to, but it’s not as though anyone can tell that woman anything. I’m not going to lie, it will be really nice to have her here.
Sparks
I’m also going to really owe her a visit after this.
The final message has me reading it twice, shock making it near impossible to comprehend. The timestamp is nearly twenty minutes ago.
Sparks
I just got fired.
“Holy shit,” I let out, looking up at Coach. “Violet said she’s been fired.”
With chilling ease, Coach shifts from the calm, stalwart man I’ve known for the last few years into a tempest. A man who has quietly stood by as his daughter endured, defended herself, and proven her strength is replaced with a father who will tolerate no further injury to the one he loves.
“Call her. Ask her to come here,” Coach instructs, pulling out his own phone. I hit Violet’s contact, and she picks up on the first ring.
“Crosby, I don’t know—I’ve done everything he’s asked.” Her voice sounds so small, so far away, even though she’s in the same building.
“We’ll figure it out,” I assure her, looking up to see Coach talking quietly into his phone across from me. All the concerns from the meeting I just had fall away, my focus narrowing to what’s happening with Violet. “I’m with your dad. We’re still in the conference room. Can you meet us here?”
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Yeah, I think—I’ll be right there.” The line disconnects.
Several things happen in the next few minutes. Ava enters, face grim, when she acknowledges me with a terse nod. She makes quick work heading to Coach.
“Is he coming?” she asks. Coach nods, but before I can wonder who he’s referring to, the door opens again.
Violet steps inside, eyes flicking between me and her dad, momentarily considering where she should go first. It doesn’t escape my attention when Coach gives her the slightest indication with his chin in my direction. The significance of that small gesture isn’t lost, even as Violet rounds the table, eyes watery and face turning blotchy as she tries to keep her emotions in check. I open my arms, enveloping her tightly when she walks into them without hesitation.
“I’m sorry, Sparks,” I breathe the words into her hair, hands coming up to soothe her back. I give her my full attention, letting her hold onto me as long as she needs. When she takes a small step back, there are silent tears falling down her cheeks. I don’t know if they’re made of sadness, anger, or defeat. I wipe them all away just the same, my thumbs erasing their salty tracks while keeping her face cradled between my hands. A throat clearing calls our attention back to the others in the room. Coach and Ava have been joined by Todd.
“Hello, Violet. I’m sorry we’re seeing each other like this.” Todd’s voice is coarse, the gravelly sound harsh, but he tries to temper it with a tight smile.
“Hello, Mr. Montgomery,” Violet answers, stepping away from me to leave a professional amount of distance between us, even as she threads her fingers through mine. I squeeze them in reassurance.
“Todd. Please,” he clarifies, gesturing to the seats around the table. We all sink into the chairs.
“Todd,” Violet says.
“There’s a lot that has gone over the last twenty-four hours,” Todd begins. “First, Crosby, Cal has informed me of your right to pursue a complaint against Olivier Ahlman through the NHLPA. I am sorry it came to this. Part of my directive in keeping that audio from being released was the disgraceful and disgusting tone of the exchange. Out of my respect for Cal, I didn’t want there to be a discussion about Violet.”
I’m glad I’m sitting down. As far as owners go, Todd Montgomery hasn’t given too much indication he’s aware of or involved with his team. He’s in his late fifties, with graying hair and a poor color-match dye job. His face was likely handsome in his prime but now is oddly stuck from too much Botox and has an intentional dusting of five o’clock shadow along his jaw. He wears a black suit and white sneakers, the uniform of a man trying hard to appear cool and approachable in the sports world. He has zero athletic background, having made his money in the tech industry, and most of his decisions involving the team reflect that. Alex Bridger’s disastrous tenure sticks out as a prime example. But now, there’s a humbleness in the way Todd is talking, the way his face shows as much remorse as it is able to.
Next to me, Violet sucks in a sharp breath. I remember she’s likely met Todd many times in her life, even though she has never flaunted the familiarity through the course of her work here. Her dad played for this man his entire career, took up the coaching mantle, and has built a formidable team during that time. I can see now, however well compartmentalized Violet has kept her life and work, the respect her family has earned will shape things now.
“Unfortunately, that choice has been taken out of my hands.” Todd spreads his own fingers wide, palms up, as though in supplication. “The official team statement has been ‘no comment.’ But I want to inform you that, internally, we are taking this very seriously.”
Todd looks at Ava, a prompt for her to continue where he left off.
“I understand you had a meeting with Ethan this morning, Violet,” Ava hedges, easing the conversation in a new direction.
“Yes,” Violet replies, all attention shifting to her. “A little while ago, he informed me I would no longer be employed by The Midnight organization after today.” She folds her hands in her lap, keeping her shoulders back and head high. “I’ve emailed him all of my open projects, and I’m due to fill out my offboarding paperwork in Human Resources after lunch.”
“Did he provide a reason for the termination?”
“He said after a recent review of my performance, and with consideration to what is best for the team, my skills were no longer needed.” Violet’s voice is tight, professional, but I sense her anger is rising. The immediate shock has worn off, the sadness dissipating, leaving behind justifiable ire.
“Do you feel as though that assessment is accurate? Did he have an evaluation available for you to review his claims?” Ava asks. Todd has leaned back in his chair, quietly observing. A quick peek at Coach shows he is paying close attention, gaze volleying back and forth.
“It has been my observation that the metric data from our—from The Midnight—accounts trend down on the content I have been assigned to complete in recent weeks, supporting his assessment,” Violet answers. “Ethan did not provide a formal evaluation for my review.”
“But the data has only shown a downward trend recently? It was higher before?”
“Yes, it was once higher. The current video with the best performance is one I created.” Violet lets a little smile creep across her lips at that. An echo of one ghosts at the corners of my mouth as well, pride swelling in my chest for her.
“What changed?” Ava probes gently. Violet tries to hide the way her body stiffens at the realization of where Ava’s questioning is going. Her fingers twist painfully in her lap, and I don’t resist the urge to cover them with mine. She squeezes at them. I hold her tighter, offering the support I can. She licks her lips before she speaks, and I turn my attention to Coach, carefully taking in the way his expression changes as Violet recounts the day in the elevator with Ethan.
“After that, I stopped posting and contributing any content that wasn’t explicitly given to me by him. Until today, he hasn’t sought me out for any individual conversations, and avoiding him has been easier than I expected,” Violet finishes.
“Vi, why didn’t you say anything? Why not report him?” Coach asks gently, but I see the rage behind his eyes. The intensity isn’t directed at her, just banked into an inferno of righteous indignation for her.
“He told me the day I was hired he was unhappy with me being here.” Violet’s face twists as she keeps her tumultuous feelings at bay. “I just thought it was because he didn’t get to make the decision of hiring me, that’s what he said. But he slowly became more awful. First, when everyone found out I’m your daughter. Then, when Crosby and I started dating. Coupled with how I started getting to know the team and the way my work was performing? If I had reported him—or told you about it—I think the response would have only validated his belief I’ve been shown favoritism here.” She hangs her head, quietly adding, “Maybe I have, but I never wanted it. I tried to prove I could do this on my own.”
Coach is in front of her a moment later with a tissue he’s acquired from somewhere. He offers it to her and holds her cheek for a moment in a parental display of affection so tender my heart hurts. He bends down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before returning to his seat. I watch, fascinated, as his professional demeanor falls back into place, but his eyes now softened at the corners, continue to flick back to his daughter and then to me. I give him a nod, hoping I convey I’ve done everything I can to protect her.
“Ava, were you aware of this?” Todd asks. He leans forward on his elbows, eyebrows pinched unnaturally because his forehead can’t furrow properly, but his rough voice indicates further how uncomfortable he is at this revelation.
“I saw Violet directly after. I’ve been monitoring Ethan Savoy ever since,” Ava replies.
“And what have you found?”
Tension builds thickly in the room. Todd seems to know the conclusion before any of us do, but when Ava speaks, it’s as though all the puzzle pieces click together.
“Confirmation came through this morning that Ethan is responsible for the leaked audio.”