AMELIA
EIGHTY-NINE
LATE FEbrUARY, THIS SEASON
From the very first time I took the ice as a young kid, I was never nervous when I laced up my skates.
Excited, anxious, antsy, and thrilled?
Always.
But never nervous.
It’s different today as I walk through the Hutchinson Center on my way to my meeting with Darcy and the team’s board of governors. It’s our first formal conversation in the wake of my leaked relationship with Grant, and I couldn’t sleep last night.
I went through every possible outcome of how this discussion is going to go, and none of them end well.
I just hope I can leave with my dignity intact.
The arena halls are empty on the way up to the administrative floor, and I check my reflection in the glass doors before I step into the offices. It’s quiet in here too, but hushed voices lead me to the large boardroom where I met Darcy for the first time.
How ironic this is also the spot where she’s going to fire me.
Fate is cruel and cunning.
I fix my blazer and push open the doors, stepping inside the lion’s den.
“Good morning,” I say, and the room goes silent.
“Amelia. Hi.” Darcy stands and offers me a tentative smile. She motions for me to take a seat, and I pick the chair at the end of the table away from everyone else.
I have the chance to make a quick escape down here should things turn south, and the space is nice.
“We have Lizette from HR joining us today,” she says, pointing to the woman across the table. “Also here from the league are Brian and Scott, who represent the NHL’s conduct review board.”
“Nice to meet you.” I nod their way while Darcy introduces the rest of the board of governors.
The tension is high. No one moves, and after I learn everyone’s name, Darcy clears her throat.
“We’re aware of the article published about an alleged relationship you had with a member of the DC Stars. Instead of speculating what’s fact and fiction, we wanted to offer you the chance to address the situation so we can have the whole story,” she says.
I wonder if there’s a person out there who would see this as an opportunity to lie and save face.
All they have for evidence are grainy photos.
In today’s day and age, anyone can doctor an image to look like something else.
Without text messages or confirmed witnesses who can direct the league to concrete proof, they’re relying on me to provide them with answers to their questions so they can make a decision about my future.
And yet, for as much as I love my job, not a single part of me defaults to wanting to throw out bullshit theories to protect myself.
I did what I did, and I need to be honest about it.
How they decide to handle it is up to them.
“Thank you.” I reach for the glass of water in front of me and take a long sip.
“The article is true. I’ve been dating Grant Everett for the last couple of years.
Our paths have crossed for seven seasons, but our relationship took a romantic turn more recently.
We’ve kept the relationship private in an effort to protect ourselves from something like this happening, but that’s unfortunately out of the question now. ”
“Ms. Green.” Brian folds his hands in front of him. “Have you ever had any direct contact as Mr. Everett’s superior?”
“N-no,” I stammer. “Never. I’ve never coached a team that’s had him on the roster. I’ve never had any say in monetary decisions such as salaries or bonuses. The only working relationship we have is that we’re both affiliated with the National Hockey League.”
“Has a situation like this ever happened in the past?” Scott asks, and I keep my eyes on him as I shake my head. “You’ve never sought out a relationship with another player or man associated with any other team in the league?”
“No, and I’m happy to give you names of former and current players to support that answer.
” I twist my fingers together. I wish the room were slightly cooler—it’s too hot in here.
“My relationship with Grant started as a platonic friendship. I expressed to him numerous times that I was not comfortable in pursuing anything romantic with him, and he respected every boundary I put in place.”
“Until he didn’t,” Lizette says, and I look at her.
“I’m the one who crossed the line first,” I say. “I’m the one who initiated a physical relationship.”
“So you knew you were doing something inappropriate, and continued to do it anyway,” Brain adds.
“No. I never… I’ve never read anything that explicitly stated we couldn’t have a relationship.
The CBA covers items like gambling, substance abuse, and rehab procedures, but there’s nothing listed about inner-team relationships or relationships between two individuals that operate under different governing bodies. ”
“It was implied,” Scott says. “That anyone in a different position of power could not and should not pursue a relationship with another individual who would be considered less than their equal.”
I want to toss back a rebuttal about the football coach who was sleeping with one of his assistant coaches and didn’t receive anything but a slap on the wrist. I want to mention the team owner who was caught kissing someone on the training staff, but I keep my mouth closed.
It won’t help prove anything, because these men had their mind made up about me the second I walked in here.
If I do it, it’s wrong and inappropriate.
If a man does it, it’s an honest mistake, and they deserve a second chance.
The cycle continues, and I’m not going to be the one to break out of it.
“I understand,” I say.
“Where does your relationship with Grant stand now?” Darcy asks, and I’m grateful for the kindness infused in her voice.
“It’s up in the air. We agreed to not communicate until we were back from Italy. I haven’t had a chance to speak to him yet, but I plan to soon,” I say.
“The league has decided that this behavior warrants punishment,” Brian says, and this is it.
My future hinges on these men, and I’m terrified to find out where this is going.
“Effective immediately, you are suspended for eight games for unethical behavior,” Scott says, and my blood goes cold.
“Furthermore, all communication with Mr. Everett must cease going forward. If the league finds you in violation of this ask, we will be forced to extend a contract termination, and you will no longer be employed by the Sea Crabs. Finding a position in the NHL in the future will also be close to impossible due to this preventable stain on your record.”
I let out a gasping breath.
They’re making an example out of me. They’re exerting their power to make sure they can control this narrative.
Look what happens when you’re bad. We’re going to threaten you until you agree.
But… if I do, that means no more Grant.
I’ll have to walk away from him and never look back.
Fuck.
What a horrible position to be in.
“Okay,” I whisper. Scott and Brian visibly relax, and I think they were expecting more of a fight. More emotion, more out of control. I refuse to give them the fight they’re looking for. “I understand.”
“Eight games would put your return to work back in March,” Lizette says, and I nod. “We’ll have the associate coach fill in for you during your absence.”
“Ms. Green,” Brian says, and I look up at him again. “This is all contingent on abiding by the rules. The suspension can be lengthened at any time if we determine there are extenuating circumstances that regard the league in a negative light.”
“Got it.” I smooth my hands over my slacks. “I guess this means I need to stay away from team facilities?”
“No practices, no games, and no access during this time,” Scott says.
“Right. Thank you for the clarification.” I survey the room.
There’s so much more I want to say—about how the league is antiquated and backward and unforgiving to anyone who doesn’t fit the picture of what one of their poster boys looks like—but I plaster on a smile instead.
I put my palms on the table and stand, nodding to them.
“I appreciate you taking the time to let me know about next steps. I’ll see you in March. ”
Without another glance out of fear I’ll crumble into a blubbering mess, I head for the door. I keep my composure all the way until I reach the parking garage, and when I climb into my car, I burst into tears.
Me
Are you free to talk?
GE
When and where?
Me
Our house.
GE
On my way.
If I’ve learned anything over the last two and a half weeks, it’s that time is a fickle bitch.
When you’re looking forward to something, everything slows down.
Hours pass like days. Weeks stretch out like months, and the universe tests you.
It’s trying to figure out how badly you want the thing you’re chasing.
Are you willing to wait? If so, how long?
Patience is rewarded. The payoff is always greater than the journey it took to get there, but when faced with a roadblock or hurdle you don’t know how to leap over, the clock speeds up.
Time is a blur of spotlights that change from red to green the second you pull up to them and a highway free from any traffic.
There’s no delay or room to process what you want to do.
Before you realize it, you’re driving to the house you share with the man you love.
You’re wiping the tears from your eyes because you know how this pain ends: In a plume of smoke where a relationship once was, the postmortem written from the very first moment your eyes met across the restaurant.
My drive from the arena told me this conversation can only go one way.
There’s no version of us that can exist past today, and I have to end things with Grant.
I pull up to our house and shut off the engine. I rest my head on the steering wheel and try to steady my racing heart, but I already feel it breaking into a million pieces.
Making my way to the front door is an out-of-body experience. I float above the gravel path that leads to the porch. I pass the spot where Grant had plans to add a flower bed later this year.