Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Thorne
I'm awake before my alarm. Mollie is asleep on my chest, her red curls fanned out across my skin, her breathing slow and steady. She smells amazing, like vanilla and citrus, and I drag in a deep breath to fill my lungs with her scent.
Termination. Season-long suspension. Criminal charges. My name next to the word assault in every headline, forever
These are all terrifying. But I got the girl, didn’t I? That’s probably a fucked-up way of thinking about it.
Since last season ended, I've been on shaky ground with this team. The trade rumors. The Kuznetsov cross-training. My dad's podcast comments.
Every month has brought a new reason to worry that my time with the Havoc is running out. And now I’ve handed the front office the cleanest excuse they could ever ask for. A player who breaks a civilian's face in the team's own facility is a liability no organization wants to defend.
I should be panicking. And maybe part of me is. But underneath the dread there's something solid and immovable, like bedrock under sand.
I would do it again. Every punch. I wouldn't change a single thing.
Savard has worse coming to him.
I'm just glad Mollie is okay. That certainty is the only thing keeping me upright as I ease out from under her and get dressed.
My agent picks up on the first ring. He's been working the legal side for days and has talking points ready for the meeting. I call Beck next. He picks up, but barely speaks. The conversation is terse and painful; I hate every second of it.
"Will you come?" I ask.
"Yeah. Mollie’s my sister. You were defending her."
I exhale. “Thanks, man.”
He hangs up without saying another word, but hey. I'll take it.
I text my dad. He responds immediately with I'll be there, which is the most useful thing Mike Thorne has done for me in approximately fifteen years. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I’m willing to spend all my capital on this.
I kiss Mollie’s forehead while she's still asleep and leave a note on the nightstand that says I'll be back soon.
The drive to the facility feels like I'm heading to my own execution.
I park in the lot and sit in my truck for a minute, staring at the building I've walked into almost every day for years.
My face is on the billboards out front. The gift shop sells jerseys with my name on them.
I'm the co-captain, the golden boy, the franchise face.
This is my worst nightmare. Not the punches, not the consequences. The loss of control over my own story. I've spent my entire career crafting the Alex Thorne narrative, and now it's in someone else's hands.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I get out of my truck and go inside, taking the elevator straight up to the executive offices.
My agent, Jack, meets me in the lobby, briefcase in hand, expression grim but professional. Beck is already there, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He doesn't make eye contact with me, but he's here. That means something.
My throat tightens when I see him. I nod. He doesn't nod back, but he doesn't leave, either.
My dad arrives last, because of course he does. Expensive suit, silver-streaked hair, the easy confidence of a man who has spent his whole life walking into rooms and owning them. He claps my shoulder and says, "Let's get this handled, champ."
I want to shrug his hand off, but I don't. I need every ally I can get right now, even the ones I don't fully trust.
Jimbo's office is full. The owner is behind his desk, hands folded, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead.
The team's legal counsel sits in a chair to his left, with a legal pad and a face that says she's billing by the hour.
Juliet is there, arms crossed, her expression carefully neutral.
Coach Cross is there too, standing against the far wall like he's trying to decide whether to hug me or hit me.
Fair.
"Sit down, Thorne." Jimbo nods at the empty chairs.
I sit. Jack takes the chair beside me. Beck leans against the wall near the door, arms folded, not looking at anyone. My dad settles into the remaining chair with practiced ease.
Jimbo doesn't waste time. "Let me be clear about where we stand. What happened in our facility five days ago is indefensible from an organizational standpoint. You assaulted a civilian contractor on team property, in front of minor children, during a sanctioned auxiliary coaching session."
"Jimbo, the circumstances—" Jack starts.
"I'm not finished." Jimbo holds up a hand, his words ringing out.
"The liability exposure here is enormous.
Mr. Savard's legal team contacted us within 24 hours.
They're pursuing assault charges, a civil suit for medical damages.
On top of all that, they're threatening to name the organization as a co-defendant for failing to provide a safe working environment for their client.
" He looks at me. "You shattered three bones in his face, Thorne.
His surgeon says the cheekbone required plating. "
I don't react, though it’s a struggle. "So I heard."
"Do you? Because right now, you're sitting in my office with a busted hand.
Our legal team is trying to figure out how to keep this organization from getting dragged into a lawsuit that could cost us seven figures.
" Jimbo pulls his glasses down and rubs his eyes.
"I've gone to bat for you more times than you know.
The trade rumors? I killed those. The podcast bullshit with your father? I made calls. But this is different."
My agent leans forward. "Jim, if I may. My client was provoked by a man who has been publicly accused of grooming a minor.
The TikTok video posted by Ms. Tate has been viewed over two million times.
Savard made sexually degrading comments about Ms. Tate directly to my client's face, in a facility where Ms. Tate is employed.
The provocation is documented and the public sentiment is overwhelmingly—"
"I don't give a damn about public sentiment, Jack. I care about what happened in my building." Jimbo leans back in his chair. "Cross, what's your take?"
Coach Cross pushes off the wall. "Thorne is one of the best players I've ever coached. He's also a co-captain who just demonstrated that he can't control himself under pressure." He looks at me and his expression isn't angry. It's more tired. "I need to know this won't happen again."
"It won't," I say. “I promise.”
"Because the next time someone says something you don't like, you can't—"
The door opens behind me and every head in the room turns.
Mollie walks in. And she looks pissed.
I deliberately left her out of this. I wanted to spare her having to relive any of it in a corporate setting. But she's here, dressed in a cream-colored sweater and jeans, her expression dangerous.
Jimbo speaks first. “You’re late to the party, Miss Tate.”
Her eyes glitter. "There is no way that Alex Thorne gets fired for punching the man who abused me. Coach Savard was the aggressor. Alex was just protecting me."
The room goes quiet while Mollie sits, crossing her legs and looking annoyed. Jimbo's expression shifts from stern to something more complicated. The legal counsel leans forward. Juliet's face does something I can't read; I think I see the ghost of a smile before she kills it.
Jimbo looks at the legal counsel. She shrugs slightly, which I think means ‘there's no rule against it.’
"All right." Jimbo settles back. "Then let me ask you directly. Were you aware that Savard was using our facility for coaching sessions?"
"I found out a week before, when I happened to be at the facility in my off time. It took me that long to decide to make the video laying out my accusations."
Jimbo rocks back in his chair. "And the video. When was that recorded, relative to the incident?"
"That morning. A few hours before." Mollie lifts her chin. "I went live on TikTok, named Coach Savard, and described what he did to me when I was his student. I also filed a formal complaint with the Skating Federation two days before that."
Juliet speaks up for the first time. "I can confirm that the video has been circulating internally since the day it was posted. I made sure every member of this leadership team saw it."
"Thank you, Juliet." Jimbo nods. He turns to the legal counsel. "Karen, where does this leave us with Savard's claim?"
Karen flips a page on her iPad. "In a significantly better position than we were yesterday.
Ms. Tate's TikTok and her Federation complaint establish a documented pattern of predatory behavior by Savard.
His comments to Thorne at the rink constitute verbal harassment of a team employee.
Our position is that we granted Savard facility access in good faith, and that he used that access to verbally assault a member of our staff.
" She pauses. "You could make the argument that the Havoc failed to protect our employee by not properly vetting his background before giving him rink access. "
"And what does that mean?" my agent asks.
Karen gives him a look. "It means Savard's assault claim against Thorne gets complicated when the organization he's trying to co-sue is already admitting they shouldn't have let him in the building."
Jimbo taps his desk twice with his index finger, which I've learned over the years is his tell for a decision being made.
"Here's what's going to happen. The Havoc are canceling Savard's auxiliary coaching contract, effective immediately.
We're also flagging him with the Figure Skating Federation, where his real professional standing lives.
Karen's team will handle the legal response to his suit. "
“Thank you, Mr. Greene,” Mollie says.
Jimbo looks at me. "As for you, Thorne, you're benched for the first game of the regular season."
My agent sits up. "Jim—"
"One game, Jack. That's the disciplinary measure for assaulting a civilian on team property. It's not negotiable."