Chapter 41
Finley
“Okay, but here’s a crazy idea,” Charlotte says around a big bite of her chicken tacos. “What if you don’t fuck yourself over and just promise not to sleep with any more of your players?”
I shake my head; glad I picked up tacos and came over to her place rather than meeting out at the restaurant like we’d originally planned. Charlotte is not quiet when she has an opinion on something.
“I’m not worried about sleeping with any more of my players!” I sputter.
Charlotte’s eyes glitter with amusement. “So you’re worried about sleeping with Kane again?”
While I am very worried about making sure my decisions don’t negatively impact Beckett, I’m not interested in exploring that line of questioning…
well, ever. Instead, I tell her, “It’s not about the future.
It’s about taking accountability for my actions.
It’s about accepting I did something wrong and taking the actions to make it right. ”
“Or, you don’t do it again, and no one will be any wiser,” Charlotte retorts, frustration lacing her tone. “Just let it go and move on.”
“You know that’s not an option for me.”
She shakes her head. “No. I know for a fact it is an option for you. You just have daddy issues, and so you’re choosing to overlook it.”
I almost choke on my bite of beef and cheese. “Excuse me? How does that have anything to do with anything? And, also, I have daddy issues?”
Charlotte lifts one slender shoulder. “Oh, I’m aware I have daddy issues. You don’t grow up with Steve Langford and come out unscathed. The limit does not exist for the amount of therapy I need. But it makes me uniquely positioned to spot others like me.”
The smell of steak and fresh tortilla lingers as I hold my taco suspended in the air. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes widen slightly as her mouth hangs open, showing me her half-chewed meal.
“Oh shit. You think you don’t have...” She chews thoughtfully for a moment.
“I’m obviously not a therapist, so take this with a grain of salt, but have you ever considered that you hold yourself to unrealistic standards? ”
“No one likes to do the wrong thing,” I state the obvious.
Charlotte nods. “True. Well, in general. But, do you know what normal people do when they don’t achieve their goals?”
I’m not sure I’m following. “They try again. I have failed before, Charlotte. Lots of times.”
“Ah, yes. You and all the other female head coaches—oh wait.”
I roll my eyes. “So I have daddy issues because I’m successful?”
Tilting her head slightly as if considering it, Charlotte says, “Nooo… But also, maybe? Do you think your dad would still love you if you weren’t the head coach?”
“Are you serious right now? He didn’t even think I should get the job. Hell, he told them not to hire me. He would probably love me more if I wasn’t the head coach.”
That settled, I dig back into my food.
After a moment, Charlotte asks, “You know how fucked up that sentence was, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just said your dad actively tried to keep you from getting the promotion you wanted. Shit. Definitely daddy issues, but maybe I was projecting my issues onto you. Yours are a whole different variety.”
Don’t love that evaluation of my life or my relationship with my one remaining family member.
“Love and support aren’t conditional, Finley,” Charlotte continues, and my chest tightens slightly.
That’s not my experience. “It’s shitty that your dad would try to make it so you don’t get a role you want.
It’s shitty that he calls you every week and spends hours telling you all the things you didn’t do right in the last week—”
“That’s not what he does!” I cut in, regretting the day she happened to walk into my office when my dad was on speakerphone. “We just review things. He knows what he’s talking about, and he wants to make me better.”
“Maybe,” Charlotte concedes, “but that’s a super fucking unhealthy way to go about it.”
“Okay, well, we’ve veered way off course here,” I say, trying to pull us back on topic. My relationship with my dad is fine. Normal. He shouldn’t be proud of me when I make mistakes—I know I’m not. “Fortunately, I will have lots of time to seek professional help once I’ve been fired.”
Charlotte rubs her temples with her left hand. “I’m going to need you to walk me through it like I’m five, because I still don’t understand why you can’t just do nothing and hope for the best. Or, if you can’t do that, just send the damn resignation email you’ve already written.”
As if it’s that simple.
But I do want her opinion, so I start with the easier answer.
“I can’t resign because it would be quitting.
And people need to see that I didn’t give up.
People are counting on me, and I’m not going to walk away just to save face.
I have to at least try to keep my job.” It’s the conclusion I came to after talking to both Larsen and Lilly today.
Once I made it, it was like the weight I’ve been carrying around got lighter.
It felt right. Resigning isn’t holding myself accountable. Reporting myself is.
Charlotte leans back in her chair. “Okay. I understand that. But doesn’t telling your GM that you slept with your player and getting fired for it have the same outcome as resigning?”
I chew on my lip. “Same outcome, maybe, but different optics. The team and the league will protect themselves. And it is possible—though not likely—that they won’t fire me.
We do have the whole IR-thing going for us.
So, that slightly increases my chances of keeping my job, and it changes the narrative just slightly. ”
“But I still don’t get why you can’t do nothing. It’s a viable option. No one knows. You’re not at risk of being caught.”
“Because it did happen. There are protocols in place, and I need to follow them. If I don’t hold myself to the standard, how could I ever hold anyone else to one?
And…” I chew on my bottom lip as I decide how to say the real reason I can’t just resign and walk away from everyone who’s counting on me.
“And you still want Kane,” Charlotte adds unhelpfully.
“No. I don’t think that’s it,” I answer.
“I mean, my feelings for him haven’t gone away in a few weeks.
I still l—like him.” I shift mid-word, catching myself before that feeling that’s been lingering in my chest escapes.
“But this is about me. I did something wrong, and I can’t just let it go.
If a slap shot is off, it doesn’t just miss the net—it creates a rebound, a turnover, a goal against you.
Acting like you didn’t miss is how one mistake turns into five. ”
“You know I hate sports analogies,” Charlotte reminds me, rubbing her temples again. “But I understand what you’re saying. It’s about owning your mistakes.”
“I can’t coach a culture of accountability if I’m not willing to live it myself when things get hard. Accountability only makes you better if you embrace it when things get hard.”
Charlotte’s gaze is locked on mine as she asks, “So you’re going to do it? You’re going to report yourself?”
I nod, cringing inwardly at the conversation I’m going to have with White tomorrow.
“Yep. Tomorrow. Mondays are for hard conversations, after all. But I need to make sure it won’t impact Beckett.
I’m certainly the one in the wrong here since I’m in a position of power, so I should be able to limit his exposure, but there is a small possibility that they’ll decide to keep me and trade him again. ”
“And we don’t want that?” Charlotte asks.
“I will do anything to make sure my poor decision-making doesn’t affect him.”
“Then let’s make sure you have your story straight tonight,” Charlotte says.
I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not a story.”
“True, but there’s a way to spin everything—even the truth. And we need to make sure you don’t accidentally shoot yourself in the foot by giving them information they don’t need.” She pulls out her phone. “We’re going to need some ice cream.”
***
“Thanks for fitting me in this morning,” I say, my stomach churning as I sit in the chair across from Greg White. I force my face into neutrality. Culture of accountability. I can do this.
“Of course,” he replies with the warm smile I don’t deserve. “You know I’ll always make time for you. What brings you in today? Already researched who you think my department should trade for this off-season?” he asks, teasing.
I bite the inside of my cheek, telling myself to rip off the Band-Aid. Delaying this any longer isn’t going to help anyone. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Oh?” He lifts his eyebrows in surprise.
“No. I need to file an official report.”
I almost miss the sharp inhale he takes as his hands dip into his right-hand drawer. “Okay. Let me get the templates. What kind of report are we filing today?”
It’s clear he’s done this before, at least a few times. Or paid a lot of attention during the training session. He’s calm, making no assumptions.
“I need to file a formal report for inappropriate workplace relations.”
His eyes betray him this time, narrowing with anger. “And who”—he takes a deep breath—“is the complaint against?”
The way he elongates the “s” in the word makes me realize that he’s got it wrong. He thinks someone was harassing me.
I shake my head, a sad smile pulling my cheeks. “Me.”
“I know, but who was the ma—person acting inappropriately?”
Damn my fucking heart and the way it’s clenching right now.
“I was the one who acted inappropriately.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “You?”
“Yes. I apologize for not being more clear.”
He tilts his head, almost as if he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. Finally, he suggests, “Why don’t we start at the beginning?”
So I do.
I tell him about my crush on Kane in high school.
Admit I should’ve been more open when I knew Kane may be considered for a trade.
I talk about Lilly and how we fell in love with our selected charity.
How we decided we had to win The Great Yeti Challenge.
How we became reluctant friends. The doctor’s decision to put him on IR. The snowstorm. Calling it off.
Just like Charlotte and I planned, I make sure I’m firm about the timeline.
That we started spending time together because it was mandated by the team.
That there was nothing romantic until the snowstorm, which, as I made sure to remind him, was after Kane was on the IR.
That it in no way impacted my coaching decisions at any time.
White asks questions, making sure he understands everything.
I do not bring up what happened in the hotel room because, as Charlotte pointed out numerous times, we were not in the same room.
We were not on the phone. We just happened to be engaging in solo-sexual activities at the same time, which is not a punishable offense.
And it’s for the best: I do not need to discuss masturbation with my coworker unless absolutely necessary.
“I think I have everything I need,” he announces finally. “Can you sign on the bottom of this form?”
I flex my fingers, forcing them to stop trembling before wrapping them around the grip of the pen. “There you go.”
“I have to talk with Eli in HR before anything is certain, but for now, I need you to go home. You can stop by your office if you need to grab anything, but don’t send any emails or talk to anyone other than to say hello. Eli and I will follow up with you in a couple of hours.”
It went exactly as I’ve been trained—from the other side—to expect it would. Which means I know better than to expect anything but the worst.