38. Theo
THEO
The boardroom feels smaller this morning. Maybe it's because the weight of months' worth of manufactured crisis has finally lifted, or maybe it's because I know exactly who I am when I walk through those doors at eight-thirty sharp.
Ferdinard sits at the head of the polished conference table,m.
Bree adjusts her glasses and shuffles through papers she doesn't need to read.
Walsh drums his fingers against the mahogany surface—a nervous habit he thinks no one notices.
James sits quietly in the corner, his blazer wrinkle-free as always, watching everything.
Just weeks ago, these same people sat in these same chairs and delivered an ultimatum.
Distance yourself from Azaria Emerson or face consequences.
Today, federal prosecutors are holding press conferences about the international criminal network that framed her, and suddenly the narrative has shifted in ways they never saw coming.
Ferdinard clears his throat. "Theo, thank you for joining us this morning."
"Ferdinard."
He opens the leather portfolio in front of him, though we both know he's had this conversation planned since Azaria’s press conference yesterday.
"I think we can all agree that recent developments have... clarified certain aspects of the situation we discussed previously."
Recent developments. As if Azaria's vindication is weather that happened to them rather than justice that was fought for.
"The situation you discussed," I correct. "I was pretty clear about my position from the beginning."
Bree shifts in her seat. "Theo, we want you to understand that the board's concerns were always focused on maintaining organizational stability during a period of intense media scrutiny."
"My performance metrics remained consistent throughout the period of intense media scrutiny. Team leadership scores, playoff statistics, locker room dynamics—all within normal ranges."
"Yes, well?—"
"The captaincy responsibilities I've held for three seasons were honored completely. Practice attendance, media obligations, community outreach, player development—nothing slipped."
Walsh finally stops drumming his fingers. "We're not questioning your commitment to the team."
"You questioned my judgment. You questioned my leadership. You issued ultimatums about my personal relationships based on media narratives that have now been proven false."
Ferdinard adjusts his tie—a tell I've noticed over the years whenever he's about to reframe something in a way that makes him look better.
"The board's position has always been to support our players during difficult circumstances. That support sometimes requires careful navigation of complex situations."
Complex situations. Not 'we were wrong.' Not 'we should have trusted you.' Just careful navigation.
"The complex situation was that an international criminal used a federal investigation as cover for money laundering and asset theft.
Azaria Emerson was targeted because she filed assault charges against the man orchestrating the operation.
Supporting players during difficult circumstances would have meant believing your captain when he told you she was innocent. "
Bree removes her glasses and cleans them unnecessarily. "We had limited information at the time."
"You had my word. You had three years of my leadership. You had performance records that spoke for themselves."
"The media pressure was significant," Walsh adds. "Sponsors were expressing concerns."
"Sponsors are expressing different concerns today. Funny how that works."
James clears his throat from his corner position. "The organization's reputation management during crisis situations requires balancing multiple stakeholder interests."
"James, with respect, stakeholder interests don't play hockey. They don't lead teams through playoff runs. They don't make split-second decisions that determine whether we win or lose."
"Theo, I think we can all acknowledge that this situation tested everyone involved. The important thing is that we move forward together."
"Move forward how?"
"The board has voted to retain you as captain for the remainder of your contract term."
"Unanimous vote?"
Ferdinard's pause tells me everything. "The vote was decisive."
Not unanimous. Someone held out, probably Ferdinard himself, right up until the federal charges made holding out politically impossible.
"The organization stands by its players during challenging times," Ferdinard continues, his voice taking on the practiced cadence of someone who's about to deliver talking points to media.
"This situation demonstrates our commitment to supporting team leadership even when external circumstances create temporary complications. "
Temporary complications. External circumstances. The man has turned Azaria's six-month nightmare into a weather event that happened around us rather than something his organization actively contributed to.
"Is that the official statement?"
"It reflects the board's position, yes."
I stand, straightening my jacket. "Then I think we understand each other perfectly."
"Theo." Bree's voice carries something that might be intended as conciliation. "We hope you know that our confidence in your leadership was never truly in question."
Never truly in question. The qualifiers keep coming, each one designed to rewrite three months of ultimatums and threats into something more palatable.
"My leadership will continue exactly as it has for the past three seasons. The team comes first. Performance matters more than politics. And I don't make decisions based on what makes other people comfortable."
Ferdinard nods as if we've reached some kind of understanding. "We wouldn't expect anything else."
"Good. Because nothing else is what you're going to get."
I move toward the door, then pause with my hand on the handle. "For the record, Ferdinard—standing by someone who was being framed by an international criminal network isn't a complication. It's what decent people do."
The door closes behind me.
The elevator ride down feels longer than usual, though that might be because I'm processing the fact that months of manufactured crisis just resolved itself with a vote and a handshake.
No apology. No acknowledgment. Just a decision to retain me as captain, as if that decision was ever really theirs to make.
The lobby opens up in front of me. I'm halfway to the main entrance when I see him.
Dad stands near the reception desk, hands in his coat pockets, silver-streaked hair catching the morning light streaming through the windows. He's dressed simply—dark wool coat, dark jeans, the kind of understated presence that commands attention without demanding it.
Our eyes meet across the lobby, and something passes between us that doesn't need words. He knows how the meeting went just from looking at my face, the same way he's been reading my moods since I was old enough to lace skates.
I cross the marble expanse between us, my footsteps echoing in the high-ceilinged space.
"How'd it go?"
"They voted to retain me as captain."
"That's good news."
"They framed it as the organization standing by its players during difficult times."
Dad's mouth quirks—not quite a smile, but close. "Creative interpretation."
"Ferdinard's specialty."
We stand there for a moment, two men who understand each other well enough that silence works better than explanation. Through the windows, I can see morning traffic moving through downtown, people heading to jobs where the politics are probably simpler than professional sports.
"You know what I'm proud of?" Dad's voice is quiet, meant just for me.
"What?"
"I know you didn't apologize for anything in there."
His hand lands on my shoulder, solid and steady, the same gesture he's used since I was sixteen and dealing with pressure I didn't know how to handle. The weight of it anchors something that's been floating loose for months.
"That's enough," he says simply.
And somehow, it is.