14. Dax
DAX
I 'm reviewing game film in the players' lounge when my phone buzzes with a text that makes my blood turn to ice.
Tessa
Emergency. Equipment room B. NOW.
The capital letters feel like a punch to the gut. Tessa doesn't do all caps unless someone's literally dying or her career is about to go up in flames. Given that Harrison called her into his office this morning, I'm betting on the second option.
I make it to equipment room B in record time, finding Tessa already there, pacing like a caged panther. Her face is pale, her hands are shaking, and she's got that look—the one that says her world just imploded and she's trying to hold the pieces together through sheer willpower.
"What happened?" I ask, closing the door behind me.
She turns to face me, and the devastation in her hazel eyes makes my chest feel like it's being crushed in a vise. "He knows, Dax. Harrison knows everything."
"Everything everything, or just?—"
"Photos." She pulls out her phone with trembling fingers. "He has fucking photos of us leaving your apartment. Of us at that café. Of Emma's Instagram post from last weekend where she tagged us both in the background of her story."
My hands clench into fists. "That son of a bitch has been having us followed?"
"Building security cameras. Social media monitoring. Performance metric correlations showing your mood changes coinciding with my hire date." Her voice is getting higher, more panicked. "He's built an entire case, Dax. Professional violations, compromised judgment, potential harassment liability?—"
"Harassment?" The word comes out like a growl. "What the fuck is he talking about?"
"He's saying that as your mental performance coach, any relationship between us constitutes a power imbalance that could be construed as professional misconduct.
" She's pacing again, running both hands through her hair.
"He's got documentation showing my session notes became less detailed after we started. .. whatever this is."
"Tessa, slow down." I catch her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing. "What exactly did he say?"
"He gave me forty-eight hours." Her voice cracks slightly. "Forty-eight hours to choose between my career and you. If I don't end this relationship and maintain appropriate professional boundaries, he'll terminate me for policy violations."
The protective rage that floods through me is immediate and volcanic.
I want to march into Harrison's office and remind him exactly what happens when someone threatens the people I love.
But I can see the terror in Tessa's eyes, and I know that any aggressive move on my part will just make this worse for her.
"Okay," I say, forcing my voice to stay calm. "We're going to figure this out."
"How?" She lets out a bitter laugh. "He's got documentation, photos, witness statements. Jamie told Chen he thinks we're seeing each other. Mrs. Buckley apparently mentioned to building management that you've been staying over. Harrison's been building this case for weeks."
"What about legal action? This feels like harassment, not policy enforcement."
"With what evidence? He's technically following the fraternization policy that I signed when I took this job." She pulls away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. "And going legal would make everything public anyway. My career would be over regardless."
I run both hands through my hair, my mind racing through possibilities. "So what are our options?"
"We end this." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "We pursue the annulment, and we go back to being strangers who work in the same building."
"That's not happening."
"Dax—"
"I said that's not happening, Tessa. I don't care if Harrison fires me tomorrow and I have to go play hockey in fucking Siberia. I'm not walking away from you."
"Or," she continues like I haven't spoken, "we fight his ultimatum. Risk both our careers on the principle that he's overstepping his authority."
"I'm leaning toward option two."
"Option three is we go public. Force the organization to choose between us and Harrison."
I study her face, seeing the calculation behind her fear. "You've already decided, haven't you?"
"I think option one is the safest?—"
"Safest for who?" I interrupt. "For your career, maybe. But what about us? What about what we have?"
"What do we have, Dax?" Her voice rises. "Three weeks of sneaking around? A marriage we're trying to annul?"
The words hit me like a blindside check, but I can see the pain behind them. She's lashing out because she's scared, not because she means it.
"We have something real," I say quietly. "Something worth fighting for."
"Is it? Because it feels like a disaster waiting to happen."
"Look at me." I wait until she meets my eyes. "Do you love me?"
"That's not the point?—"
"It's the only point that matters. Do you love me?"
Her resolve crumbles completely. "Yes. God, yes, I love you. Which is why this is so fucking terrifying."
"Then we fight."
"Easy for you to say. You're Dax Kingston. Star defenseman. Fan favorite. They're not going to fire you over this."
"You think I care more about hockey than I do about you?"
"I think you've never had to choose before."
The accusation stings because there's truth in it. Hockey has always been my everything—my identity, my purpose, my security. But looking at Tessa now, seeing the woman who's made me want things I never thought I needed, I realize that's changed.
"Then let me prove it to you."
Before she can respond, there's a knock on the door.
"Dax?" Jamie's voice carries through the metal. "You in there, man? Coach wants to see you."
Tessa and I stare at each other in horror.
"Shit," she whispers.
"Just a minute, Torres," I call out, then turn back to Tessa. "We're not done with this conversation."
"Yes, we are." She's already moving toward the door. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. We can't even have a private conversation without someone hunting us down."
"Tessa—"
"Forty-eight hours, Dax. I need forty-eight hours to figure out how to save my career."
She opens the door and slips past Jamie without making eye contact, leaving me standing there with my best friend staring at me like I've lost my mind.
"Dude," Jamie says slowly, "what the fuck was that about?"
"Nothing. Just team stuff."
"Right. Team stuff that requires Dr. Bennett to look like someone just killed her dog and you to look like you want to murder someone."
I push past him into the hallway, but Jamie grabs my arm.
"Wait. Just... wait a fucking second." His expression shifts from confusion to realization. "Holy shit. You and Dr. Bennett. You're seeing her, aren't you?"
"Torres—"
"That's why you've been acting so weird. Why you're suddenly invested in mental performance sessions. Why you actually listen when she talks during meetings." Jamie's voice gets louder with each revelation. "Dude, are you insane? Harrison will fire you both if he finds out."
"Keep your voice down."
"How long has this been going on?"
"It's complicated."
"Complicated how? It looks pretty simple. You're fucking the team psychologist, and you're about to get caught."
The crude way he puts it makes me want to slam him against the wall, but I force myself to stay calm. "It's not like that."
"What's it like then?"
"It's..." I struggle to find words that won't sound completely insane. "She's not just some hookup, Jamie. I'm in love with her."
Jamie stares at me like I just announced I'm joining the circus. "You love her? Dax, you've known her for three weeks."
"Sometimes that's all it takes."
"Sometimes that's called a midlife crisis, and you're twenty-eight."
"Thanks for the support."
"I'm trying to save you from yourself!" Jamie runs both hands through his hair. "Look, I get it. She's gorgeous, she's smart, she makes you want to be a better person. But dude, this is career suicide."
"What if it's not? What if Harrison's just being an old-school asshole who thinks he can control everyone's personal lives?"
"Then you fight it the right way. Through proper channels. With lawyers and union reps and media attention."
"Media attention that would destroy her reputation."
"Maybe. Or maybe it would expose Harrison for the controlling dickwad he is."
I can see Jamie's point, but the thought of Tessa's name being dragged through sports media makes my stomach churn. She's already been through that once in Seattle.
"I need to think about this," I say finally.
"Think fast. Because whatever's going on, it's affecting your game. You've been playing like shit since Detroit, and Coach is starting to notice."
As if summoned by Jamie's words, Coach Martinez appears at the end of the hallway.
"Kingston! There you are. My office. Now."
"Told you," Jamie mutters as I follow Martinez down the hall.
His office feels smaller than usual, maybe because the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a skate blade. Martinez closes the door and settles behind his desk with the expression he reserves for serious conversations.
"Sit down, son."
I sit, my mind racing through possible scenarios. Does he know about Tessa? Is this about my performance? About the team dynamics that have been steadily deteriorating?
"I'm going to ask you a direct question, and I want a direct answer." Martinez leans forward. "Are you having personal problems that are affecting your performance?"
The question is loaded, and we both know it. I could lie, deflect, give him some bullshit about being tired or stressed about the season. But looking at his face—the genuine concern in his eyes—I realize he's not fishing for information. He's trying to help.
"Yeah," I admit. "I am."
"Want to talk about it?"
"It's complicated."
"Most worthwhile things are." Martinez leans back in his chair. "You know, in my day, players' personal lives stayed personal. Management didn't give a shit who you were sleeping with as long as you showed up and played."
The way he says it makes me think he knows more than he's letting on.
"Times are different now," I say carefully.
"They are. Sometimes that's good—we're more aware of harassment, more protective of everyone's wellbeing. Sometimes it's bad—people use policies as weapons instead of protections."
"Coach—"
"I've been coaching for twenty years, Dax. I've seen players destroyed by personal problems, and I've seen them elevated by the right relationship. You want to know what I think?"
I nod.
"I think something good happened in your life recently - you were playing better, seemed happier, showed real leadership growth.
But the past week or two? You've been distracted, making mistakes, playing angry instead of smart.
" Martinez studies my face. "That tells me whatever was making you better has now become a source of stress.
And that usually means someone's trying to take it away from you. "
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that sometimes fighting for what makes you better is worth the risk. And sometimes the people who try to destroy that are the real problem."
Before I can respond, his phone rings.
"Martinez... Yes, sir... All staff?... Right now?... Understood."
He hangs up and looks at me with an expression I can't read.
"Emergency team meeting. All players and staff. Harrison's calling it now."
My stomach drops. "About what?"
"Personnel policies and staffing decisions that affect the entire organization."
"Fuck."
"Yeah. Fuck is right."
The walk back to the main conference room feels like a death march. My phone is buzzing nonstop with texts from Jamie, but I can't bring myself to look at them. All I can think about is Tessa somewhere in this building, probably having the same panic attack I'm having.
"Dude, there you are." Jamie appears at my elbow like a concerned mother hen. "You look like you're about to throw up. What did Martinez want?"
"Nothing. Just checking in."
"Right. And I'm the fucking pope." Jamie grabs my arm, forcing me to stop walking. "Something's wrong."
I can see other players filing into the conference room ahead of us, but Jamie's not moving until he gets answers.
"It's personal stuff, okay? Nothing that affects the team."
"Bullshit."
"We should get inside," I say instead of confirming what we both know.
"Whatever's going on," Jamie says as we walk toward the conference room, "you know I've got your back, right? Even if you're being a complete fucking idiot about it."
"Thanks. That's very supportive."
"I'm serious. You saved my ass when I had that gambling problem sophomore year. You've covered for me more times than I can count. If you need something—anything—you just ask."
"I know, man. I know."
The conference room is packed when we enter, every player and staff member squeezed around the large table or standing along the walls. I find a spot near the back and immediately scan the room for Tessa.
She's sitting with the other coaching staff, her face carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. When our eyes meet for a brief second, I see my own fear reflected back at me.