19. Tessa
TESSA
T he team lawyer's office smells like expensive leather and impending doom, which is basically my entire existence right now. I'm sitting across from Miranda Stark reviewing a stack of documents that could either save my career or provide excellent kindling for a bonfire of my professional dreams.
"The key is demonstrating that your performance exceeded expectations while maintaining professional boundaries," Miranda says, sliding another folder across the mahogany table. "These performance metrics speak for themselves."
"Right," I mutter, staring at charts that show player satisfaction scores, team chemistry improvements, and other numbers that prove I'm good at my job. "Too bad Harrison thinks sleeping with athletes is my actual specialty."
"Which brings us to the discrimination angle." Miranda's smile could cut glass. "Harrison's treatment of you versus male staff members who have violated company policy creates a clear pattern of gender bias."
"What kind of violations?”
"Three male staffers have violated company policy in the last two years. None were terminated. One was caught consulting privately for athletes outside the organization — a direct breach of contract. Another was disciplined for gambling on league games. A third was investigated for leaking confidential player information to an agent. All three kept their jobs. You? Harrison’s dragging in front of the board. ”
I grip my coffee cup to steady my hands. “So when men break the rules, it’s a quiet slap on the wrist. When I do, it’s a public execution.”
"Exactly. Though we'll phrase it more diplomatically in front of the board."
Martinez knocks on the door, entering with that grim expression he's been wearing since this whole mess started. "Ladies. How are we looking?"
"Like we're about to destroy Harrison's credibility with facts and witnesses," Miranda replies. "The players are ready?"
"Jamie and Luca are chomping at the bit. Half the team wanted to testify, but we figured two representatives would be enough." Martinez settles into a chair that groans under his weight. "They're pissed, Tessa. Really pissed."
"At me?"
"At Harrison. At the situation. At the fact that our best mental performance coach in years might get fired because some dinosaur can't handle the twenty-first century."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Dax:
Ready to burn this place down?
Already planning the victory celebration.
Good. Because I have some ideas about how we could celebrate.
Privately.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I have to set my phone down because just seeing his name on my screen still makes heat bloom under my skin. God, what this man has done to me.
Three months ago, I was convinced I was better off alone, that needing someone was just another word for weakness.
But Dax—my gentle giant with storm-gray eyes and hands that can deliver bone-crushing hits on ice but touch me like I'm made of spun glass—has completely rewired my understanding of what it means to be strong.
He turned down his childhood dream, the captaincy of the Boston Bruins, for us.
For me. And the crazy part isn't that he did it—it's that he did it without hesitation, like choosing me over everything he'd ever wanted was the easiest decision he'd ever made.
I used to think I could survive anything as long as I could breathe, but now I'm terrified because I'm not sure I remember how to breathe without him.
He's become my oxygen, my gravity, the thing that keeps me tethered to earth when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
I quickly put my phone away before Miranda notices my sudden inability to form coherent thoughts.
"The board meeting starts in an hour," Martinez checks his watch. "Harrison's been in damage control mode all morning. Word is he's bringing his own legal representation."
"Let him," Miranda says coolly. "We have players willing to go on record about team chemistry improvements. We have performance metrics. We have documentation of his harassment pattern. Harrison's got policy violations and outdated thinking."
"What about the anonymous tip that started this whole mess?" I ask. "The person threatening to go to the media?"
"Funny thing about that," Martinez grins. "Turns out it was Harrison's assistant. She came forward yesterday, said he pressured her into making those calls to create evidence of external threats."
My jaw drops. "He orchestrated his own harassment campaign?"
"Apparently he thought if it looked like outside forces were threatening to expose you, it would justify his actions as protecting the organization." Miranda shakes her head. "The man's either brilliant or completely delusional."
"I'm going with delusional," I mutter.
An hour later, I'm walking into the team's main conference room feeling like I'm about to face a firing squad. The space is intimidating as hell—floor-to-ceiling windows, massive table that could seat thirty people, and enough corporate artwork to stock a museum of bland professionalism.
The board members are already seated: Chairman David Ashford, three other directors who look like they stepped out of a Fortune 500 catalog, and Harrison sitting at the far end looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Dax is there in his best suit—navy blue that makes his eyes look like storm clouds— and seeing him sends a tangle of emotions crashing through me. He catches my eye and gives me the smallest smile, the kind that says I've got your back without words.
"Dr. Bennett," Chairman Ashford nods as I take my seat. "Thank you for joining us. I understand this has been a difficult situation for everyone involved."
"Thank you for the opportunity to address the board directly," I reply, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
Harrison clears his throat. "Before we begin, I want to state clearly that this organization has zero tolerance for policy violations. Dr. Bennett's relationship with Mr. Kingston represents a fundamental breach of professional ethics?—"
"Rick," Chairman Ashford interrupts, "we'll hear your position in due course. But first, I'd like Dr. Bennett to walk us through her version of events."
I take a deep breath, looking at Miranda, who nods encouragingly.
"I was hired to improve this team's mental performance and psychological preparedness," I begin.
"In my time here player satisfaction scores have increased by thirty-seven percent, team chemistry metrics have reached the highest levels in five years, and individual performance indicators show marked improvement across all positions. "
"Yet you violated our no-fraternization policy," Harrison interjects.
"I developed a personal relationship with a colleague, yes. A relationship that, rather than compromising my professional judgment, has enhanced my understanding of athlete psychology and improved my effectiveness as a mental performance coach."
"That's a convenient rationalization?—"
"Rick." Chairman Ashford’s voice carries warning. "Let her finish."
"Furthermore," I continue, meeting each board member's eyes, "the evidence suggests that Mr. Harrison's concerns about my objectivity are rooted in outdated assumptions about women's ability to separate professional judgment from personal feelings—assumptions that don't apply to male staff members in similar situations. "
Miranda slides a folder across the table to Chairman Ashford.
"Documentation shows three male staffers with clear policy violations in the last two years.
Private consulting. Gambling on league games.
Breaching confidentiality with player information.
Not one of them was terminated. They were given quiet warnings.
This is the first time a case like this has been escalated to the board.
Harrison's face is turning an interesting shade of red. "Those situations were different?—"
"How?" I ask directly. "Because the staff members were men?"
"Because they didn't compromise team dynamics or create conflicts of interest?—"
"Your Honor," Jamie Torres interrupts from the back of the room, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing because he's addressing the board like it's a courtroom, "can I speak to team dynamics?"
Chairman Ashford looks amused. "This isn't a trial, Mr. Torres, but yes, we'd like to hear from team representatives."
Jamie stands up, and I'm struck by how serious he looks without his usual grin.
"Dr. Bennett has been the best thing to happen to our team chemistry in years.
Before she arrived, we had guys struggling with confidence, rookies too scared to speak up, veterans burned out from pressure. She's helped all of us."
"And the relationship with Mr. Kingston?" one of the other board members asks.
"Made him a better leader," Jamie says without hesitation. "More patient, more understanding. Better at reading situations and people. If anything, being happy in his personal life has made him better at his job."
"That's completely subjective—" Harrison starts.
"Is it?" Luca Cruz, one of our veteran forwards, stands up next to Jamie.
"Because my anxiety attacks used to fuck up—sorry, mess up—my performance during crucial games.
Dr. Bennett helped me develop coping strategies that have improved my stats by twenty percent this season.
That's not subjective, that's measurable. "
"The entire team supports Dr. Bennett," Jamie adds. "We've talked about it. If she goes, team morale is going to tank right before playoffs. Is that really what's best for the organization?"
Chairman Ashford makes notes while Harrison looks like he's swallowed something unpleasant. "Coach Martinez, what's your professional assessment?"