Chapter 31 Ava
AVA
The elevator doors slide open with a quiet hiss, and I’m greeted by the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital’s fourteenth-floor trauma center.
The scent of industrial cleaner hangs in the air.
I try not to think too hard about what it’s masking.
It’s late, and the ward is quiet as I move silently down the hall, following the signs for the waiting room.
My stomach is tangled in knots and has been since Knox’s text came through.
I was in my car, about to back out of my parking spot at the arena, when my phone buzzed. Knox’s name flashed on the screen, and an effervescent fizz filled my chest. I thought he was messaging to ask if he could come over later.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Knox: Davis was in an accident. It’s bad. We’re all heading over to Grady Memorial.
Now I’m here, and I have no idea what I’m walking into. Ollie wasn’t in a good place the last time I spoke with him, and I’m praying he’ll be okay.
Please let him be okay.
The waiting room is packed when I enter. Most of the team is here, their hair damp from post-game showers. Knox sits stoically among them, his knuckles raw and split open from the fight with the Flyers’ captain. I want to go to him, to offer comfort, but it’ll have to wait.
Soon.
I turn my attention to Adam. He stands in the corner, talking to a man who can only be Ollie’s father.
He’s an older version of the forward with the same bright eyes and square jaw, but where Ollie’s hair is sandy blond, his father’s is steel gray. He looks absolutely wrecked—shoulders hunched, face pale and drawn as he speaks to Coach.
My heart breaks for him.
The poor man is dealing with the stress of his wife’s declining health, and now this.
When it rains, it pours.
I make my way across the waiting room, weaving between players. Dvorak catches my eye and gives me a solemn nod. McGinnis looks like he’s been crying. Even Harding’s usual smirk is nowhere to be found.
When I reach Coach, he turns and his expression softens slightly. “Ava. I’m glad you’re here.”
“How is he?” I ask, the question barely above a whisper.
Coach exchanges a glance with Ollie’s father before answering. “He’s in surgery. They’re working on him now.”
Surgery? That’s bad. Really freaking bad.
It’s a trauma center. What did you expect?
I ignore the snarky little voice in my head. It has no place here.
“What happened?”
“According to the police, Ollie ran a red light.” Coach’s voice is carefully neutral. “He was speeding, but there were no signs of drug or alcohol use. Right now, it looks like an extremely unfortunate accident.”
Is this my fault? Was Ollie so upset—so distracted—that he didn’t see the red light?
Don’t catastrophize. It could’ve been anything. For all you know, he was texting while driving.
Maybe, but somehow I doubt it.
Ollie was in distress. He came to me for help because he was struggling to manage the stress of his mother’s Alzheimer’s, his re-injured shoulder, and the big, sucky weight of it all.
I warned Banks. I told him that Ollie needed help, but he couldn’t be bothered to follow up.
Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.
“The doctors said he was unconscious when they brought him in,” Coach continues. “He likely has a concussion, as well as internal bleeding, cracked ribs, and a fractured leg.”
Internal bleeding. Cracked ribs. Fractured leg.
The words hit me like physical blows, each one harder than the last.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
Coach places a hand on my shoulder, and the gesture is so unexpectedly paternal that tears prick at my eyes. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through.”
I want to believe him. No, I need to believe him.
But all I can think about is Ollie sitting in my office yesterday, his leg bouncing frantically, as he revealed that some days his mother doesn’t even know his face. Revealed the shoulder injury he’s been hiding. Revealed the crushing fear that he’ll be traded and lose everything.
I should have done more.
“Ava?” Coach’s voice interrupts my shame spiral. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I clear my throat and turn to Ollie’s father, extending my hand. “I’m Ava Washington. I’m the team’s mental performance coach. I’m so sorry to meet you under such terrible circumstances.”
His grip is firm despite the circumstances. “Frank Davis. Ollie’s mentioned you a few times. Said you’ve been real helpful with the team.”
The compliment feels undeserved, but I manage a small smile. “Ollie’s a good guy. He cares deeply about his family and his teammates.”
Frank’s eyes glisten. “He does. Sometimes I think he cares too much. Puts too much pressure on himself.”
You have no idea.
“Is there anything you need?” I ask gently. “Can I get you some coffee? Something to eat?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. That’s real kind of you, though.”
“Ollie told me about your wife,” I say carefully. “Who’s looking after her while you’re here?”
“We have a nurse who comes in a few days a week. She’s with Molly now.
” Frank scrubs a hand over his face, and the exhaustion is written in every line and wrinkle.
“I just... I can’t believe this is happening.
I don’t even know if Ollie’s going to be okay, and all I can think about is the fact that this could be the end of his career.
Hockey is the only thing he’s ever loved, and I can’t bear to see it ripped away from him…
Not when he’s already losing his mother. ”
The guilt in his voice is palpable.
“I’m worried I’ve put too much on him,” Frank continues, his voice breaking. “And now look what’s happened.”
“Mr. Davis—Frank—Ollie cares about his family very much,” I say firmly. “He’ll get through this, and I know he wouldn’t want you believing this accident is your fault.”
But maybe it’s mine. Maybe if I’d pushed harder, if I’d gone over Banks’s head, if I’d done something, we wouldn’t be standing here now.
“Let me know if there’s anything you need,” I tell him, stuffing the guilt down. “Anything at all.”
“Dr. Banks said the same thing. Real nice of him to be here.”
Wait. What?
“Dr. Banks is here?”
Frank nods, and my blood turns to ice. “He’s got attending privileges at Grady, so he’s been helping with the procedural stuff. Said he’d do Ollie’s psych eval personally when he’s out of surgery and awake, just to make sure everything’s good.”
I’m going to be sick.
“He’s been here almost from the beginning,” Frank continues. “Apparently, the accident was just a few blocks from his office.” He shakes his head. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Mysterious ways, my ass.
My mind races, piecing it all together. Ollie came to see me yesterday. I called Banks immediately after, and he dismissed my concerns.
Now Ollie’s in surgery after running a red light just blocks from Banks’s office.
What if he went there? Tried to see Banks?
It’s hardly a stretch.
The secure door to the treatment area swings open, and everyone in the room looks up, hoping for an update.
But it’s just Banks.
He’s wearing a collared shirt and a pair of casual dress pants, and he’s clipped a hospital security badge to his belt. He looks calm, composed, and completely unbothered by the crisis unfolding around him.
My mood sours further.
Coach excuses himself, and he and Banks speak briefly, their voices too low for me to hear. When they’re done, Banks steps into the hallway, pulling out his phone.
I excuse myself from Frank and follow.
The hallway is quieter, but that just makes it more unnerving. Banks is typing something on his phone, his back to me.
“Did Ollie come see you?” I demand.
He doesn’t even look up. “I think you’re forgetting your place, Ms. Washington. I don’t report to you, and I certainly don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No, but you had an ethical responsibility to Ollie Davis, and now he’s laid up in that ER and he might never play hockey again.” My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep it level. “Because what? You had a tee time at the club?”
Banks finally looks at me, his expression cold. “I told him to make an appointment, just like everyone else. Whatever he did after is on him, not me.”
My stomach drops. “So he did come to see you. He came to you for help and you turned him away?”
“He didn’t have an appointment.”
“But I told you he was in distress. You knew—”
His jaw hardens, as if he’s just realized his mistake. “You’re way out of line, Ms. Washington, and I will not tolerate this combative, insubordinate behavior any longer. Consider yourself fired.”
The words hit me like a slap.
“You don’t have the authority to terminate my contract,” I say, voice wavering.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll be talking to Jonathan about it first thing Monday morning. You’re done here.”
“You can’t do this. This isn’t my fault.
I warned you. I told you to have Ollie benched, but you didn’t listen.
” I may not have enough on Banks to make a formal complaint to the state medical board, but that doesn’t mean I can’t warn the Gliders GM.
“I don’t care if Jonathan Towers is your friend, he deserves to know you’re a snake and that you absolutely do not have his players’ best interests in mind. ”
Banks steps closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ms. Washington.
I suggest you accept your termination with grace and move on.
Otherwise, I’ll be forced to disclose that you are in breach of contract, and that you’ve violated the fraternization policy for personal gain. ”
Blood rushes to my head, and the floor tilts under my feet. “Excuse me?”
“Do you really need me to spell it out? Your relationship with Knox St. James is a direct violation of your contract.”
How could he possibly know about Knox and me? I haven’t told anyone. And we’ve been so careful.
Obviously not…
“I saw you two canoodling in the parking lot a few weeks ago,” Banks continues, his tone almost conversational. “You probably thought no one was watching, but the thing about living in a city is that someone is always watching.”
Of course. The kiss in the parking lot was a brief moment of weakness. Knox was leaving for an away game, and we got carried away.
Stupid. So freaking stupid.
“You knew?” My voice comes out strangled. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“A wise move, as it turns out.” He sniffs.
“Walk away quietly, and your little indiscretion goes no further. But if you make trouble for me, I’ll bury you.
Jonathan won’t be the only one hearing about your professional conduct—or lack thereof.
I’ll make sure every team in this city knows exactly what kind of coaching services you offer. You’ll never work in this town again.”
It really would be that easy.
I don’t have any connections here, and as a woman in a male-dominated field, I already have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously. Rumors of sexual misconduct would kill any chance I have of landing another pro contract.
He’s bluffing.
No, he’s not. I can see it in his beady little eyes. He means every hateful word.
“It’ll be your word against mine,” I say, but even I can hear how weak the argument sounds.
“Exactly. And who do you think Jonathan will believe? Me, his longtime friend and trusted confidant, or you, the unqualified contract employee who’s screwing his star player?”
My blood heats to an instant boil. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, why don’t you explain it then?” a familiar voice suggests from behind me. “I, for one, am deeply curious.”
Adam.
I freeze, my heart falling out of my chest.
Turning slowly, I come face to face with my father. The shock and disappointment emanating from him hits so hard, I almost look away.
This is not how I pictured telling him about Knox and me. The timing, this place…it’s all wrong.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Frank.” Banks steps past me, calm as a June bug, and disappears into the waiting room.
Adam and I stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and despite my training, I break first. “It’s not what you think.”
“So you haven’t been lying to me?” he asks, his voice dangerously low. “And you didn’t break your promise?”
My shoulders sag. “Knox wanted to tell you. We were going to tell you.”
I leave out the bit about waiting until the end of the season. Something tells me it would only make matters worse.
He shakes his head. “I only asked you for one thing, and you couldn’t even do that.”
“Adam…”
He holds up a hand. “I can’t deal with this right now. My team needs me.”
Every syllable lands like a blow.
My arms instinctively circle my waist, but it’s too late. The damage has been done.
The unspoken message hangs in the air between us.
You’re too much. Not worth the effort. Undeserving of my time and attention.
All because I broke his stupid rule. Because I wasn’t the perfect daughter. Because I wasn’t a good girl.
That’s not fair. The team is in crisis. They need him.
So do I. Can’t he see that? I waited almost thirty years to meet him, to have him in my life, and now, at the first sign of trouble, he’s going to turn his back on me?
The game has always come first. It probably always will.
The sooner I accept it, the better.
Hell, it may not even matter after today.
I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost my father’s trust. And Ollie is fighting for his life—and his career—because I didn’t do enough.
Adam turns and walks back to the waiting room without another word, leaving me alone in the hallway with the crushing weight of my failure.
I lean against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the cold linoleum floor.
And for the first time since I arrived in Atlanta, I wonder if coming here was a mistake.