Chapter 36 Ava
AVA
The arena is packed, and Emerson and I have to squeeze past a half-dozen Gliders fans to get to our seats.
The puck will drop any minute now, and the Treehouse is electric.
Chippy is sweeping the ice with a giant stuffed devil that’s the spitting image of the visiting team’s mascot, and the crowd is eating it up.
“This is insane!” Emerson shouts, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd noise.
“The radio said it was a sellout!”
It’s a first for the Gliders. Hopefully, the first of many.
I’m still in my feelings about getting fired, but I refuse to be bitter.
Or at least, not entirely.
I still have no interest in seeing my father, even from a distance, but Knox convinced me to come tonight. I’m not entirely sure it’s going to give me closure, but I want to support him. After all, it’s not like I can avoid the arena forever.
So, yeah. I’m at the Treehouse, I’ve got an ice-cold bevvy in my hand, and I’m rocking my new Gliders jersey.
The things we do for love.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Knox, and the realization has me grinning like a fool.
“What’s that smile?” Emerson wiggles her brows. “Does it have anything to do with the number eighty-six stitched on your back?”
My cheeks heat and I instinctively check to see if anyone’s listening. I can barely hear Emerson, so the odds are low.
Does it even matter anymore?
Not a bit, but I guess it’s force of habit.
“Which player is eighty-six?” I ask, tapping my chin with my pointer finger. “There are so many numbers that I get them all confused.”
Emerson rolls her eyes. “Fine. Play coy, but you’ll tell me eventually.”
She’s probably right, but not tonight. Just being here, in this arena, is taking its toll. I don’t have the energy to get into the rest of it.
Heck, I haven’t even told her I was fired yet.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and the last thing I want to do is spread my misery around. I’ll tell her after the holiday.
Emerson glances at the time on her smartwatch. “Wasn’t the game supposed to start at eight?”
“Yeah. What time is it?”
“Almost five after.” She frowns. “That’s weird. The NHL is usually fanatical about starting on time.”
She’d know better than I would. I may be immersed in the world of sports, but I’m a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to the details.
My gaze slides to the player’s tunnel. Empty. “Would they delay the start if someone was injured?”
Emerson shakes her head. “They’d just submit a lineup change and—”
“Excuse me.”
The guy to my left taps me on the shoulder, and when I turn to him, he gestures to the usher at the end of our aisle. She’s wearing a turquoise polo and there’s a name badge clipped to her shirt.
“Ava Washington?”
I nod, my stomach dropping. “That’s me.”
“Can you come with me, ma’am?”
Emerson grabs my arm. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you want me to come along?” she asks, concern etched across her face
“No, it’s okay.” I force a smile and set my beer in the cupholder. “Stay and enjoy the game. I’m sure this won’t take long.”
Whatever this is.
The usher leads me through the breezeway and down toward the locker room level. My mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. Am I being kicked out of the arena? Is this about Banks? Did something happen to Knox?
“Do you know what this is about?” I ask the usher.
“No, ma’am. I was just told to bring you to the locker room.”
The locker room? My heart pounds harder with each step.
By the time we arrive, I’m a bundle of nerves.
You’ve got this, Ava. You’re a grown-ass woman.
Besides, whatever is waiting for me in that locker room can’t be worse than dealing with Banks.
Probably.
The usher stares at me expectantly, so I push through the door—and freeze.
Jonathan Towers stands in the center of the room. My father is next to him. And the entire team—every single player—is suited up and staring at me.
Well, this is awkward.
My gaze finds Knox, and he gives me a small, reassuring nod.
“Ms. Washington,” Towers says. “Thank you for joining us. I was hoping we could have a quick conversation.”
What is going on here? Why aren’t the guys on the ice, and what could Jonathan Towers possibly have to say to me?
It doesn’t matter. Towers is here. This is my chance to be heard.
I can’t waste it.
“I’m not sure why you want to speak to me, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that firing me was a mistake.
” My hands begin to shake and I clasp them together.
“I’ve done more for this team in my short time than Dr. Banks ever did.
And if what he said is true, if all the Gliders want is yes-men who collect checks and ignore problems, then it was never going to work anyway.
” My heart slams against my ribcage, and I carefully avoid eye contact with my father as I press on.
“Honestly, I’m disappointed in this organization and its leadership.
I loved working with the men on this team, and I’m going to miss them, but I’m a damn good mental performance coach and any team in this city would be lucky to have me. ”
“The team agrees with you,” Towers says, smoothing the front of his shirt. “But it’s not up to them.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“However, they made a very compelling argument on your behalf, and as such, I’m inclined to reinstate you, effective immediately.”
The words don’t compute at first. I blink at him, certain I’ve misheard.
“You’re offering me my job back?”
“If you want it.”
Well, crap. If I’d known he was going to do that, I would have kept my thoughts on his leadership to myself.
The guys on the team fought for you.
My chest tightens with emotion. These men—this team—went to bat for me. Took on their GM to make sure I got justice. It’s so damn sweet that tears spring to my eyes.
I blink them back. I am not going to cry in front of the GM.
I chew my bottom lip, considering. Of course I want the job. The work is challenging, the team has great vibes, and everyone has been so nice—aside from Banks, which is a whole other can of worms.
But I can’t possibly work under Banks in good conscience.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say carefully. “But I can’t work under Dr. Banks. He’s created a hostile work environment, taken credit for my ideas, dismissed my professional recommendations, and—”
“Banks will be investigated,” Towers says, cutting me off. “And if what the team has told me is true, he’ll be terminated. You have my word.”
Wait. Banks is getting an investigation? I didn’t get an investigation before I was fired. It’s totally unfair…which is probably the point. Besides, now that the organization knows what to look for, Banks will surely be fired, and I’ll never have to deal with him again.
It’s everything I could have asked for. So why am I hesitating?
Because as much as I love my job, the circumstances—and the pay—are less than ideal.
True, but I can’t change those facts…can I?
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I want a permanent position. And I want the average market salary plus ten percent.”
Towers’s eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“I have six years of education and significant experience in my field.” I lift my chin, channeling every ounce of confidence I can scrape together. “The salary I’m requesting is appropriate for my level of expertise.”
God knows I can’t continue to rely on my father to pay my rent. I’m an adult, and I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.
Towers mutters something under his breath that sounds like “set up,” but he extends his hand. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Washington. Do we have a deal?”
Relief washes over me, and it’s all I can do not to squeal. “Yes. We have a deal.”
We shake on it, and Towers turns to the team. “Alright, gentlemen. Will you please take the damn ice before we get fined?”
The guys erupt in cheers and head for the tunnel, welcoming me back as they pass. McGinnis gives me a fist bump, and even though I didn’t think it was possible, my love for this team grows.
They’re a good group of guys. Their sport is brutal, even cutthroat at times, but they’re not. Once you get past the tough exteriors, they’re loyal and protective, and they care deeply.
Knox lingers just long enough to press a quick kiss to my forehead. “Good luck out there,” I tell him.
“It’s going to be a good game.” He grins. “I’ve got my lucky charm.”
Coach clears his throat pointedly. “No canoodling in the locker room.”
What is it with middle aged men and canoodling?
Knox laughs and hurries to catch up to his teammates, leaving me alone with Coach.
Adam.
My father.
The silence stretches between us, awkward and heavy. I shift my weight from foot to foot, suddenly unsure what to say.
“You should go,” I finally manage. “The game is starting, and the team needs you.”
“The assistant coaches know what to do,” he says quietly. “They can manage without me for a few minutes.” He pauses, his expression softening. “You come first.”
The words hit me harder than I expect. “It’s a little too late to play that card.”
He flinches, and I immediately regret my sharp tone. But I’m still hurt. He walked away from me at the hospital without hearing me out, making it clear I wasn’t his priority.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice raw. “I’m sorry for the hurt I caused.
That was never my intention, but I know I handled the situation badly.
” He gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass everything between us.
“I’m still trying to figure all of this out.
How to be a father. Where I fit into your life.
How we can work together to support this team. ”
The admission catches me off guard. Replace father with daughter, and I’ve wrestled with all the same questions.
Yet I never stopped to wonder if he was struggling too.
“How do you think I feel, Dad?”
The word slips out before I can stop it, and we both freeze.
It’s the first time I’ve called him that. Not Adam, or Coach, but Dad.