Chapter Twenty-Six
FIGHTING FOR HER
Zayden
She doesn’t get in until eight—I know because I asked her assistant, who looked at me like I’d grown a second head.
Players don’t usually show up at the administrative wing before practice.
Players definitely don’t show up looking like they haven’t slept and asking to speak with the Director of Athletic Performance about “a personal matter.”
But here I am. Coffee in hand, leg bouncing, rehearsing what I’m going to say for the hundredth time.
I thought about calling my agent first. He would probably tell me to stay out of it, let the lawyers handle it if it comes to that, and not to make waves during a playoff push. Smart advice. The kind of advice I’d normally take.
Too bad I’m done being smart about this.
The elevator dings, and Dana steps off with her own coffee and a leather bag over her shoulder. She spots me immediately, and something flickers across her face—surprise, then wariness, then the carefully neutral expression of someone who’s been in management long enough to see everything.
“Bishop.” She stops in front of me. “This is unexpected.”
“I need to talk to you. About Tori.”
“I figured.” She studies me for a moment, then sighs. “Come in. Let me at least put my bag down first.”
I follow her into the office and close the door behind me. It’s a nice space—windows overlooking the practice facility, framed photos of championship teams on the walls, and a desk that’s intimidatingly organized. Dana settles into her chair and gestures for me to sit.
I stay standing.
“Before you say anything,” she starts, “you should know that I’ve already spoken with Tori. She’s aware of the situation and the options available to her.”
“I know. She told me.”
“Then you know this isn’t really your conversation to have.”
“With respect, I disagree.”
Dana raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”
I take a breath. This is it. The moment I either fix this or make it a hundred times worse.
No pressure.
“The rumors going around—the ones Reed started—they’re about me as much as they’re about Tori.
More, actually, since I’m the one who pursued her.
” I hold up a hand before she can interrupt.
“I know what you’re thinking. That I’m just trying to protect her.
And yeah, I am. But I’m also telling you the truth.
I have no incentive to lie right now. And the truth is, she tried to keep things professional.
She had rules. I’m the one who kept pushing. ”
“Bishop—”
“I’m not done.” The words come out harder than I intended, and I force myself to soften. “Sorry. I just—I need you to hear this.”
Dana leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “I’m listening.”
“Tori is the best PT I’ve ever worked with.
And I’ve worked with a lot. She’s the reason my shoulder is ahead of schedule.
She’s the reason I’m going to make it through this season without surgery.
” I grip the back of the chair in front of me.
“She’s also the most ethical person I know.
She agonized over this—over us. Tried to fight it.
Tried to keep her distance. But I didn’t make it easy for her. ”
“So you’re saying this is your fault.”
“I’m saying if anyone should face consequences, it should be me. Not her.”
Dana is quiet for a long moment. I can’t read her expression, and it’s making me want to crawl out of my skin.
“That’s very noble,” she finally says. “But it doesn’t change the facts. There’s a policy. It exists for good reason. And whether you initiated things or not, she made choices too.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend nothing happened.
” I move around the chair and sit, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.
“I’m asking you to consider the context.
Reed started these rumors because Tori rejected him.
He’s been harassing her for weeks—showing up for fake injuries, blocking doorways, making comments. This is retaliation, pure and simple.”
Something shifts in Dana’s expression. “I had no idea.”
I figured as much. My jaw tightens. “You want to talk about conduct violations? Start with him.”
“Reed’s behavior is a separate issue.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like the same issue. A woman does her job, turns down the wrong guy, and suddenly she’s the one facing consequences while he gets to keep running his mouth in the locker room.”
Dana’s eyes narrow, but not in anger. More like she’s reassessing something. Considering it from an angle she hadn’t before.
“What exactly are you asking for, Mr. Bishop?”
“I’m asking for a solution that doesn’t destroy Tori’s career.” I hold her gaze. “Reassign her off my case—fine. I get it. Optics matter. But don’t push her out of the organization. Don’t make her pay for something that was as much my doing as hers.”
“And what about you? What consequences are you willing to accept?”
“Whatever you need. A fine. A statement. Sensitivity training.” I almost laugh at that last one. “I’ll sit through a hundred HR seminars if it means Tori keeps her job.”
Dana taps her pen against her desk, thinking. The silence stretches long enough that I start to wonder if I’ve completely miscalculated.
“You care about her,” she says finally. It’s not a question.
“Yeah.” There’s no point in denying it. “I do.”
“Enough to risk your own reputation? Your standing with the team?”
“Enough to be standing in your office at eight in the morning begging you to give her a chance. So yeah. I’d say so.”
There’s another long pause. Dana sets down her pen and folds her hands on the desk.
“Here’s what I can offer. Tori gets reassigned—off your care, effective immediately. James will take over your treatment for the remainder of the season. She stays with the organization, but in a reduced capacity until the noise dies down. No formal disciplinary action goes in her file.”
“What exactly does reduced capacity mean?”
“I’ll move her off the active roster for now. She’ll work with the guys rehabbing long-term injuries, prospects coming through. No road trips. Same pay. Same hours. But a little more behind the scenes.”
Relief floods through me, but I force myself to stay focused. That might work out okay. She’d probably be off Reed’s radar for a little while too. “And after the season?”
“If things have settled, we revisit. I can’t make promises, but I can tell you that I value her work. I don’t want to lose her any more than you do.”
“What about us? Tori and me?”
Dana sighs. “I’m not going to pretend I can control what you do in your personal lives. But I’d strongly suggest keeping things... discreet. At least until the playoffs are over. The last thing any of us needs is more fuel for the rumor mill.”
“I can do discreet.”
“Can you?” She raises an eyebrow. “Because showing up at my office first thing in the morning to plead your case isn’t exactly subtle.”
Fair point.
“I’ll be more careful,” I say. “We both will.”
Dana studies me for another moment, then nods slowly.
“Alright. I’ll talk to Tori this morning and let her know the new arrangement.
But Bishop—” She fixes me with a look that makes me feel like I’m back in the principal’s office.
“If this blows up, if there’s any more drama or any reason for me to think this is affecting the team, I won’t be as generous next time. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” She picks up her pen again, a clear dismissal. “Now get out of my office. You have practice in an hour.”
I stand but hesitate at the door. “Dana?”
“What?”
“Thank you. For hearing me out.”
Her expression softens, just slightly. “For what it’s worth, I think she’s lucky to have someone willing to go to bat for her like this. Not everyone would.”
“She’d do the same for me.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She waves a hand toward the door. “Go. Before someone sees you leaving my office and we have a whole new set of rumors to deal with.”
I go.
The hallway is still empty, the administrative wing quiet this early in the morning. I pull out my phone and stare at Tori’s name in my contacts, thumb hovering over the call button.
I should let Dana tell her first. That’s the professional thing to do. The appropriate thing.
But I need her to know it’s going to be okay. I need her to stop worrying, stop spiraling, stop thinking she has to give up everything she’s worked for.
I type out a text instead.
Me: I talked to Dana. I’ll call you after practice.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Tori: What did you do?
Me: The same thing you would have done for me.
I pocket my phone and head for the elevator, already running through what I need to do before practice. Get my gear, warm up my shoulder, and try not to think about how badly I want to see Tori’s face when she finds out—
“Bishop.”
I recognize that voice. Every muscle in my body goes tight.
Grayson Reed is leaning against the wall near the stairwell, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. Like he’s been waiting for me.
“Heard you were up here early.” He pushes off the wall and strolls toward me with that cocky swagger that makes me want to put my fist through his face. “Meeting with Dana? Let me guess—damage control?”
I don’t respond; I just keep walking toward the elevator.
“Come on, Bish. Don’t be like that.” He falls into step beside me. “I’m just making conversation. The locker room’s been buzzing all week about you and the hot PT. Gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
My jaw is so tight it aches. “Walk away, Reed.”
“Or what?” He laughs. “You gonna run to Dana again? Cry about how unfair everything is? Must be nice having management wrapped around your finger because you’re screwing the staff.”
I stop walking and turn to face him.
He’s still smirking, but something flickers in his eyes when he sees my expression. Good. He should be nervous.
“She rejected you.” I keep my voice low and controlled. “And you couldn’t handle it. So you spread rumors like a little boy throwing a tantrum on the playground.”
“I told people what I saw.”
“You told people what you wanted them to believe. There’s a difference.” I take a step closer. He holds his ground, but barely. “What’s the matter, Reed? Is your ego that fragile? A woman turns you down, and you have to try to destroy her career?”
His smirk slips. “She’s not that special.”
“Yeah, she is.” Another step. “And you know it. That’s why it stung so badly when she wanted nothing to do with you.”
His face darkens. “I don’t know what she told you, but—”
“She told me everything. I saw it—the fake injuries, the way you’d find excuses to be in the training room whenever she was on shift, the way you’d corner her after sessions.
” I take another step closer, and he takes a step back.
Interesting. “Dana knows now too, by the way. All of it. So whatever story you’ve been spinning? It’s done.”
For the first time, real concern flashes across his face. “You told Dana?”
“I told her everything: the harassment, the retaliation, the fact that you spread rumors because a woman had the audacity to turn you down.” Another step forward, and he backs into the wall. “How do you think that’s going to play out for you?”
“It’s her word against mine.”
“No. It’s her word, my word, and whatever paper trail she’s been keeping.” I’m close enough now to see the worry lines appearing on his forehead. “You really think she’s been putting up with your crap for weeks without documenting it? She’s smarter than you on your best day, Reed.”
He opens his mouth—probably to say something stupid—when footsteps echo down the hallway.
Banks rounds the corner, takes one look at the scene, and stops. His eyes move from me to Grayson to the approximately three inches of space between us.
“Problem?” he asks, his voice flat.
“No problem.” I don’t take my eyes off Grayson. “Reed and I were just having a conversation about professional conduct. Weren’t we?”
Grayson’s gaze darts to Banks—six-four, built like a brick wall, with a permanent scowl currently directed right at him—and whatever bravado he had left evaporates.
“We’re done here,” he mutters, trying to slide along the wall toward the stairwell.
I let him get two steps before I speak again.
“Hey, Reed.”
He pauses but doesn’t turn around.
“If I hear you’ve so much as looked at her wrong—” I step closer, and Reed’s back hit the wall.
Good. “—if she tells me you’ve been anywhere near her, if you so much as breathe in her direction—” I let him see exactly what’s coiled behind my eyes.
The thing I kept leashed on the ice. The thing that would very much enjoy an excuse.
“There won’t be a conversation next time.
Banks won’t be around to stop me. There won’t be witnesses.
There’ll just be you, trying to explain to the trainers how you broke your own face. We clear?”
He doesn’t answer. He just shoves through the stairwell door and disappears.
The door swings shut behind him, and I finally let out a breath.
“You good?” Banks asks.
“Yeah.” I roll my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension still coiled in my body. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You weren’t actually going to hit him, were you?”
“I was thinking about it.”
“Don’t.” Banks falls into step beside me as we head for the elevator. “He’s not worth the suspension.”
“I know.” I punch the button for the locker room level. “But it would’ve felt really satisfying.”
Banks almost smiles. Almost. “Can’t argue with that.”
The elevator doors open, and we step inside.
“For what it’s worth,” Banks says as the doors close, “I’ve been wanting to deck that guy since training camp. So if you ever change your mind about the suspension thing, let me know. I’ll hold him down.”
I laugh—actually laugh—for the first time in days. “I’ll keep that in mind.”