"Most people do," I assure him, preparing the scanning equipment. "But it's quick and painless."
As I work, Banksy makes casual conversation. He's charismatic and friendly, lacking the apprehension that Tucker displayed during his appointment.
"So," he says while I adjust the scanner, "you and Alder, huh?"
I keep my face carefully neutral. "We're friends."
"Right." His tone is knowing but not unkind. "How's he doing with all this? The Adam thing, I mean."
The question catches me off guard. I hadn't considered that as one of the few openly LGBTQ+ players, Banksy might feel a certain solidarity with Alder.
"He's... coping," I say carefully. "It's been a tough week."
Banksy nods. "I bet. The media can be brutal, especially with this kind of thing. When I came out, they dissected every aspect of my life for months."
"How did you handle it?" I ask, genuinely curious.
He shrugs. "Kept my head down. Played hockey. Let my game speak for itself." He grins. "And I had a great support system. Sounds like Alder does, too."
Something pointed in his gaze that makes me wonder if he's trying to tell me something.
"Open wide," I say instead of responding, and he complies, effectively ending that line of conversation.
After finishing Banksy's scan for his new mouthguard, I walk him to the door. He pauses before leaving.
"Tell Alder the guys have his back, would you? Whatever's going on with you two—" he holds up a hand when I start to protest, "—is your business. But he should know the team supports him. And we should get the dogs together soon.” He grins.
"I'll tell him," I promise, touched by his concern.
After Banksy leaves, my office phone rings. The receptionist informs me that Charles Sutton, the team owner, and Coach Thompson would like to see me in the conference room.
My stomach drops. This can't be good.
The conference room feels overly spacious for just three people. Mr. Sutton occupies the head of the table, with Coach Thompson seated to his right. They both rise when I enter, a courtesy that fails to alleviate my nerves.
"Dr. Sinclair," Sutton says, extending his hand. "Thank you for joining us. Please, have a seat."
I settle into a chair, keeping my back straight and my hands folded on the table. I project a calm professionalism while internally screaming.
Sutton asks, "How are you finding your position with the Fury so far?"
"Very well, thank you," I reply. "Everyone has been extremely welcoming."
"Good, good." He nods, glancing at Coach Thompson. "We pride ourselves on being a family organization."
Something about the way he says "family" makes my skin prickle.
"Now," Sutton continues, "we wanted to touch base about a few organizational matters. As you know, the off-season is a critical time for planning and preparation."
What follows is a seemingly innocuous discussion about facility protocols, player treatment schedules, and equipment needs. My contract is probationary for 90 days, which is all things I knew already. But threaded through it all is an undercurrent I can't quite name.
Until Coach Thompson clears his throat and says, "We also wanted to discussteam culture."
There it is.
"Of course," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"The Fury organization has certain... expectations regarding staff-player interactions," Sutton explains. "While we encourage a collaborative environment, we also believe in maintaining appropriate professional distance."