"Adam Lawson is threatening legal action," he continues. "Not just against you, but against the organization. His company is not happy, to put it mildly.”
"He deserved it," I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Brian shifts nervously beside me. He's been hovering since we entered the office like he's afraid I might lunge across the desk and take a swing at the owner next.
Coach Thompson, who's been silently observing from the corner, steps forward. "Maybe he did. But that's not how professionals handle things off the ice.” He pauses, then adds in a lower voice, "Even if I would've done the same in your position."
The unexpected show of solidarity doesn't soften the blow that follows.
"Public apology," Sutton declares. "Community servicewith the youth hockey program. And you're covering any medical expenses for Lawson."
I nod, accepting the punishment without argument. Adam’s probably going to milk me for a nose job. Jagoff. It could be worse. They could bench me next season, trade me to a team in the middle of nowhere, and completely end my career.
"We'll draft a statement," Brian jumps in. "Schedule a press conference."
"Fine," I say, just wanting this meeting to be over.
"One more thing." Sutton's eyes bore into mine. "This is your only warning, Stag. Next time, there won't be a conversation."
The implied threat hangs in the air as I'm dismissed.
"What were you thinking?" Brian explodes the moment we're alone in the hallway. "Do you have any idea the PR nightmare we're dealing with?"
I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "It wasn't planned, Brian."
"No shit." He shoves a piece of paper into my hand. "Public statement. Memorize it. We're holding a press conference tomorrow morning."
I scan the typed paragraph—a generic apology full of corporate-speak about "regrettable actions" and "commitment to sportsmanship." There is nothing about Adam's smug face or his taunts about Lena. Nothing about how it felt to finally hit something that had been hurting me.
"This is bullshit," I say, crumpling the paper slightly in my fist.
Brian steps closer, lowering his voice. "This is your last chance, A-Stag. No more public outbursts, no more scenes. The team has been more than patient with the loss after the kiss cam and all the circus that followed."
I want to argue, but I know he's right. This isn't helping anyone, least of all me.
Brian's expression softens slightly. "Look, I get it. The guy's a dick. But this isn't helping you move on."
Move on… as if I haven't been trying to do exactly that.
"You really don't see what's going on here?" Brian asks, exasperated.
"Enlighten me," I spit back, pressing the ice pack to my jaw.
"After you blew his confidentiality at the barbecue, Adam lost a major account. The merger announcement was a mess. This whole thing—kissing that philosophy professor on camera, planting those stories questioning your bisexuality—it's strategic. It's revenge, A-Stag. He's trying to tank your public image like you accidentally tanked his career."
I rear back, the pieces finally clicking into place. "So, this isn't just about our breakup."
"You hurt him professionally. Now he's doing the same to you. The difference is, he's doing it deliberately."
I blink and adjust my weight. "I'll be at the press conference," I promise, pocketing the statement. "I'll say what needs to be said."
Brian looks skeptical but nods. He walks away, muttering, “Pain in my ass.”
I'm almost to the parking lot when a familiar voice calls out behind me.
"Heard management reamed you out." Tucker falls into step beside me, matching my stride as easily as he always has. "How bad was it?"
I fill him in on the consequences as we step through the doors into the bright afternoon sunshine. The mid-summerheat strikes like a physical wall after the air-conditioned facility.
