The door hisses. Julia’s heels cross the marble like punctuation. She breezes in with a folder and a phone glowing red with notifications, expression calibrated for a fire.
“Quick hits,” she says, sliding the folder across the glass. Tabs in sponsor colors peep like flags. “One: NorthEdge skates is spooked; they want assurance language by end of day or they ‘reassess’ Q1. Two: Compliance flagged the bench photo and the Crown-level post—possible appearance-of-impropriety review. Three: Media plan.” A printed grid, neat boxes. “Distance. Effective immediately.”
“Define distance,” I say, already knowing.
“Separate entrances and exits. No co-located travel photos. No tunnel conversations. No bench adjacency unless mandated by active play. No after-hours overlap beyond documented medical necessity.” Flip of a page. “Talking points if cornered: ‘We take player health seriously. We respect league policy. We do not comment on personal rumors.’”
Nolan gestures, pleased to let Julia do the cutting. “There is discretion.”
Julia’s eyes find mine, sharp and not unkind. “Riley, it isn’t fair. It keeps you—and us—out of the meat grinder. This is triage.”
“Triage prioritizes the most critical need,” I say. Calm voice; unruly pulse. “Jason’s wrist and systemic stress response are my patients today. Optics can wait.”
“Optics don’t wait,” Nolan says, amused. “They metastasize. I keep the lights on; you keep players on the ice. Everyone stays in their lane.”
Julia cuts in fast. “PR routes all trainer inquiries to me. No comment from you on anything beyond the prepared line. If anyone sticks a mic in your face, call me and keep walking.”
I think of last night, a cool cloth on too-hot skin, a hand closing over my wrist with mercy. “And his rehab?” I ask. “The plan changes only if the medical picture changes—not for a headline.”
“Of course,” Julia says, too quick. “But we stagger presence. You brief the assistant in the morning and stay off the bench at games until this cools.”
The room tilts. Not fainting—fury. “You’re asking me to abandon my patient mid-cycle.”
“Temporarily,” she says. “Strategically.” Softer: “Protectively.”
Nolan folds the folder shut. “We are eliminating variables.”
“I’m not a variable,” I say, even and cold. “I am a constant. My presence is stabilizing. Pull me and re-injury risk climbs.”
Julia exhales like walking into a headwind. “Give me seventy-two hours. Let me lid this while you run point from the room. You know he’ll push today to prove a point. If you’re not on the bench, he’s less likely to show off.”
She’s not wrong. He’s also less likely to listen to anyone not named me when the pain bites. I taste the compromise.
“Seventy-two,” I repeat. “No game bench. Yes to locker room and training suite. I’m in the tunnel for acute care. Non-negotiable.”
Nolan considers a smile. “A compromise.”
Julia nods, relieved and already typing. “I’ll message PR and compliance.”
Nolan flips the folder back, casual. “Another option: temporary reassignment off the roster. Administrative leave. Optics cool, clean and quick.”
Administrative leave reads as guilt no matter the spin. I see Jason’s wrist in someone else’s hands; I see him pushing past pain because the one person he listens to is gone.
“With respect,” I say, dosing each word, “pulling me now interrupts a tendon-loading phase. Consistency is the point. Change the cue-giver and re-injury risk jumps twenty to thirty percent.”
“Miles Carter is capable,” he says, pleasant as a trap.
“Miles is good,” I agree. “But Jason’s compliance drops when hands change. You hired me because I get buy-in from difficult athletes. Pull me, and you trade three days of calmer headlines for three weeks lost on ice time if he backslides.”
Julia angles toward Nolan. “Reassignment looks punitive. It feeds the rumor. Quiet rotation with Riley directing from the room gets the optics without blowback.”
Nolan drums two fingers on glass. The skyline stripes his cuff. “My concern is precedent. Staff and players do not mix. The appearance that they have, at any time, undermines authority.”
“Then model authority that prioritizes performance and policy,” I say. “Make it clear the organization trusts its medical team to follow procedure. I will follow procedure to the letter.” I meet his eyes. “Give me seventy-two to move the numbers the right way. If compliance flags again or his metrics slip, I’ll step aside on record.”
It tastes like glass. I swallow it.
A beat. Then he inclines his head a fraction. “Seventy-two. Julia will coordinate language. PR routes inquiries. You will be discreet.”
