I press my lips together, and then I give a fairly bland recount of my night. “I went to a casino I’ve frequented before after practice. I headed down to a private basement section, and the police raided it about ten minutes after I walked in. I was detained and questioned. I was issued a citation, and I was told the DA would be easier on me if I gave up the name of the person who owned the place.”
“Did you?” Jack asks.
I glance at Everleigh, and then I look back at Jack. I shake my head.
“Ellie and I are working hard to bury the story,” Everleigh says.
Jack nods at her. “When a player is issued a citation by law enforcement, we have to report it to the league.”
“What if I got the citation dropped?” I ask quietly.
“It would have to be pretty quick in order for me not to report it.”
I glance over at Everleigh, and she’s staring straight ahead at Jack.
She’s not budging.
“The league may hand down their own punishment, or they may not. But you’ve violated a team rule, and that means suspension, Maverick.”
The word sends a shot of anger straight through me, but before I can protest, he continues as my stomach churns.
“I thought you’d be trying a little harder to keep your ass on the field considering you missed the first four games this season with your rib injury. I’m disappointed in your behavior. We knew bringing you here was a risk, and I still fully believe in Ms. Bradley’s capability to help you turn this around. But be aware that sponsors don’t want to take a risk on players like you. Your opportunities are going to dry up, they’re going to drop you, and if you can’t straighten yourself out,wewill drop you, too. We can’t continue taking the hits to our team reputation because of you. Little kids look up to you, man. Is this what you want them to see?” He pulls up a photo of me, one from not so long ago when I drunkenly ranted about Dex.
It's a little embarrassing, sure. But I didn’t bother tofeelembarrassment until Everleigh opened those doors to my emotions again. I didn’t give a single fuck what anyone thought about me.
I glance over at her again.
She could make whatever might come next much easier on me if she would just let me name her goddamn father.
But she won’t.
“Mr. Dalton, if I may,” she says. “I think a suspension will only draw more attention to Maverick’s behavior, and it’s just going to make it harder to bury the story.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Rules are rules. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Don’t you own the team?” I ask. I shouldn’t. I should keep my goddamn mouth shut, but I can’t. “You could bend the rules.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “If I bent the rules for every player that came in here and asked me to, what good would a set of rules be?” He shakes his head. “No. I can’t. You’ll serve your time. It’s a one-game suspension, and that means I’ll need your credentials through Sunday evening. You can return to the Complex on Monday morning if you so choose to practice.” He holds out his hand, and I hand over the little plastic card that lets me in and out of the building.
Fuck.
I blow out a breath, and then I storm out of the office without being dismissed.
I wonder if this means I won’t have to seeheruntil Monday morning, either.
It doesn’t.
The media finds out I’m suspended, and for as hard as Everleigh tried to bury the story, they run with it. They tear the fuck into me, and a public fallout means more time with my brand strategist, of course.
Everleigh looks flustered as I open the door after hearing her bang on it later that same evening.
“What?” I hiss.
“May I remind you that you brought this on yourself, Mr. Jennings?” She storms into my place. She sits at my kitchen table—uninvited, mind you—and pulls out her laptop.
“And yet you hold the solution in your very hands,” I muse. I lean my backside against my kitchen counter and fold my arms over my chest rather than joining her at the table.
“This isn’t the time for jokes.”
