"I already regret it a little," I admit. "But I also don't have a better option right now."
He laughs, the sound almost breaking with emotion. "I'll take 'better than nothing.' It's more than I thought I'd get after today."
We sit there for a moment, hands still clasped, the weight of this decision settling over us.
CHAPTER 22
TUCKER
I'm sittingin an uncomfortable chair across from Josh Grentley, with my brother Odin perched on a stool in the corner, and a woman named Paulina Rodriguez settled in the chair between us like a referee at a boxing match. Given the physical altercation from the other day, everyone thought it was safest for Odin to observe as a bouncer.
I guess this is therapy.
"Thank you both for coming," Paulina says, like the two of us are at a party and she’s the host. She's probably in her forties, Latina, with dark hair pulled back and an expression that suggests she's seen it all. "I know this isn't easy, but Coach Thompson and team management feel that mediation is necessary given recent events."
Grentley snorts. "Mediation. That's what we're calling it?"
"What would you call it?" Paulina asks evenly.
"Damage control. PR bullshit." He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "The Stags fuck up, and the rest of us have to sit through therapy."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from responding. Odin shifts slightly in the corner—he's not allowed to participate since he's family. I can feel his tension as he slips out of the room.
"Josh," Paulina says, "that's not a productive way to?—"
"Productive?" Grentley laughs bitterly. "You want productive? How about we talk about nepotism? About how there are fourStags on this team because Daddy played here twenty years ago?"
I snort before I can stop myself. “We earned our spots."
"Did you?" Grentley leans forward. "Or did management just figure having the Stag name would sell jerseys?"
"Gentlemen—" Paulina tries to interject.
"I've led the team in penalty minutes and fighting majors for two seasons," I say, my voice tight. "I do my job."
"Your job is to protect the team. Not fuck your teammates' wives."
The room goes silent. Paulina's eyes dart between us, assessing.
"Josh," she says carefully, "I'm not sure you're in the right headspace for this session today."
"I'm fine."
"You're clearly not fine." I can't help myself now. "You're pissed that Sloane ditched you when you're the one who got your balls snipped without telling her."
Grentley's face goes red. “The fuck did you just say?"
"You heard me. You made that decision?—"
Grentley lunges across the space between us. I'm on my feet instantly, chairs clattering backward. Odin bursts back into the room and grabs Grentley from behind while Paulina shouts something about stopping, but I'm ready to fight, adrenaline pumping?—
A whistle pierces the air, directly in my ear. Sharp, shrill, and probably causing permanent hearing loss.
We all freeze.
Coach Thompson heaves me back into my chair, whistle still at his lips, his face purple with outrage.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" He looks between us. "This is a therapist's office. A place where you're supposed to be working out your problems like adults. And you're about to throw punches?"
