“It’s temporary,” he added quickly. “We need to send a message to the team, the league, and the public that this behavior is unacceptable. You’ll keep playing, but Beck will wear the C until we reassess.”
I sat back in my chair, processing. The captaincy was supposed to be the pinnacle of my career. Leadership. Respect. Legacy.
And I’d lost it because I couldn’t control my temper.
“Before we discuss next steps,” Marcus said, drawing my attention back, “I want to be clear about where we stand. This organization has been monitoring your behavior closely since the reporter incident.”
My jaw tightened, but I kept quiet.
“We conducted a comprehensive review,” he continued. “Spoke with your agent, your coach, confirmed therapy attendance with Dr. Reyes’s office, even checked with the supervisor of your community service.” His eyes met mine. “Dr. Honors gave you a strong assessment. She reported that you’ve been professional, punctual, and respectful throughout your volunteer work. That assessment carried significant weight with the board.”
I thought of Palisade on the phone with him, defending me when she had every reason not to.
“However,” Marcus leaned forward, “that assessment was given before this situation with your daughter became public. Before the media circus. Before photographers were camped outside an elementary school.” He paused. “The board’s concern isn’t just about anger management anymore, Easton. It’s aboutjudgment. About your personal life creating liabilities for this organization.”
“My daughter isn’t a liability,” I said, voice low.
“The media attention surrounding her is.” Janet jumped in. “We’ve had sponsors asking questions. Season ticket holders calling to complain about the negative press. Three separate news outlets requesting interviews about your ‘secret child.’”
“Which is why we’re having this conversation,” Greg said. “The board gave you the benefit of the doubt after the reporter incident. Dr. Honors’s assessment, your clean therapy attendance, your consistent community service work. All of that bought you goodwill. But now we need you to show us you can handle this situation appropriately.”
“By reading the statement you wrote,” I said flatly.
“By showing the public and our sponsors, Easton Henley is a responsible father and team player who made a mistake but is committed to doing better.” Greg slid a folder across the table. “We’ve prepared a statement that addresses the paternity revelation while maintaining the team’s image. You have twenty-four hours to review it.”
I opened the folder.
Shadow Wolves captain Easton Henley regrets the incident that occurred yesterday at a local veterinary clinic. While he was understandably concerned for his daughter’s safety, he recognized his actions were inappropriate. The organization is working with all parties involved to resolve the situation. Henley remains committed to upholding the professional standards expected of Shadow Wolves players.
It was perfectly worded, legally sound, and completely sanitized.
It was also bullshit.
“This makes it sound like I regret protecting Casey,” I said slowly.
“It makes it sound like you regret handling the situation poorly,” Marcus corrected. “Which you should.”
“And what about Dr. Honors?” I asked. “The statement says nothing about the harassment she’s facing. The bad reviews, the threatening notes…”
“That’s not our concern,” Janet interrupted. “Our concern is protecting the Shadow Wolves brand. Dr. Honors’s business problems are between her and her lawyer.”
“She’s being called a gold digger. Her clinic is being destroyed by fake reviews. Someone left a threatening note on her door.”
“Then she should contact the police,” Greg said, not unkindly. “But Easton, you need to understand, our priority is you. Your career, your reputation, your ability to represent this organization. Everything else is secondary.”
I stared at the statement; the words blurring together.
Regrets the incident.
Actions were inappropriate.
Committed to professional standards.
All code for:I’m sorry for defending my daughter. I’m sorry for making the organization look bad. I’ll be a good team player and keep my personal life private.
“What if I don’t sign it?” I asked.
The room went silent.
