This was it. When I’d learn my fate, my future. If I’d have to find a new profession. I had enough savings for a year or two, but that wouldn’t be sustainable. I covered my stomach with my hand, willing it to settle as I thumbed up the text.
“Hey, what is it?” Oliver walked toward me, brows drawn low and his mouth turned in a frown. “You tensed.”
“You should be hanging with your team,” I said, jutting my chin toward them.
“I am, but my gaze rarely leaves you for more than ten seconds.” He ran a thumb over my collarbone, his eyes soft and worried. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Team meeting at five.” I exhaled, pushing my hair behind my ears. “Mac called for it.”
He frowned, and a flicker of worry crossed his face. “Fuck, do you want me to go with you?”
“You wonderful man.” I kissed him softly. “I love you. I have no idea what’s going to happen, and yeah, I’m scared as hell, but knowing I have you helps.”
“You have me.” Oliver’s gaze heated, more intense as he stared at me. “You and me, Sloane. No matter what happens, it’s you and me.”
I nodded, my throat tightening with emotion as I walked out of his place. It was time to see what would happen with my life.
Every step echoed too loudlyin my ears. Every hallway I passed through felt one degree too warm. The familiar faces I waved to every day seemed distant, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was a point of topic.Oh, is that the one who slept with a player?
Everyone knew. I hated the insecurity, the embarrassment. Who I fell in love with didn’t change my credentials, experience, or expertise, but people didn’t view women in sport professions the same way. My hands shook, but there was no way through this but through it.
I stepped into the staff suite at 4:59 sharp.
Booth was near the whiteboard, arms crossed, unreadable. Mac stood behind the main table, hands braced on the back of a chair, like he’d been there for a while. His face looked tired, more weathered than normal. He wore a pullover, but it was wrinkled. Ivy was seated with her tablet open, thumb scrolling slowly. William stood beside the coffee counter, turning his pen over in his hand. They all looked up when I entered.
“Close the door,” Mac said, no indication if he was going to yell or fire me.
I did.
I stood in front of the table but didn’t sit. I kept my hands folded in front of me. Still. Quiet. Waiting.
Booth started. “Oliver’s episode has been formally logged and reported to League compliance. There’s been no escalation yet. No inquiries.”
William added, “Diagnosis confirmed: exertion-induced SVT. The echocardiogram supports it. No evidence of structural damage. His telemetry from the last month matches previous undocumented patterns.”
“He’s not cleared to return,” Ivy said, voice even. “His ablation consult is scheduled for Thursday morning. He’s out the rest of the season.”
“If it goes well,” William continued, “he’ll enter staged recovery by winter. Spring for conditioning. Full return projected by training camp. But that’s assuming no complications.”
My throat tightened, but I said nothing.
Mac exhaled. “Now we address the second issue.”
My stomach turned. I didn’t need him to elaborate.
“You broke protocol,” he said. “You didn’t call his injury in. You climbed into the ambulance without clearance. You made physical contact in front of League cameras.”
I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t thinking about optics. He wasn’t stable.”
“You made a decision,” Mac said. “But it wasn’t about medical protocol. You’ve been involved with an active player for—what? Weeks? Months?”
“Months,” I said quietly. “Off the record. No bias was present in my evaluations.”
“She’s right. I reviewed them yesterday, all of them,” William said. “Her documentation was sound. Her treatment plans followed department standards. Her field decisions were consistent with best practices. She didn’t show preference. Not on paper.”
“But she did get in the ambulance,” Mac said, “And kept a relationship hidden.”
Silence fell.
