“I have to go,” she said softly. “I need to finalize the report.”
“That’s it?” My jaw clenched. I wasn’t trying to make this harder, but god, this complication already was. “Is that the move? Pretend none of this happened?”
“No.” She looked at me again, voice quieter now, more fragile beneath the steel. “I’m going to remember it. Every second. And then I’m going to do what I’ve always done—get up, be the professional, and make sure no one questions why I have this job.”
“You think I don’t understand pressure?” I asked. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to live under expectations?”
“I think if anyone finds out what happened last night, I lose everything,” she said, and that finally broke something in her voice. A crack. “I’m not risking that. Not even for you.”
That gutted me. She didn’t mean it like that, I knew she didn’t. But her words landed anyway. She grabbed her clothes and escaped into the bathroom without looking back. “I’m sorry, Oliver. Please lock up when you leave.”
I stood there, damn well knowing that she was trying to say goodbye to me. I knew I had to be at the stadium soon and I’d see her, but fuck, I refused to let her pretend last night didn’t happen.
17
SLOANE
The stadium parking lot was half full when I pulled in, but the hush that followed me into the building was louder than any crowd. No one greeted me. No one nodded. Not even the front desk intern looked up from her monitor. It was protocol. Quiet was respect.
My Vans scuffed softly as I walked the main corridor toward the administrative wing. I wore black joggers, a team shirt, and the same jacket I wore during onboarding. My hair was in a tight bun. My nails were clean. No makeup but powder and clear gloss. Every detail calculated. Every layer of me exactly what they expected.
By the time I entered the conference room, William, Mac, Ivy, and Benson were already seated.
Mac nodded once. “Dr. Mercer.”
I sat at the opposite end, opening the manila folder I’d reviewed four times already. “Thank you for meeting early.”
William leaned back in his chair, unreadable. Benson gave me a small nod, and Ivy looked at me the same way she had in the hallway that first day—curious but cautious. I appreciated it.
“Where are we on the report?” Mac asked, already scrolling on his tablet.
I handed out copies. “Documented timeline of events. Direct quotes from Marcus. Damage inventory of my office. Witness account from Oliver James. Supplemental notes from Ivy’s triage record. Audio log from Hayes’s compliance sessions is flagged in red. All materials have been uploaded to the shared legal folder.”
No one spoke right away.
Ivy’s fingers curled slightly around the page as she read through the section documenting the chair throw and shattered frame. Her eyes flicked to mine, her brows pinched in something that looked too much like worry.
“Jesus, Sloane,” she muttered, voice low but not dismissive. “The proximity escalation... you could’ve been seriously hurt.”
Mac leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced on the table. “How’s your hand?” He sucked in a breath, and his gaze moved toward my forehead. “And the head?”
I glanced down at it—bandaged again, tightly this time. “Superficial lacerations. Small abrasion at the hairline. No stitches required. The head is good now.”
William closed the file, but his eyes stayed on me. “That wasn’t what he asked,” he said, his tone almost with worry.
I met his gaze head-on, surprised at how steady mine was. “I’m fine. Still a little sore. Nothing I can’t manage.”
Something shifted in his expression—less skepticism, more calculation. Then, a nod. Subtle. Measured. Respectful.
Mac exhaled. “Good. We’ll run with your neuro recommendation. HR and legal already started the paperwork for indefinite leave.”
“I’ll stay in contact with the league office,” Ivy said. “They’ll want all the logs.”
“Benson,” Mac added, “make sure Facilities reviews the badge logs. And confirm his access is revoked by end of day.”
He nodded. “Already in motion.”
William tapped the cover of the report again. “What are we saying publicly?”
