“What does that mean? We pretend nothing happened here? You ignore me?”
I met his blue eyes, shaking my head. “I don’t want to hurt you. The thought of hurting you causes me pain, Oliver. But I’m finally getting treated with respect here. If they thought for a second…it would kill me professionally. I need you to understand that, please.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, his eyes blazing. “Okay.”
“I’m not pretending nothing happened or that we don’t have a connection. Of course we do. I just… don’t know how to handle it yet. I’m sorry I ran out this morning. I panicked. I’m panicking now, but I can’t lose my career. I gave up everything to be here. But I also don’t want to hurt you.” The moisture in my eyes settled, and I took a deep, calming breath. “Can we get through the game tomorrow, then maybe we can talk? Figure this… thing out?”
Oliver stared at my eyes, then my mouth, back to my eyes before he deflated. All the anger and stress rolled off him, and his lips curved up in an easy smile. “Yeah, we can do that, Sloane.”
I nodded, relieved to buy myself two days. I shuddered, and Oliver used that moment to take my hand in his and intertwine our fingers. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed the inside of my wrist, the gesture so, so sweet.
“I’m into you, Sloane. So fucking into you, and I regret acting out, but the thought of not seeing you vulnerable again sucked. So yeah, take your time. I’ll be here, and I’ll behave.”
I stared at our hands, conflicted feelings going to war in my chest. I didn’t give them space to take over, just as my phone went off.
Mac: Booth needs you. Come to his office.
“I gotta go, but please keep your pulse down.” I released his hand and stared up into his face. God, he was so hot it was wild. I brought my fingers up to his temple, running them through his hair as he closed his eyes and sighed. It was such a contented, happy sound that I smiled. Then, without saying anything I left him in the conference room and headed to meet Booth.
Booth stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but edged with something closer to concern than usual. His gaze flicked between the monitor and me, waiting. Mac leaned in over the screen, flipping through updated medical logs, his lips pressed into a flat line as he scanned the timestamped documentation. Every few seconds, his finger paused over a detail—flagging it for memory. William sat off to the side, calm and composed as always, but the legal packet in front of him was open, his highlighter already making tracks down the margin.
The tension in the room wasn’t combative. It was quiet and heavy, a pressure I knew all too well. Everyone here had a role, and mine had changed again.
“Sloane.” Booth nodded once, then gestured toward the mounted screen. “We need you to be the one to deliver the update to the team.”
I couldn’t have heard him correctly. I was new, a nobody. “You want me to address the entire roster?”
“Yes.” His voice didn’t waver. “Because this isn’t a medical update. It’s a mental shift. The players deserve someone who understands the weight of it and can speak to the bigger picture.”
Mac didn’t look up from his tablet. “You’ve been in every meeting, every review, every compliance session. You’ve seen the trajectory. You’ve written the protocols. They need to hear this from someone who understands the stakes—and who’s earned the right to speak plainly.”
William, still seated, closed his folder. “It’s not about PR. It’s about leadership. And whether you want to admit it or not, they listen when you talk.”
Mac finally glanced up. “You didn’t witness what happened, Sloane. You managed it. Kept it from becoming worse. That fucking matters.”
His words landed harder than I expected. Not as a compliment—but as a confirmation. They weren’t asking me to soften the blow. They were asking me to lead it.
“We’ve drafted a few talking points for the League and any local media inquiries,” Mac added, sliding the tablet toward me. “You’ll help us shape the language. We want your input.”
I stepped closer to the screen, reading through the language slide by slide. The phrasing was sharp. Direct. Hayes’s name wasn’t used once. The focus stayed on safety. Staff protection. Commitment to health and mental performance standards. It was good. Professional. Neutral enough to pass League scrutiny but strong enough to carry a message.
“This works,” I said. My voice came out even. Steady. “And I’ll lead the team meeting.”
William looked up from the legal file. “You’ll write the internal debrief summary too?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’ll send the first draft of media language to Comms by EOD.”
Booth tapped the side of the table once. “We’ll bring the roster in at one.”
He moved toward the whiteboard, already noting the timing. Mac handed off the tablet. William pushed back from the table and stood without a word. But before he reached the door, he paused.
“Mercer,” he said, voice quieter now. “You don’t need to prove anything to us. Sorry I made you feel like you had to”
I looked at him, more than surprised. He didn’t wait for a reply. Just left, the file still in hand. I had ten minutes before the team meeting, and my nerves went from zero to sixty.
I’d never addressed an entire team before—the staff, sure, but the roster? Holy. Shit. This was an opportunity to earn respect but, more importantly, ease the worry of the team. I quickly ran to the bathroom and checked my makeup and hoodie. My outfit was more casual than I would’ve liked, but I had my custom Vans on that gave me confidence.
Mac, Booth, Ivy, and William were giving me a shot to be one of the team, and I wouldn’t blow it.
