“Understood,” I said.
“And Hartley.” Paul turned his glare on Jace. “You keep your head down. You play when you're cleared. You don't give anyone ammunition. When the league interviews you—and they will—you better be very careful about what you say. Because if this investigation finds anything that compromises team integrity, I will bury both of you.”
Jace nodded once, jaw tight.
“Everyone out,” Paul said. “Except June. We need to discuss damage control before the league investigators show up.”
The team filed out slowly, and I followed them into the hallway. My legs felt shaky, and I couldn't quite process what had just happened. They'd saved me. The team had walked into the GM's office and threatened to quit if he fired me.
Rook was waiting in the hallway, and when I walked out, he nodded once. “Locker room. Now. We need to talk.”
The locker roomfelt different when I walked in. The guys were scattered around their stalls, some sitting, some standing, all watching me. Jace stood near his stall, arms crossed, looking exhausted and wrecked.
I stopped in the middle of the room, looked at each of them, and felt something break loose in my chest.
“Thank you,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I intended. “You didn't have to do that. You risked your careers, your contracts, your relationships with management. And I—” I stopped, swallowed hard. “I don't know how to repay that.”
“Don't need repayment,” Rook said. “Just don't make us regret it.”
“I won't.”
“Good.” Callahan spoke up from his stall. “Because that was some dramatic shit, Coach. Like, movie-level dramatic. You told the GM you love Hart right to his face.”
A few guys laughed, and I felt the tension break slightly.
“Yeah, I did.” I met Jace's eyes across the room. “And I'm not apologizing for it. Not to Paul. Not to anyone.”
“Good,” O'Rourke said. “Because if you'd backtracked after we stuck our necks out, I would've kicked your ass myself.”
More laughter. Mercer shook his head. “You're an idiot, Coach. But you're our idiot.”
“Appreciate that, Mercer.”
Rook stood up, walked over to stand beside me. “For the record, Coach? You're not as subtle as you think.”
Cho piped up from the corner. “You could've picked someone less dramatic than Hart. Maybe someone quieter. Less prone to injury.”
“Fuck you, Cho,” Jace said, but he was almost smiling.
“Just saying. Could've made our lives easier.”
The room dissolved into chirping, guys throwing jabs at each other, the tension finally breaking into something that feltalmost normal. I stood there watching them and felt gratitude so overwhelming it threatened to choke me.
“Alright,” I said finally. “Enough. Stop worrying about my love life and start worrying about your defensive zone coverage.”
“Yes, Coach,” they chorused, and I heard the affection underneath the teasing.
As the room started to empty—guys heading to showers, grabbing gear, drifting off to whatever came next—Jace caught my eye and tilted his head toward my office. I followed him out, and when we were alone in the hallway, he stopped and turned to face me.
“You told Paul you loved me,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. I did.”
“Grant—” His voice cracked. “You could've lost everything.”
“I did lose everything. And then the team gave it back.” I reached out, brushed my hand against his. Quick, careful. “But I wasn't going to lie about you. Not anymore.”
His eyes went bright. “I love you too. For the record.”
