I turned back, meeting his ice-blue eyes across Davidson’s office. He looked devastated, guilty, desperate to protect me even now.
“It’s not just your fault,” I said quietly. “We both made choices. We both knew the risks.”
Then I walked out, leaving Griffin to face whatever consequences awaited while I dealt with my own.
The walk back to my office felt surreal—moving through familiar hallways that would no longer be mine, past staff I’d worked with for months, toward the space I’d made my own since arriving in Portland for this “fresh start.”
Some fresh start. Same ending as Nashville, just with different players and a different city.
Natalie was waiting outside my office, her expression worried. “Wesley? What’s going on? Owen looked furious when he left your office, and then you and Griffin?—”
“I’m suspended.” The words came out flat, professional. “Pending investigation. I need to get my things and leave my laptop with you.”
“Suspended? For what?” Her confusion was genuine, innocent. She had no idea what she’d been working alongside for weeks.
“I can’t discuss it. I’m sorry.” I moved past her into my office, started grabbing my few personal items—photos, books, the chipped coffee mug from SUNY.
I left my laptop and tablet on my desk and myStormhawks hoodie on the chair. All the physical evidence of a career that was over before it really began.
Natalie hovered in the doorway, clearly wanting to help but not knowing how. “Wesley, if there’s anything I can do?—”
“Take care of the team’s media presence. IT can give you access to my accounts.” I kept packing, kept moving, because if I stopped I might collapse. “You’re ready for this. You’ve been ready. Just keep doing what we’ve been doing.”
“But you’ll be back, right? After the investigation?”
I couldn’t answer that. Couldn’t promise something I had no control over. Just gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile and kept packing.
Fifteen minutes. That’s all I had to erase my presence from this office, this facility, this team I’d been helping build from scratch.
I made it in twelve.
Jerry, the friendly guard who always greeted me by name, manned the security desk. Now he took my badge and parking pass with polite distance, documenting everything, probably wondering what I’d done to deserve this treatment.
“Sorry about this, Wesley,” he said quietly, sympathy in his eyes.
“Thanks, Jerry.” I managed to keep my voice steady. “Take care.”
Then I was walking through the facility’s main doors for what might be the last time, stepping out into Friday afternoon sunshine that felt obscenely cheerful given the circumstances.
My car sat in the parking lot where I’d left it hours ago, back when I’d been riding high on the home opener’s success, back when my biggest concern had been managing Griffin’s media requests, back before everything fell apart.
I climbed in, closed the door, and sat in silence for a longmoment. My phone buzzed—probably Natalie with questions, or maybe Griffin trying to check on me despite Davidson’s orders about no contact.
I couldn’t look. Couldn’t process anything beyond the immediate reality.
My career was in jeopardy. The investigation would reveal everything—the relationship, the timeline, every moment we’d been together. And if they fired me, my professional reputation would be destroyed.
Just like Nashville. Just like Charles. Just like I’d promised myself would never happen again.
My hands gripped the steering wheel, and I finally let myself acknowledge the full weight of what had just happened.
I’d fallen in love with Griffin Lapierre. Had believed we could navigate the impossible. Had thought this time would be different.
And now I was suspended, possibly fired, definitely facing another scandal that would follow me for the rest of my career.
This is Nashville all over again. I knew better. Why didn’t I stop this?
But even as the thought formed, I knew the answer.
