In front of all of us, is a folder with my name embossed on the front beneath the Kings emblem.
“We appreciate you coming in, Brennan,” the owner starts.
Coach clears his throat. “You’ve been an asset since day one. An even greater leader on this team, Brennan.”
Past tense, apparently. I don’t answer, merely acknowledge his words with a chin lift.
He clears his throat. “This is…difficult, to say the least.”
“Difficult for who?” I drawl.
The doctor leans forward. “We’ve received the most recent recommendations from Greenwich Hospital. Combined with the other experts you sought out?—”
“Stop. You don’t get a chance to warm up.” My voice is as sharp as the blades I’ll never get to wear again. “Just say what you brought me here to say so I can get the hell out of here.”And mourn this along with Amy for the rest of my life.
Silence suppresses the air in the room.
The coach finally speaks. “You know we’ll always respect your contributions to the team…”
My laugh interrupts his speech. It’s short and ugly. “Then why the emergency meeting? I just landed yesterday.”
The owner folds his fingers together. “There are optics that need to be finessed before the entire league takes a hit.” He winces at his indirect pun.
Mark jumps in before I lose what’s left of my sanity. “Let’s stick to the facts and the contract terms.”
The doctor nods his agreement before launching in with my career death sentence. “You were not cleared to play based on my own baseline testing. Reaction time—slow. Short-term recall—insufficient. You sought out opinions from some of the best neurologists in the country—assuming, possibly—the tests I conducted could have been flawed as a result of their immediacy after the initial injury. I not only agreed with that, I supported it. I didn’t and still don’t want to see the Kings lose one of their best players.”
There it is.
The coach’s head drops into his hands. When I turn in his direction, the ice in my chest where my heart’s supposed to bemelts at the pain radiating from him. His voice is muffled when he mutters, “You know the rules, Brennan. You can’t be cleared to play without medical authorization.”
Hearing it from my team hits harder than any doctor saying it. I slam my hands against the table to release some of my pent up fury at a situation I have no control over. “So, it’s official. You’re executing the medical incapacitation clause in my contract.”
The owner’s expression doesn’t change. “We’re protecting you, Brennan.”
“And yourselves, because it was fine to allow me to play so long as no one knew about it. But after that last hit where I couldn’t stand?”
Everyone in the room winces collectively. Yeah, what happened to me on live television kicked the Kings in the ass. I snort, “God forbid now I take a hit and forget my own name on live television.”
Mark intervenes, likely worried my implosion will impact the other players he represents. “Brennan?—”
“No. I get to have my say before I sign the documents ending the only thing that’s stuck around in my life.”
Mark’s eyes bore into mine. Something I can’t read flashes through his which I can’t decipher. Still, he turns back to the other people in the room, silent.
The doctor exchanges an uncomfortable look with the team’s public relations liaison. “This isn’t about optics.”
“Bullshit,” I declare flatly. “Everything I’ve ever done to be in this league is about optics.”
Like not standing behind the girl you claimed to love?Amy’s face flashes through my mind again. Shoving thoughts of her aside, I flip the folder open. “I’ve said what I had to. Walk me through it so I can get the hell out of here.”
Legal speaks up. “Under the standard Kings medical termination clause, you’ll receive guaranteed salary, medical?—”
Mark interjects. “Remaining term. Injury protection. Benefits.”
He nods. “Correct. Full payout in accordance with league guidelines.”
A visible shudder ripples through me. Mark places a steadying hand on my shoulder. “This is the part of the contract that will protect you. The money will set you up for the rest of your life.”
