Tessa nodded once. Not approving. Not judging. Taking the answer and placing it where it belonged in the plan. “Then be prepared for the consequences attached to it.”
“We are,” I said.
Jace inhaled slowly, counted under his breath, then let it out. A coping mechanism he had built himself, not one I had handed him. “We’re trying to be.”
Better answer.
Tessa picked up her tablet. “After the meeting, you do not speak to players until instructed. You do not call Roman from the hallway. You do not call your father from the hallway. You do not call Olivia or Vanessa from the hallway unless counsel advises it.”
Jace frowned. “You have a serious hallway prejudice.”
“I have a realistic understanding of athletes, panic, and unlocked phones.”
“Fine. Fair.”
She looked between us. For once, the media manager mask slipped enough to show the woman underneath, tired and sharp and not untouched by what she was helping us carry.
“This is where the secret stops belonging to only you,” she said. “It will feel like losing control because part of it is. But hiding has a cost too. If you want any chance of building something real, this is the door you walk through.”
No one spoke.
Jace reached for his water bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a drink. His hand shook once. He pressed it against his thigh until it stopped.
“Tomorrow at nine,” he said.
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
We left separately because we had to.
At the end of the staff corridor, he turned toward the players’ side and I turned toward my office. Before the corner took him, Jace glanced back.
One look.
Brief enough to survive a camera. Long enough to steady me.
Tomorrow, we would hand the truth to people with the power to decide what it cost.
Tonight, we still had to carry it ourselves.
Chapter 36
Chapter 36
JACE
I got to the rink forty-two minutes early because my brain had decided there were only two possible settings today: catastrophically late or suspiciously early.
The parking lot was half empty. Staff cars near the side entrance. A delivery truck idling by the loading dock. Gray morning light sitting low over the building like even the sky hadn’t slept.
I turned the engine off and didn’t move.
My practice bag sat in the passenger seat because I had put it there on purpose, directly in my line of sight, after waking up twice convinced I’d forgotten it. My phone was in the cup holder. My keys were in my hand. I had eaten half a bagel in the car and then lost the other half somewhere between my apartment and the rink, which meant it was either in the seat crease or I had thrown it away without noticing.
Great. Excellent. Professional athlete with object permanence issues prepares to disclose career-threatening relationship to ownership.
I checked my phone.
