The elevator doors open, and we step inside.
“For what it’s worth,” Banks says as the doors close, “I’ve been wanting to deck that guy since training camp. So if you ever change your mind about the suspension thing, let me know. I’ll hold him down.”
I laugh—actually laugh—for the first time in days. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
27
FIGURING IT OUT
Tori
Dana’s office feels different this time.
The last time I was here, I sat in this same uncomfortable chair, forced to choose between my career and my heart. Now I’m back, summoned by a two-word text—My office—with no idea what’s waiting for me.
I expect anger, disappointment, maybe even a formal termination letter.
What I don’t expect is Dana looking at me with something that might be respect.
“Close the door,” she says. “Sit down.”
I do both, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I had an interesting visitor this morning,” she starts. “Before practice. Zayden Bishop showed up outside my office, looking like he hadn’t slept, asking to talk about you.”
My stomach drops. He texted me this morning, but I have no idea how their conversation turned out.
Dana leans back in her chair. “He told me the whole thing was his fault. That he pursued you, that you tried tomaintain professional boundaries, and that if anyone should face consequences, it should be him.”
I close my eyes. That idiot. That sweet, stubborn, impossible idiot.
“He also told me about Reed,” Dana continues, her voice sharpening. “The fake injuries. The comments. The fact that this whole situation started because you rejected him, and he decided to retaliate.”
“I don’t want to cause problems,” I say quickly. “I just—”
“I wish you had reported it.” Dana sighs. “That’s a separate conversation, and one we’ll be having with HR. But for now, let’s focus on you.”
I brace myself. Here it comes.
“I’m reassigning you off Bishop’s care, effective immediately. James will take over his treatment for the rest of the season.”
I nod. I expected that much.
“You’ll stay with the organization,” she continues, “but I’m moving you off the active roster for now. You’ll work with players rehabbing long-term injuries and prospects coming through the system. Same pay, same hours—just a little more behind the scenes until this blows over.”
I blink. “I’m... not fired?”
“No, Tori. You’re not fired.” Dana’s expression softens slightly. “You’re a damn good PT. I don’t want to lose you over something like this. But I need you to be smart. Keep things discreet—until the season is over. No public displays, no drama, nothing that gives the rumor mill more fuel. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” The word comes out breathless. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Good.” She picks up her pen, a clear dismissal. “That’s all. You can go.”
I stand on shaky legs but pause at the door. “Dana?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
