Page 78 of Scoring Zone
I walk out in a daze and stop short when I see half the team waiting outside his office.
Chapter 33
Austin
The locker room erupts with mayhem as our phones ding and ring simultaneously. My heart literally stops as I read the headline “Enforcers fire trainer for violent outburst.”
It can’t be true, but Wes confirms Grayson is in a meeting with Mr. Dimon, and we race to his office, forty minutes away.
He can’t get fired for something I did. I won’t take away his life for the second time. He says he doesn’t blame me for the hit that ended his hockey career, but he’ll hate me for this. My head is in my hands, and my teammates pat my shoulder and head to console me while we sit in Mr. Dimon’s waiting area.
They don’t suspect I’m the one responsible, only that I’m upset over Gray losing his job.
The door opens, and Gray stands frozen in the doorway. Behind him, Mr. Dimon rounds his desk to greet us.
“What’s going on?” Mr. Dimon asks.
“Don’t fire Grayson!” Benz shouts, clutching the crystal around his neck.
“We’re protesting,” King says.
I stand ready to confess. “You can’t fire him for something I—”
“What gave you the impression I fired him?” Ari asks, genuinely confused.
“It’s being reported on social media.” Lucky strides over and shows him his phone.
“This is highly inconvenient, yet it could work to our advantage. Wes, get Finn in my office.” The elevator dings, and a woman in an expensively tailored suit stalks over with her eyes solely focused on Mr. Dimon. “Grayson Ward, this is your lawyer. Please take the conference room for a consultation before you leave.” He rounds on me. “Mr. Lapointe, in my office. Wes, let me know when Finn arrives.”
As he speaks, a breathless Finn barrels around the corner. “I’m here.”
“While I’m speaking with Mr. Lapointe, please review the rumors of Mr. Ward’s firing and formulate a list of pros and cons of denying his employment status. Do not issue his previous apology. It could be construed as an admission of guilt.” He waves me into his office, and I dutifully enter, taking a seat across from his desk.
Mr. Dimon says, “I’m speaking first. You should know I have surveillance video that shows the altercation and matches Mr. Ward’s and Mr. Brant’s accounts. If you were to dispute their statements, it would cause more harm than good for yourself and them.”
I deflate, utterly helpless to solve this.
“This isn’t right. There must be something I can do.” My fame and money are useless unless I can help my man. But Mr. Dimon basically told me not to confess. Either because he knows the truth or presumes it’s something I would do to help my friend. My boyfriend.
“Mr. Ward said you texted Mr. Brant last night. Can I see your text?”
“Of course.” I slide my phone across his desk. It’s the strangest thing, but Mr. Dimon says Rhys’s name weirdly, similar to a curse, but with longing. Maybe I’m imagining it.
My text to Rhys is completely innocuous. I asked him if he got home safe or if he followed trouble and needed help.
“Do you have a personal relationship with Brant?” He scrolls through my phone.
“No. Last night was the first time I spoke to him outside of the rink.” I shift uncomfortably in my chair.
“Does Mr. Ward have a personal relationship with him?” His questions are sharp, bordering on accusatory.
“No, why?”
“It strikes me as odd that Mr. Brant happened to be there and you became concerned over his well-being.”
“Rhys thought the guys were harassing women and followed to ensure their safety. He’s a good guy, and I had to make sure he didn’t get jumped by two assholes for being a good Samaritan.”
“So, you never asked him to corroborate your version of events?”
