Still. You didn’t have to do that.
Yeah, I did.
Noah giving you hell?
Noah’s a prick.
He’s trying to help.
He’s trying to cover the team’s ass.
Maybe both.
I put my phone down and glare at the statement Noah wants me to memorize. Every word was carefully chosen to say as little as possible while sounding like it says something meaningful.
I fucking hate this. Hate the games, hate the spin, hate that doing the right thing somehow became doing the wrong thing because someone caught it on camera.
I mean, fuck social media.
But I also don’t want to get suspended. Don’t want to let the team down. Don’t want to give the league an excuse to make an example out of me.
So I’ll read the statement. I’ll do the media training. I’ll play nice with Coach’s uptight dickwad son who thinks I’m a liability.
And I’ll try not to think about the fact that if the same situation happened tomorrow, I’d probably do the exact same thing.
Because some things are worth the consequences.
Even if Noah Enver doesn’t get that.
CHAPTER 4
NOAH
The league callgoes better than expected.
Meaning, they didn’t immediately suspend Masterson for the rest of the season. That’s a definite win, considering the situation.
I walk back to the conference room with the verdict, mentally preparing for Masterson’s reaction. Two-game suspension, twenty-five thousand dollar fine, mandatory media training, and fifty hours of community service. Could have been worse.
A lot worse.
The fact that the fan shoved him first, which is barely visible in one of the videos, helped. So did the context of what the attendee said to Tate, though the league was careful not to make that the focus. They don’t want to look like they’re condoning violence even when it’s in response to bigotry.
I get it. Don’t agree with it, but I get it.
I push open the conference room door. Masterson’s still sitting where I left him, but he’s ditched the prepared statement and is scrolling through his phone. When he looks up, I notice…not for the first time…that his eyes are an unusual shade of green. Almost gray in certain light.
I grit my teeth. It’s not relevant. It’s also not something I should be noticing.
“Well?” He puts his phone down. “How fucked am I?”
“Two games, twenty-five thousand, fifty hours community service, and mandatory media training.”
He lets out a breath. “Shit. I got off easy, right?”
I give a swift nod.
“So I’m not banned from the league or being arrested for assault?”
