Page 80 of Huge Pucking Play

The silence stretches. I don't fill it. Don't rush him. Some shots need to be perfectly set up.

Finally, George sighs. "Fifteen years we've known each other, Hughes. You've never struck me as impulsive."

"I'm not."

"No," he agrees. "You're not." He taps his fingers on his desk, thinking. "And Marjorie has been—challenging—to work with for years."

Hope flickers, but I keep my expression even. George isn't done yet.

"Still, there are procedures. Protocols. The team culture to consider."

"All of which matter," I acknowledge. "But so does treating valuable staff with respect."

George leans back again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considers us. I've seen that look before—weighing options, calculating risks and benefits, making the tough calls.

"I need to think about this. I have a meeting in five minutes," he says, glancing at his watch. "But I'll get back to you today.”

We stand and I extend my hand. "Thank you for hearing us out, George."

His grip is firm. "Talk to you both soon."

We leave, the uncertainty hanging between us like smoke. In the hallway, Cyn's fingers find mine for the briefest moment.

"Did that go well?" she whispers.

"We'll know soon," I reply, but I feel strangely confident. George heard us. Really heard us. Sometimes that's all you need—a fair shot.

Time drags like a penalty kill that never ends. Cyn and I spend it in my office, both of us distracting ourselves with work. After about an hour, we’re summoned to return to George's office. His assistant waves us straight in. George stands at his window, back to us, hands clasped behind him. The Chicago skyline stretches beyond him. He turns, his face giving nothing away.

"Sit, please," he says, gesturing to the chairs we occupied earlier.

George takes his seat, adjusts a pen on his blotter, then looks up at us.

"I've spent the last thirty minutes thinking about team dynamics." His voice is measured. "About precedents and exceptions."

I nod. Waiting.

"The policy discouraging staff relationships exists for good reason." He taps his finger once on his desk. "Favoritism. Conflicts of interest. Drama when things end badly."

The last hits hard. Things ending badly. I glance at Cyn—her profile straight, shoulders back, eyes fixed on George. I can't imagine ending it with her.

"That said..." George leans back in his chair. "I've also been thinking about individual circumstances."

Something shifts in the air. The tension eases a fraction.

"Garrett, you're not in Cyn's chain of command. You have no say in her evaluations, assignments, or advancement." He looks at Cyn. "And Ms. Lockhart, you have no direct professional involvement with coaching decisions or assistant coach evaluations."

"That's correct," Cyn confirms, her voice steady.

George nods. "Then I see no conflict."

I breathe for what feels like the first time in hours.

"You have my blessing." He says it simply. No fanfare. "Keep it professional at work. No PDA in team spaces. No special treatment or perceived favoritism. Do that, and we have no issue."

"Thank you, George." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

Cyn sits straighter. "I appreciate your understanding, Mr. Corso."

---