Page 75 of Huge Pucking Play

My stomach drops. My fingers fumble with the athletic tape, nearly dropping it.

Adam catches my eye across the room, raising an eyebrow. I give a tiny shrug, though I'm fairly certain I know what this is about.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, keeping my voice even.

"Don't play dumb with me." She stalks closer. "Did you think no one would notice you and Coach Hughes?"

The room goes dead silent. Even the usual hum of the equipment seems to pause.

"Marjorie, this isn't the place?—"

"I saw you." Her voice rises, turning shrill. "This morning. In the supply closet. Did you think that was appropriate workplace behavior, Ms. Lockhart? To be making out with a coach like some desperate groupie?"

Heat floods my face. I'm aware of everyone staring at me – Adam's mouth hanging open, the players shifting uncomfortably.

"That's personal," I say, my voice quiet by firm, holding on to whatever dignity I have left.

"Personal?" She laughs, a sharp bark with no humor. "There's nothing personal about it when you're employed by this organization. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Marjorie—"

"You've compromised yourself professionally. And the entire physical therapy department. You've created a conflict of interest that could affect player care!" Her face is getting blotchy, red patches appearing on her sallow cheeks.

"My relationship with Coach Hughes has not affected my work in any way," I say, my voice shaking slightly. "And quite frankly, it's none of your business."

"None of my business?" She takes another step closer, finger jabbing toward my face. "I am the head physical therapist. Everything that happens in this department is my business."

Behind her, I see Dmitri slide off the table and edge toward the other players. They're watching like it's a car crash – horrified but unable to look away.

"I'm going to make sure you're fired," Marjorie hisses. "I've worked here for twenty years. Do you think they'll choose some young tart who spreads her legs for the coaching staff over me?"

A collective intake of breath from around the room. Adam's eyes widen to saucers.

"That's enough." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "You're being unprofessional and inappropriate."

"Unprofessional?" She laughs again, that same humorless sound. "You're sleeping with Garrett Hughes, and I'm unprofessional? You know what they call women like you in this industry? Puck?—"

"Don't." It's Adam who speaks, stepping forward.

She whirls on him. "Stay out of this, Chen. Unless you want to be next on the chopping block."

"Go ahead and try," he says coolly. "I'd love to have a conversation with HR about this."

She turns back to me, her face contorted. "The management will hear about this today. Start packing your things, Cynthia. Your little career with the Blades is over."

With that, she spins on her heel and marches out, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that follows feels like it lasts a century. I stand frozen, tape still in my hands, humiliation burning through every cell in my body.

Then, from one of the massage tables: "So...you and Coach Hughes, huh?"

It's Sorenson, a grin spreading across his face.

"Shut up, dude," says Wilson. "Not cool."

"What? I'm just saying...didn't see that coming." Sorenson shrugs. "Though come to think of it, coach has been in a much better mood lately."

"Guys, can you just..." I close my eyes, wishing the floor would swallow me.

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