Page 76 of Off-Limits as Puck

The walk down the hallway feels like a perp walk. Support staff scatter like I’m contagious. Through the glass windows, I can see reporters gathering outside, probably hoping for exactly this kind of meltdown.

Coach’s office hasn’t changed since yesterday—same trophies, same photos, same disappointment radiating from everysurface. But today there’s something else. Finality.

“Sit.”

I remain standing. “If you’re cutting me, just say it.”

“Oh, you’re getting cut. Question is whether it’s from the team or just from her.”

“From Chelsea?”

“Dr. Clark,” he corrects sharply. “And yes. The board’s making noise about ethics violations, conduct detrimental to the team. Your little stunt just now doesn’t help.”

“Lawrence was out of line.”

“Lawrence was honest. Brutally, stupidly honest, but honest.” He leans back in his chair, studying me like game tape. “Here’s the reality, Hendrix. That photo isn’t going away. The media circus is just getting started. And every day you’re associated with my daughter, it gets worse for everyone.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you have a choice. Public statement distancing yourself from her. Clean break. Professional relationship only. Do that, and maybe—maybe—we can salvage your spot on this team.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re done. Not just here. I’ll make sure every GM in the league knows you’re a liability. That you can’t separate personal and professional. That you’re the kind of player who destroys teams from the inside.”

The threat hangs between us like a loaded gun. He’s not bluffing—Chris Clark has enough influence to blacklist me permanently. One phone call, and my career becomes a cautionary tale.

“You want me to throw her under the bus.”

“I want you to tell the truth. That whatever happened was a mistake. That she was professional throughout your treatment. That you take full responsibility for any... misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings.” I taste the word like poison. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

“That’s what it has to be.” His voice softens slightly. “Look, I know this is hard. But Chelsea will survive this. She’s brilliant, resilient. She’ll land on her feet somewhere else. But if you keep dragging her down with you—”

“I’m not dragging her anywhere. She makes her own choices.”

“Does she? Or is she making them because she thinks she loves you?”

The question hits harder than Lawrence’s fists. Because he’s right. Chelsea’s not thinking clearly. She’s sacrificing everything for something that might not even be real.

“I need time to think.”

“You have until tomorrow’s press conference. Five PM. Either you’re there, making the statement, or you’re cleaning out your locker for good.”

I stand to leave, but his voice stops me at the door.

“For what it’s worth, Hendrix, I don’t think you’re a bad guy. Just a guy making bad choices for someone who deserves better.”

Outside his office, the facility feels hostile. Every face I pass reminds me that I’m the problem. The liability. The walking scandal who turned their workplace into a soap opera.

In the parking garage, I sit in my car and stare at my phone. Chelsea’s contact finally saved correctly. No messages since yesterday when I forwarded the blackmail texts to Patricia. Radio silence from the woman who’s destroying her life for me.

Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe Coach is right—she deserves better than this chaos I bring everywhere I go.

But even as I think it, my fingers are typing:

Me:They want me to cut you off publicly. Tell the world you meant nothing.

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