Page 115 of The Assist
Mike leans forward, hands folded. “We’ve also had a formal complaint from one of your teammates.”
I lift my head, brows drawn. “What?”
“Danny,” Mike says flatly. “He claims you’ve been receiving preferential treatment from Mia. That your injuries were handled with more leniency, that your rehab schedule was adjusted unfairly, and that your position on the roster was protected while others were rotated out.” He’s reading from a list on the paperwork in front of him.
“That’s bullshit,” I snap, heat rising up my neck. “I’ve trained my arse off to get back. I never asked for special treatment. I worked for it.”
“We know,” Coach says. “But the optics don’t look good.”
“And optics matter,” Mike adds.
I clench my fists under the table. I want to hit something, or someone. Preferably Danny. “He’s just pissed because he’s been benched.”
Mike slides another piece of paper across the table. “This is the section of the staff-player code of conduct Mia signed. You’ll notice it’s vague, but not without consequence. It explicitly warns against any relationships that may lead to conflicts of interest.”
My eyes scan the page, and the text highlighted boldly in yellow. And bile rises from my gut. “She’s not my physio anymore,” I say quickly. “She hasn’t been handling my treatments since we started seeing each other.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mike replies. “You were already involved when she was. And the fact you hid it makes it worse.”
“Actually, no we weren’t involved when I threw my shoulder out. Nothing happened at that point.” I sit back, my jaw tight and ticking now, staring at the photos again. Mia was right. Shewasalways right to be scared.
“What happens now?” I ask, my voice lower than I intend.
Coach sighs. “We’re still discussing it. But we wanted to give you the opportunity to speak first. Honestly.”
I nod. “Then honestly? I love her. I wasn’t just screwing around. I never have been with her. It’s not a fling. It’s real. And I’d do it all again. I can’t win, can I? You hauled me over the coals for all the puck bunnies who posted stories…most of them lies. Told me it wasn’t the image the club wanted. Now I’m in a meaningful relationship and that doesn’t work for the club image either. What the fuck do you want from me, blood?” My hand slams down on the table, and Coach physically jumps. “I’ve played my arse off for this club. I’ve given you everything I had and more.” I shake my head in disbelief.
Mike and Coach exchange a look, and I can’t read it. Do they understand, or have I just made it ten times worse?
“Mia’s being brought in now, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Mike says after a beat. “For a separate meeting. We don’t want any cross-contamination of statements.”
The words make me feel like we’re being treated like criminals. Like I dragged her into this mess and now she’swalking straight into the fire. “Are you suspending her?” I ask, hating how raw my voice sounds.
“No decisions have been made yet,” Mike replies. “But this isn’t going to go away quietly, Dylan.”
I nod slowly. “Then I’m not staying quiet either.” There’s a pause, then there’s knock at the door before it opens.
Mia’s voice carries through from the hallway, muffled by nerves. “Hi, sorry. You wanted to see me?”
Mike stands. “You’re in the next room, Mia. You’re with Jonno.”
She hesitates, and for a split second, our eyes meet as she passes the doorway. It’s only a second. But it’s enough. I see the panic, the weight she’s carrying. The fear that this is all about to collapse under us. And then the door shuts.
Coach rubs his hands over his face. “You’d better hope you’re right about her being worth it.”
I hold his gaze. “I don’t hope. I know.” But even as I say it, something shifts in my chest. Not doubt, not regret. Just the realisation that we’ve finally hit the moment we can’t come back from.
And I have no idea what’s waiting on the other side.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
MIA
The air in the hallway feels too thick to breathe, the air con is emitting a weird stale kind of smell and it catches in my throat. My palms are sweating, even though the rest of me is ice cold, and my nerves crackle in my veins like an electric current. The second the door closes behind me, I almost double over. I saw him. Just for a second. Dylan, sitting in that chair, looking like he’d been gutted and stitched back together too tight.
And now I’m next.
Jonno’s waiting for me in the small adjoining meeting room. He gives me a tight nod; there’s no smile, no warmth, but no anger either. Just that calm, steady presence I’ve come to rely on when everything else is burning.
