Page 165 of Game Misconduct
Another board member—one of the older ones, with silver hair and a thick Southern accent—leans in. “Ms. Carrington, are you emotionally compromised in your role?”
“No.”
His brow lifts. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Even if it’s a lie.
They turn back to Maddox. “Mr. Lasker. Do you believe Ms. Carrington leaked the story?”
His jaw works. Slowly, finally, his gaze lifts to mine.
For a moment, there’s something there. Not softness. But clarity.
“No,” he says. “She didn’t.”
Dean doesn’t like that answer. “Regardless, the optics are messy. Fans and sponsors are asking questions. There’s concern about judgment, leadership, and locker room fallout.”
“I’ve done my job,” Maddox replies coolly. “You asked me to play like a franchise anchor. I did. That’s the job.”
The silence stretches. Measured. Calculating.
Then the board chair clears his throat. “We’ll adjourn for two hours. During that time, we’ll call in Coach Holt to review any impact this may have had on locker room culture and team focus. At the end of the recess, we will vote.”
Dean doesn’t hide his glee now. “Very good.”
They rise. One by one. No handshakes. Just silence.
Maddox stands too. Starts for the door.
I don’t stop him. I want to. God, I want to.
But I can’t. Not now and judging by the way this meeting went, not ever.
We’re over before we began.
And just like everything else with this team, it feels like what I had to say or what I feel means less than nothing.
So fuck all of them.
Let them vote. Let them rip this legacy out from under me. But I will not fall apart while they’re watching.
And I will not beg a man to stay who’s already decided to leave.
Two hours on the dot later, the board files into the conference room.
Their faces betray nothing. It’s stoicism at its finest.
But the air has shifted. It’s heavier, like a sentence has already been written and we’re all just pretending this part matters.
Dean’s tie is loose around his neck now, his sleeves pushed up, a worn-out performance of casual authority.
Maddox sits two seats down from me. Stone-faced. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable.
I wish my body would behave and not be on high alert knowing he’s around.
“We’ve reconvened after reviewing the materials submitted by both parties,” Chairman Weatherby says, his voice even. “Including the written statement from Coach Holt and internal player reports from preseason through current standings.”
