“I just met with Ollie Davis,” I say, keeping my tone professional. “He’s dealing with some serious physical and personal issues. I think you should meet with him as soon as possible. And I’d recommend benching him until he can be evaluated and given proper treatment.”
Silence.
Then Banks laughs. Actually freaking laughs.
“Are you really trying to tell me how to do my job?”
Anger sparks behind my ribcage, and I immediately find myself on the defensive, trying to placate him when we should be partnering to help Ollie.
“I’m not trying to—”
“Let me make something very clear to you, Ms. Washington.” His voice drops, and when he speaks again, it’s cold andcondescending. “You only got the MPC contract with the Gliders because your father is the head coach. Everyone knows it, and the longer you’re here, the more certain I am that you’re not qualified for the position. Frankly, I think you’re in over your head.”
My vision blurs, and my grip tightens on the phone.
“I’ve been doing this job for a long time,” he continues. “Trust me when I say that the organization doesn’t actually want us to identify problems and remove players from the lineup. They keep us on the payroll to project the right image and deal with the occasional PR crisis. The kind of work you do? It doesn’t make a bit of difference at the end of the day. The players either have it or they don’t. The league will decide.”
The line goes dead, and I sit there, phone pressed to my ear, fury ripping through my chest like wildfire.
How dare he.
How dare he dismiss me like that. Dismiss Ollie. Dismiss the work I’ve been doing with this team.
I slam the phone down on the desk, breathing hard.
“Whoa.” Emerson appears in my doorway, eyes wide. “You okay?”
“No.” I stand up and pace, cupping my hands over the lower part of my face to keep from screaming. “I am not okay. Banks is being his usual dismissive self, and this time it’s actually important. There are real stakes involved and real consequences and—”
“Have you readEscaping the Good Girl Trapyet?”
I stop pacing and stare at her. “Yes. Why?”
“Then you should know you don’t have to tiptoe around Banks’s feelings or put up with his bullshit. Having a PhD doesn’t make him infallible, and it sure as hell doesn’t give him the right to treat you the way he does.” She crosses her arms.“You know what you’re doing, Ava. You need to stop listening to that jackass and trust your instincts.”
I sink back into my chair, her words echoing in my head.
She’s right.
I’ve taken baby steps toward breaking out of the good girl trap—standing up to Nana, setting boundaries with my mother, being more assertive with the team.
But I’m still defaulting to the same old patterns when it comes to Banks.
I’ve spent so much of my life being guilted and silenced. Taught that my opinions and feelings don’t matter. That it’s “bad” to cause others stress or discomfort. That the safe path is to follow the rules and be a “good” girl.
It’s made me doubt my instincts, made me afraid to trust them.
And why wouldn’t I when my brain is telling me to keep my head down? To not make waves. To let Banks walk all over me because he’s the boss and challenging him is risky.
He wants me to be smaller, quieter, more compliant. He wants me to be easy to control.
I’m done playing his game.
I can’t sit idly by and ignore his negligence.
Going over his head to the GM is a risk, though. They’re friends, and Towers might not believe me. And I can’t go running to my father for help because it will just validate every hateful thing Banks said.
I need to handle this myself, but how?