Emerson shakes her head. “They’d just submit a lineup change and—”
“Excuse me.”
The guy to my left taps me on the shoulder, and when I turn to him, he gestures to the usher at the end of our aisle. She’s wearing a turquoise polo and there’s a name badge clipped to her shirt.
“Ava Washington?”
I nod, my stomach dropping. “That’s me.”
“Can you come with me, ma’am?”
Emerson grabs my arm. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you want me to come along?” she asks, concern etched across her face
“No, it’s okay.” I force a smile and set my beer in the cupholder. “Stay and enjoy the game. I’m sure this won’t take long.”
Whateverthisis.
The usher leads me through the breezeway and down toward the locker room level. My mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. Am I being kicked out of the arena? Is this about Banks? Did something happen to Knox?
“Do you know what this is about?” I ask the usher.
“No, ma’am. I was just told to bring you to the locker room.”
The locker room? My heart pounds harder with each step.
By the time we arrive, I’m a bundle of nerves.
You’ve got this, Ava. You’re a grown-ass woman.
Besides, whatever is waiting for me in that locker room can’t be worse than dealing with Banks.
Probably.
The usher stares at me expectantly, so I push through the door—and freeze.
Jonathan Towers stands in the center of the room. My father is next to him. And the entire team—every single player—is suited up and staring at me.
Well, this is awkward.
My gaze finds Knox, and he gives me a small, reassuring nod.
“Ms. Washington,” Towers says. “Thank you for joining us. I was hoping we could have a quick conversation.”
What is going on here? Why aren’t the guys on the ice, and what could Jonathan Towers possibly have to say to me?
It doesn’t matter. Towers is here. This is my chance to be heard.
I can’t waste it.
“I’m not sure why you want to speak to me, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that firing me was a mistake.” My hands begin to shake and I clasp them together. “I’ve done more for this team in my short time than Dr. Banks ever did. And if what he said is true, if all the Gliders want is yes-men who collect checks and ignore problems, then it was never going to work anyway.” My heart slams against my ribcage, and I carefully avoid eye contact with my father as I press on. “Honestly, I’m disappointed in this organization and its leadership. I loved working with the men on this team, and I’m going to miss them, but I’m a damn good mental performance coach and any team in this city would be lucky to have me.”
“The team agrees with you,” Towers says, smoothing the front of his shirt. “But it’s not up to them.”
“Maybe it should be.”