"Public for everyone now, I guess."
"That's going to be the second item by Friday. They love a hidden-relationship reveal." He sighs. "Okay. That doesn't change strategy; it just changes the headline. Talk tomorrow."
I hang up. Nora is on the couch, knees pulled up, staring at the dark TV.
"He didn't yell at me," I say, sitting next to her. "Mostly."
"Mostly."
"He said once the relationship gets out, it'll be the second item by Friday."
She nods, but doesn't say anything for a long moment.
"Tyler?"
"Yeah."
"This is the part where I tell you I'm sorry for making this complicated, for dragging your career into it." She turns to look at me. "But I'm not going to, because I'd do it again. But I want you to know I see what I cost you today, and I'm not pretending I didn't."
I take her hand.
"You didn't cost me anything I'm not willing to spend," I say. "Hear me? Not a single thing."
She doesn't say anything. Just curls into my side, careful of my ribs, and lets me hold her while the house settles into the night.
Thursday morning comes too fast.
The team email is in my inbox before I'm fully awake. Sent at 6:47 a.m. by the GM's assistant.
Subject line:
Visitor Access—Practice Facility—Effective Immediately.
I read it twice, the second time slower than the first.
Following the incident on Wednesday afternoon, an internal review has been conducted. Effective immediately, Ms. Nora Collins is prohibited from entering the practice facility, including all team-controlled areas of the arena (excluding family seating during games). This restriction is permanent unless formally reviewed by team management and the league. Mr. West is requested to attend a meeting with the GM today at 8 a.m. to discuss the incident and any related employment implications. Failure to attend will be treated as a separate matter.
Permanent.
There's no warmth in the language. No, "we understand the circumstances," just a formal letter, copied to my agent, the team's PR person, and someone in the league office I don't recognize.
I show it to Nora at the kitchen table. She reads it without speaking. Her face doesn't change much. She hands it back.
"That tracks," she says.
"Red—"
"I expected something like that. I just didn't think it would be permanent."
"It can be reviewed."
"It won't be." She stands up to make coffee. "Not for a long time. They have to be seen doing something, and the easy thing to do is bar me. So that's the thing they do."
I want to argue, but I can't. She's right.
"I have to be in the GM's office in an hour," I say.
"Then you should go."