Chapter 15 I'm Done Playing Nice
Harper's POV,
I let go of Brianna's hair and scrambled backward, my heart hammering.
She stayed on the floor, breathing hard, her designer dress torn at the shoulder, her hair a complete disaster, mascara running down her face in black streaks.
I touched my cheek and my fingers came away with blood from where she'd scratched me.
"Are you insane?" Brianna shrieked, trying to get up. "You attacked me! I'm PREGNANT!"
"You slapped me first!" I shot back.
"Ladies, that's ENOUGH." A security guard in a black suit pushed between us, his hand up. Two more guards were running down the hallway, radios crackling.
"We're going to need both of you to come with us."
"Like hell," Maya said, grabbing my arm.
"She acted in self-defense. Brianna assaulted her first. There are witnesses."
"There are also about twenty people with video of you two rolling around on the floor," the security guard said dryly.
"So we're going to need statements from both parties."
"Harper Sinclair just attacked Joel Hartley's pregnant fiancée!" Brianna was crying now, real tears mixing with the mascara. "I want to press charges! I want–"
"You slapped her," Maya repeated.
"...On camera. In a hotel hallway after Harper gave a press conference. So maybe think really carefully about what story you want to tell the police."
Brianna's mouth snapped shut.
The security guard looked between us, clearly exhausted by whatever this was. "Ms. Cross, do you require medical attention?"
"I–" Brianna touched her head where I'd pulled her hair. "My scalp hurts. And my shoulder. She could have hurt my baby!"
"You slapped me in the face and then came at me," I said flatly. "I defended myself."
"Ms. Sinclair, you also have visible injuries." The guard gestured to my face. "Do you want us to call paramedics?"
"No. I'm fine. I just want to leave."
"I'm afraid we're going to need you to stay until–"
"She's leaving." Maya stepped forward, her voice going ice cold.
"Unless you want a lawsuit for unlawful detention, you're going to let us walk out of here right now. Brianna Cross assaulted my client first, on camera, and Harper responded in self-defense. If Ms. Cross wants to press charges, we'll be happy to press counter-charges for assault and battery. Your choice."
The security guard's radio crackled. He spoke into it quietly, listened, then sighed.
"You're free to go, Ms. Sinclair. But we'll need your contact information in case."
"Here's my card." Maya shoved a business card at him. "All inquiries go through me. Come on, Harper."
She practically dragged me down the hallway toward the exit. Behind us, I heard Brianna still crying, security trying to calm her down, and the unmistakable sound of camera shutters clicking.
We burst through the exit doors and Maya shoved me into her car.
"Get in. Now."
I collapsed into the passenger seat, my hands shaking. Maya peeled out of the parking lot like we were in a getaway car, tires squealing.
We made it two blocks before she burst out laughing. Tears streamed down her face, as she tried to keep her hands steady on the wheel.
"Maya?"
"You just–" She could barely get the words out. "You just got into a FISTFIGHT with Joel's pregnant fiancée! In a hotel hallway! After destroying him at his own press conference! Harper, do you understand what just happened?"
"Huh… I lost my mind?"
"You became a LEGEND." Maya wiped her eyes with one hand, still driving with the other. "Oh my God, this is going to be everywhere. EVERYWHERE."
"That's not a good thing!"
"Are you kidding? This is the BEST thing!" She glanced at me, grinning.
"Joel called a press conference to make you look weak. You showed up, destroyed him, and then got into a physical fight with his fiancée. You're not the victim anymore, Harper. You're the main character."
My phone started buzzing continuously in my pocket. I pulled it out and the screen was flooded with notifications.
"Give me that." Maya snatched the phone from my hand.
"You're not looking at social media for at least three hours. Trust me."
"Is it bad?"
"It's..." Maya scrolled for a second, her expression shifting. "Actually, it's not as bad as I thought. At least, you've got people defending you, saying Brianna started it." She glanced at the screen.
"Also Crew's been texting. He saw the videos.”
"What?... Give me the phone."
"In a minute. Let me get you home first before you have to deal with–" She stopped mid-sentence, staring at something on my phone. "Oh shit."
"What?"
"Crew's at the hospital with team officials." She handed me the phone. "He just texted that they're talking to him now about his suspension."
My stomach dropped. "Now? Like right now?"
"Looks like it."
…..
Crew's Pov,
I was still staring at the video of Harper and Brianna fighting on the floor when there was a knock on my hospital room door.
Three sharp raps.
"Come in," I called, already knowing who it was.
The door opened and Dr. Foster walked in, followed by Tom Bradley and James Chen. All three of them…. wearing identical serious expressions.
This was it.
"Mr. Lawson," Tom Bradley said, closing the door behind them. "We need to discuss your status with the team."
I set my phone down on the bedside table, face down so I wouldn't be tempted to keep watching Harper destroy her ex's life while mine fell apart. "Yeah. I figured."
Dr. Foster pulled up a chair while Tom and James remained standing, arms crossed. The power dynamic was clear.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Foster asked, pulling out his tablet.
"Physically? Fine. Everything else?" I let out a harsh laugh. "Not great."
"Understandable." Dr. Foster made some notes. "Your vitals are stable. The Narcan did its job. And you responded well to treatment."
"That's good," Tom Bradley said. "Because we need you healthy for what comes next."
Here it comes.
"Based on last night's incident and our review of team medical records, we're officially suspending you, effective immediately." Tom's voice was clinical… like he'd given this speech before.
"Indefinite suspension pending successful completion of an inpatient treatment program."
The words hit even though I'd been expecting them.
"How long?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"Minimum thirty days," James Chen said. "Possibly longer depending on medical evaluation and treatment progress."
"And then what? Do I still have a contract?"
The three of them exchanged glances.
"That depends on several factors," James said carefully. "Your completion of treatment, medical clearance and league review. We're not making final decisions until you finish the program."
The translation I was getting from that? A big, fat ‘probably not.’
"We've already coordinated with Pathways Recovery Center in Portland," Dr. Foster continued. "It's one of the best facilities in the country for treating professional athletes with substance abuse issues. They understand the unique pressures and pain management needs."
Portland. A whole different state, miles from Seattle… and worse, from my love; Harper.
"When do I leave?"
"Today." Tom Bradley checked his watch. "A transport van arrives in approximately two hours."
My pulse stuttered. "Two hours? That's… I can't–"
"We understand this is sudden," Dr. Foster said. "But given the media attention and the severity of yesterday's incident, we feel it's best to move quickly."
"Can I see someone before I go? Harper?"
Tom Bradley's expression tightened. "Mr. Lawson, we strongly advise against that."
"Why?"
"Because Ms. Sinclair just gave a press conference where she publicly disclosed your addiction and defended your relationship," James Chen said.
"Then, according to reports we're receiving, she got into a physical altercation with Joel Hartley's fiancée in the hotel."
"She WHAT?"
"There's video," Tom said, pulling out his phone and showing me. "Multiple angles."
I watched Harper and Brianna on the floor, hair-pulling and scratching, security running over. Heat rushed to my face.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "Is she okay?"
"According to this, she has minor injuries but refused medical attention." Tom put his phone away.
"Which brings us back to our point. The media attention surrounding your relationship is intense. We think it's best if you focus entirely on treatment without outside distractions."
"She's not a distraction. She's the reason I'm doing this."
"Then do it for her," Dr. Foster said gently. "Get clean. Get healthy. Prove to her and to yourself that you can beat this."
"The facility has strict protocols," James added. "No phone calls for the first seven days and no visitors for the first fourteen days. These rules exist for a reason; to help you focus on recovery without external pressure."
Seven days without talking to Harper?
Fourteen days without seeing her?
Are you FUCKIN' kidding me?
After everything that just happened. She practically went to war for me in front of the entire Seattle media.
"This is bullshit!" I said.
"It's protocol," Tom Bradley replied. "And it's non-negotiable. If you want any chance of returning to this team, you follow the facility's rules. All of them."
I stared at the ceiling, trying to process.
Thirty days minimum to find out if I still had a career left.
"Fine," I said. "I'll do it."
"Good." Dr. Foster stood. "We'll have someone from the facility come up to brief you on what to expect. You'll want to say whatever goodbyes you need to before 2 PM."
They filed out, leaving me alone with my phone and ninety minutes to figure out how to tell Harper I was leaving.
I picked up my phone and opened our text thread. Started typing, deleted it. Tried again, deleted that too.
My brain wasn’t braining anymore.
How do you tell someone you love that you’re about to disappear for a week with no contact… right after they publicly destroyed their ex for you?