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Ellie and Jimmy take off, and it’s just my parents, Harper, Victoria, and me.

I collapse on the couch beside my daughter. My head is pounding after not getting enough sleep combined with the whirlwind I was met with when I walked into my kitchen.

Character references and fines and charity work and a press conference today at four…it’s a lot to throw at a guy first thing after spending the night in jail.

“Is there any reason you think he didn’t press charges for the assault?” my father asks once my mother takes Harper upstairs to look at her dinocorn wallpaper.

I shrug. “I have no idea.”

“Walk me through what happened,” he says.

I start the story from the beginning when I rang the asshole’s doorbell.

“No,” Victoria says, interrupting. “Something happened before that. Remember?”

My brows dip.

“Owen walked into the bar where I was hanging out with my friend. He started saying stuff to me, and I started crying. I hit him—slapped him across the face, and when I went to do it again, he grabbed my wrist and gave me a nice bruise.” She holds up her arm that’s now healed.

No evidence of that one, I guess.

“Aha,” my dad says. “Eye for an eye. He has evidence of the vandalism so he’s just using that. It’s just enough to mess with you.”

“So what’s next?” I ask.

“Your arraignment, which will take place in the next few days most likely, where you’ll enter your guilty plea. Then the courts will set a date for your sentencing, usually within a couple of weeks. It’s a straightforward case and it’ll likely result in nothing more than a fine.”

“Legally,” I mutter. But what the league hands down will be something else entirely. And what if it’s not just a fine? As I think it, my phone starts to ring.

It’s the Aces team owner calling, and I know better than to silence the call.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett,” I answer cordially.

“Woods, get your ass to my office immediately.” He cuts the call before I get the chance to respond.

I need to head that way anyway ahead of the press interviews.

I glance up at Victoria. “The team owner wants to see me.”

“We’re happy to stay here with Harper while you get this sorted,” my mother says to both Victoria and me.

My mother. She’s here, and she’s supporting me. What planet did I walk out onto after I stepped foot outside the Clark County Detention Center this morning?

“Thank you,” I murmur.

And then I head upstairs for another shower, a shave, and a suit.

I’m nervous as I head over to the Complex, and I fidget at stoplights by flipping a coin. I hold Victoria’s hand while I drive. It’s a small measure that soothes me a little, but I have no idea what to really expect from this meeting.

“You can wait down here,” I tell Victoria once we’re in the lobby. “I’m sure Ellie will be here soon.”

I head over to Calvin’s office, and I stop in front of his secretary. “He’ll be with you in a moment,” she says without looking up from her desk. She presses a button, and a beat later, the door opens and an angry looking team owner stands on the other side of it. I fight the urge to grab my coin out of my pocket to start flipping it.

Coach Thompson is seated inside the office along with the General Manager, Steve Shanahan.

Shit. This is big time. All three head honchos here to put me under a microscope, and all I want to do is lay down and sleep off this horrible headache.

Actually, all I want to do is go back to the Bahamas, rewind the clock a few days and live in the bliss we had while we were there.

I draw in a deep breath and head into the office.

“Take a seat,” Mr. Bennett says gruffly as he takes a seat behind his desk. I slip into the only open chair nervously.

“I assume your absence at OTAs today has something to do with where you spent your evening?” Mr. Bennett begins.

I nod but don’t say anything.

“We are aware of your arrest given the fact that it’s all over the media, and all three of us are hugely disappointed in you, Mr. Woods,” he adds. “I expect all players on my team to conduct themselves with pride, and we’ll be following the legal process closely. We’ll make a decision about your status with the team once we know all the facts.”

“My status, sir?” I ask.

“A lot depends on what the league hands down as your punishment,” he says, and he avoids eye contact with me as he talks. “We’ll expect a suspension, but whether we release you or bench you after that remains to be seen.”

“Release me or bench me?” I ask. Shut up, Travis. Shut up. Don’t get into more trouble. That little voice in my head does nothing to stop me from asking the question on the tip of my tongue. “Are those the only two options?”

“No,” Coach Thompson says. “There’s a possibility we’ll trade you, and I suppose there’s also a possibility you’ll play, too, but we’re all very disappointed in this news particularly in the final year of your contract. We’d like some more information about what happened before we make any decisions at all.”

Mr. Shanahan starts with the questioning. “Can you tell us about the charges against you and your version of what happened?”

I suck in a breath and blow it out slowly. “I’m being charged with misdemeanor vandalism. It’s so stupid.”

“Did you vandalize something?” Mr. Bennett asks.

I shrug and nod at the same time. “Well, technically, yeah, but the guy had it coming.”

“Whether he deserved it or not is of no importance,” Mr. Bennett says.

“What did you vandalize?” Coach Thompson asks.

I clear my throat, and then I decide that these men make up part of my support team, too. They brought me into this organization, and they have the power to kick me out of it. So honesty feels like the best policy here.

“My wife’s ex was holding onto something that belonged to her. He hurt her, and I confronted him, and then I looked through his house until I found the item. And I clocked him in the jaw on my way out.”

The three men in the room, all powerful, important men, look at each other and have some sort of silent conversation while I wait for whatever’s coming next.

“Your wife?” Coach Thompson asks dryly. “My invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

“It was quick, and it’s new,” I admit. “As in…less than a week.”

“When did the vandalism take place?” Mr. Shanahan asks, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Last Thursday.”

“A week ago,” Coach murmurs, putting the pieces together that the whole wife situation must be related.

I nod. “The guy who pressed charges—my wife’s ex—was the best man at my wife’s sister’s wedding this past weekend. She was the maid of honor. My wife convinced him not to press charges before we left for the wedding—not to ruin her sister’s wedding.” I shrug. “She agreed to marry me while we were out of the country. When the plane landed back here in Vegas, the ex was at the airport with a warrant, the cops, and the paparazzi.”

My wife. My wife. My wife.

I’ve said it ten times now and it still doesn’t feel real. And it also feels like I made a stupid decision that could fuck my entire future because of her.

I’m not blaming her. I would never. I did it for her. I did it out of love paired with rage.

Maybe a little part of me is starting to resent that. And maybe a little part of me is worried that resenting that will lead to me resenting her .

Or maybe I’m creating more self-fulfilling prophecies.

She’s good for Harper. She’s good for me. And that’s what I need to focus on.

“All we can do is wait for the sentencing to make further decisions regarding your future with this organization,” Mr. Bennett says.

“My father is a lawyer, and he believes the worst that’ll happen is I’ll be fined.” I play with a loose thread on the bottom of my suit jacket. I feel uncomfortable in this thing, like the collar is choking me, and the thought still plagues me that maybe it won’t just be a fine. What if I get jail time? I have no previous offenses, and I believe my father is right, but there’s still that tiny thought brewing in the back of my mind.

“Be that as it may, vandalism is not taken lightly in the league,” Mr. Bennett chides. “Historically, athletes have been suspended among other things. Once the league hands down the punishment, we can determine an in-house one as well.”

I hang my head. Does he really think that’s not enough? I feel like shit over this whole thing.

I don’t feel like shit for the act of doing it. The asshole had it coming. But I do feel like shit that I’m being punished for it to this extreme.

If I can get him to drop the charges, maybe all this will go away.

But that’s one hell of a long shot.