“Throw in thefor a female athleteone-liner. You’ve been around since I was a rookie, Buttecker, and I’ve never heard you tell me my stats were good for a male athlete. If you’re going to cover us this season, you’re going to recognize Hartwell is an NHL player. Full stop.”
“In that case, I’ll amend my statement. Her stats are impressive, but she’d be last in the league in all categories.”
“She hasn’t played a game yet and you’re already throwing her under the bus?” I ask, grabbing the microphone. “Pardon my language, but that’s not going to fucking fly around here. Treat my teammates with respect, or I’ll make sure we remove your press access for the foreseeable future. You can watch games on channel 5, not from the cushy media box, asshat.”
I take a breath and wait for Piper to drag me away from the table. Revoke my interview privileges for three months like she did with Connor when he dropped half a dozen vulgarities on live television after an embarrassing 7-0 loss last year.
I didn’t know there were so many ways to tell someone to fuck off.
Instead, she grins and flips off Simon from the side of the room where he can’t see her and motions for us to keep talking.
“Uh, maybe we can get back to the excitement surrounding Thursday’s game,” Hudson jumps in, always one to defuse the tension. “We’re playing at home. We’ve won two in a row, which is far from impressive, but, hey. It’s better than losing fifteen straight like we did my rookie season.”
Everyone laughs again, someone asks him a question about the number of young players on our roster, and the conversation continues.
I spin to face Emerson to gauge her reaction from the last few minutes. She looks unbothered, but I’m starting to think that’s just how she is.
Cool. Composed. Not giving a shit about what’s said to her. It rolls off her like waves, and I wish I had the ability to be so nonchalant—I’m over here gearing up for a fight.
“You good?” I ask. “Sorry for interrupting you.”
“I’m good,” she says. “I’m normally better about holding my own, but I’m exhausted. I thought I was used to how quickly my life moves, then I got here, and it’s like everything is zero to a thousand in two seconds.”
“Welcome to the big leagues. We have ten more games than you all played in ECHL and four more teams. There’s more traveling and longer stretches of time on the road. You have to take care of yourself first, and that means telling these people to wait a damn minute with their questions so you can have some water.”
“I’m going to cut this off here,” Coach says. “It’s been a long day for my players, and Emerson needs to sign her contract.”
“You read it over with your agent, right?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth, and she nods once. “Good.”
She crosses and uncrosses her legs. Plasters on a smile when Coach sets a stack of papers and a fancy pen in front of her and rolls her shoulders back like she’s about to get down to business.
“I want to thank the Stars organization for this opportunity. I know there are people out there who might think I don’t deserve a spot on this team, but I’ve always thrived on criticism.” Emerson uncaps the pen and twirls it between her fingers. “It’s my motivation to keep working hard, so thank you for the fuel.”
I look over her shoulder as she signs the first page of her contract. Her signature is all pretty cursive and swoopy letters, and I wonder if she ever took a calligraphy class.
“Stop breathing down my neck, Miller,” she mutters, turning to the next page with a flick of her wrist.
“Sorry. My penmanship looks like shit compared to yours, and I’m fascinated.”
“You don’t have a girl’s handwriting inked on your body?” Her eyes bounce down my tattooed arm then back up. “I’m shocked.”
“I don’t. Can I use yours?” I ask. “I’ll putpretty boyright over my heart.”
“You never stop, do you?”
“Nope. Twenty-four-seven job, Red. But at least I made you smile again.”
“You did not make me smile.” Emerson flips to the next page and signs two more times. “You’re imagining things.”
“Is that why you’re biting your bottom lip?”
“I’m biting my bottom lip so I don’t snap at you.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it. We can pretend you’re smiling for the camera. Look. There’s one over there.” I wave and grin at the long lens pointed at us. “Say hi.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“Nicest thing you’ve said to me all day. Hey. What are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask, dropping my voice.
