I wish I had just gone home after rehearsal. I wish I hadn’t texted Lily. I wish I could find someone who wasn’t a total douchebag and friends who didn’t turn out to be bitches.
“I can just tell. Whatever happened, it’ll work out.” She smiles, and the skin surrounding her eyes crinkles just like the other pink-haired ladies I’ve met tonight.
“What’s your name?” I blurt out.
“Excuse me?”
“Your name. I’m Claire. What’s your name?”
“You should probably get out of here, Claire. The arena will be closing soon, and the snow is really coming down,” she says kindly, avoiding my question.
“Right. Sorry. You just reminded me of someone. I thought maybe, but nevermind. It’s silly.”
She begins to sweep the floor, and I return to my reflection, quickly fixing my hair under my hat, attempting to hold my shoulders high.
“Be careful tonight,” she warns as I pass by her. “You know what they say—the snow can make anything happen.”
Her words cause me to pause for a split second.
“What did you say?”
“The snow,” she repeats. “Some people believe that it can make anything happen.”
That’s the same thing Stella said in the cab, butshe couldn’t be, could she? No, that’s impossible. She’s not Stella. I need to get it together.
“Have a good night,” I manage before walking away and shaking off all thoughts of pink hair. Making my way through the almost empty arena, I’m reminded I still need to break it off with Raphael. That I should call and tell him what I think about him. Fuck, I wish Andi would answer the phone. I could really use the moral support.
Chapter 8: Last Question
Everett
When I started in the league, post-game interviews were something I looked forward to. Cocky and young, I enjoyed boasting about my performance during the game and flirting with the female reporters in the room. I liked having all the attention on me, but now, I dread being under the spotlight that way.
The older I’ve gotten, I’ve learned what to expect from the reporters sitting in the room, and while some of the questions are far too personal for my liking, the ones I really hate are the ones trying to corner me into saying something damning.
“Alright, so we’re going to take five questions, and then you’ll be done. Let’s not mention the shoulder injury until we know more,” Sally, our team’s PR manager, lectures as we walk down the hallway.
“Five?” I groan.
“We can do four, but that’s as low as I’ll go. They’re expecting to hear from you. You’re the team captain after all.”
“How about three?”
“Four,” she snaps. “I don’t have time for this little game.”
She pushes the door open, and we walk into the well-lit press room. I find mostly familiar faces of reporters all waiting to talk to me, but I don’t really want to talk. I want to go home and rest my body that took one too many hits tonight. Fortunately, my shoulder is still feeling good, but I know a few hours from now, the effects of the injection will wear off, and I’ll be in pain again.
Following behind Sally, I take a seat at the table in the front of the room. Turning my hat backwards, I take a deep breath, readying myself for whatever they throw at me tonight.
“Dale Kisbee,” Sally says, beginning the interview and calling on a man sitting in the front row.
“Hi, yes, thanks for taking the time to speak with us tonight, Everett,” he begins.
I nod and offer him a smile.
“Tonight marks your first game against the Rats after returning to the Crowns this season. We know there’s a longstanding rivalry between the two teams, but tonight seemed to be more intense than past games, specifically at the end. Did it feel that way out on the ice?”
I chuckle, thinking back to the game. “I’d say so,” I begin. “The energy was definitely heightened tonight, and you know we go into games like this prepared for them to be a little more physical than others. I think it’s just the nature of our teams’ shared history. I was happy we pulled out the win.”
