I stare at the message for two seconds, then shove the little spike of panic down.
Sofie:
Are we sure they’re okay?
Matteo:
Yes.
Sofie:
I’ll use the team I have here to cover a special interest story. I’ll handle any player interviews we need.
Matteo:
You, meaning YOU you?
Sofie:
Yes.
Matteo:
With respect and love Sofie, be kind.
I smile as I hit the thumbs-up emoji response and tuck my phone away. No one notices the thread of adrenaline under my skin.
“Everything okay?” Nalani asks.
“The crew is okay, but they got into an accident and won’t make it tonight. I’ve got it covered.”
“Kilovac looks angry,” Noelle says, following my gaze.
“That one’s always angry,” I say automatically.
Nalani leans on the glass. “He’s also hot,” she observes. “Like, war criminal hot.”
I refuse to acknowledge that. “He’s a problem child,” I say. “On and off the ice.”
Claudia hums. “He keeps his appointments,” she says. “Mostly.”
Interesting.
“Do not shrink my potential PR headache,” I tell her.
She smiles down at Savannah. “I don’t shrink anyone. I just hand them better tools.”
I watch in segments, the way I watch everything. Story beats, not plays.
Deacon hops the boards for line one, and the goalie settles in behind him like a promise.
There’s a subtle shift in the air when he’s on the ice. Not louder. Sharper. Like everyone collectively sits up straighter without realizing they did it.
“That’s Deacon,” Nalani says unnecessarily.
“I know,” I reply, equally unnecessary.
“Deacon Moretti?” Noelle adds to the nonsense.
