"Ready?"he asks, stopping in front of my stall.
Not even close.But I nod, jamming my forest green Sasquatch ball cap on backwards over my wet hair. Itprobablymakes me look like some kind of punk kid, but whatever.
The media room is packed with way more reporters than I expected for a simple practice. Everyone wants their pound of flesh.
Rylan takes the center seat at the table with practiced ease. I settle beside him, trying to resist the urge to hide behind him. Bothliterallyandfiguratively.
"We'll start with local media,"Jared Dawson, the team's PR manager calls out, and the questions begin.
"Collings,"someone calls out."The team looked great today. How much of that is due to the new additions?"
"We're excited about the energy all our new players bring. Pirelli, in particular, has a creative playing style that complements our system well. But camp only started yesterday, we've got a lot of work ahead of us."
His answer is perfect: professional, inclusive, and measured. No headline-grabbing quotes, nothing that could be twisted out of context.
"Jamie."A sharp-featured woman in the front row fixes me with a predatory smile."Your departure from Florida was... controversial. Any response to Vladimir Belov's recent comments about team chemistry?"
My stomach churns. Of course they're bringing up Belov. That asshole got under my skin sobadlythat we ended up brawling in the locker room at the end of last season. The final straw? His disgusting"jokes"about me being HIV positive and leaving an at-home test kit in my stall. I don't believe being HIV positive is anything to be ashamed of, but it sure as fuck isn't a joke. In what was no surprise to anyone, the Jags PR team stayed quiet about the incident, allowing the media to invent their own stories of what caused the fight. Given my history, it was easy for them to make it all my fault in the court of public opinion. Earlier this week he tweeted something shitty about how much better Jaguars were"clicking"since the departure of certain former players,obviouslytargeteddirectlyat me.
Anger flares in my chest. My mouth opens, a sarcastic retort about Belov's own questionable"chemistry"with certain cocktail waitresses right on the tip of my tongue. It would feel so good to throw that hypocritical asshole under the bus...
But Rylan cuts insmoothlybefore I can speak.
"We're focused on moving forward,"he saysfirmly."Jamie's our teammate now, and he's already showing why our management was so eager to bring him to Seattle."
The tension drains from my shoulders as I realize what almost happened. One snippy comment and there'd be headlines about me being a bitter, vindictive ex-teammate. Fuck.
The reporter tries again. "But surely the concerns about—"
"Like I said,"Rylan interrupts, his tone pleasant but inviting no argument,"we're looking forward, not back. Next question?"
I shoot him a grateful look. He gives me the briefest nod, so subtle that I doubt anyone else notices, but it settles something in my chest. He has my back with the media… Like a team captain is supposed to…Huh. That's a nice change.
The questions continue about easier things like our new line combinations, and other expectations for theseason. Rylan handles most of them, and his answers areconsistentlythoughtful but never reveal anything of substance. It's like watching a master class in media management.
"Jamie,"another reporter calls out."You and Rylan showed some serious chemistry during the scrimmage. Did you expect to click so fast with your new captain?"
This one I can handle."Honestly? No. That kind of connectionnormallytakes more time to develop. But Rylan's a great player, it makes it easy to read off him. The whole team's been very welcoming."
A different reporter tries to bait me again, but I'm ready for it this time."Jamie, how does it feel being in a more progressive locker room?"
"It's great. Like I said, the whole team has been very welcoming."
But this reporter isn't done."My next question is for Team Captain Collings: Since Pirelli joined the Sasquatch, has anyone expressed concerns about sharing facilities with—"
"We are done with that line of questioning."Rylan's voice cuts through the room like ice. His expression hasn't changed, but there's steel in his tone."This organization judges players on their hockey skills and their moral character, nothing else. Next?"
The rest of the media session passes in a blur. I focus on breathing, on keeping my expression neutral, and on not giving them anything they can use against me or the team. Rylan continues fielding most questions,occasionallysetting me up for safe responses about hockey-specific topics.
Finally, Jared calls time. As chairs scrape and reporters pack up their gear, I keep my ass parked, not quite trusting my legs yet. My hands are still trembling from the adrenaline ofnearlyfucking up again.
"You okay?"Rylan asksquietly, leaning closer so the lingering reporters can't hear.
"Yeah."I manage a weak smile, looking up to meet his concerned gaze."Thanks for the assist back there. I was about to open my mouth and make a nasty comment without thinking. You saved me from myself."
"That's what teammates do."His voice is soft, almost gentle, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. Our eyes lock, and that same electric current from the ice crackles between us. He looks away first, a flush creeping up his neck.
"The vultures aremostlygone,"Charlie announces, poking his head in."Coast is clear if you want to head out."
