“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “So then on top of that, there’s… Well, there’swhyPittsburgh’s captain is gone. Any team’s going to have a hard time picking up and moving forward after that.”
“What are your thoughts on your new captain?” came the follow-up question. “Do you think Avery Caldwell is the leader this team needs through this difficult time?”
Laramie and I exchanged glances. I hoped the reporters and anyone watching the videos interpreted it as“you want to answer first or should I?”instead of“are these clowns for real?”
Laramie said, “He’s been great. I haven’t played with him long enough to be able to say one way or the other, but I watched him with the kids at training camp, and I’ve watched him play for years.” He half-shrugged. “He was an alternate captain already—doesn’t seem like much of a leap for him to wear the C.”
Though I’d been surprised we’d made him captain when he was obviously grieving harder than any of our teammates, and I still worried we were putting too much pressure on him, I nodded. “Yeah, exactly. I don’t know the whole roster that well yet, either, so I can’t say this or that player would be better suited for the captaincy than Calds.We’ll see how the season goes, you know? But I’ve got total faith in him. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t.”
I wondered if any of them caught the unspoken dare—why doyouthink heshouldn’tbe our captain?
Because if they answered that, then I could remind them who’d scored two of our goals tonight, including the game winner, and pulled us through even after he’d obviously struggled to get through the ceremony. Yeah, he’d broken in the locker room, but onlyafterall of that. And hopefully they didn’t know about him falling apart on the other side of the door behind me and Laramie.
He’s the strongest motherfucker on this team, you cretins. Whoelseis worthy of wearing our C?
They didn’t take the bait, which was probably a good thing.
“This question is for both of you,” another reporter said. “You both signed with Pittsburgh during this past off season. I want to know, if you hadn’t already signed your contract when this tragedy occurred, would you still have wanted to come to Pittsburgh, knowing what happened?”
I probably let my media face slip a little, and I didn’t care. Sometimes it blew my mind the shit these people would ask us. Some were just devoid of social graces, while others were clearly trying to get a reaction. I couldn’t quite tell with this guy, but in the interest of not blowing up on-camera, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “Pittsburgh was going to be my top choice if I became a free agent, and that hasn’t changed in the slightest. And seeing how hard these guys are working, how much they’re playing with all that heart even when they’re going through hell? You have to admire that, you know? They’re bound and determined to honor Erlandsson by sticking together and playing hard as ateam, and I just hope I’m proving to them and the fans that I’m as committed as they are.”
“Exactly.” Laramie gave a sharp nod. “I mean, yeah, part of the reason I wanted to come here was I wanted to play on the same team as Leif Erlandsson. I’d always heard he was a great teammate and an awesome captain, and there’s a reason he was a three-time All-Star, you know? But I also wanted to play here. With thiswholeteam.” He made a disgusted sound. “That hasn’t changed just because the guys are going through something awful. Why would it?”
I peered at the reporter.Yeah. Whywouldit?
No response came, and someone else chimed in with a question about the game itself. Those could get annoying in their own right—there were only so many ways to say“yep, we should’ve kept the puck away from the other guys”—but tonight I was happy to answer them. I would talk all night long about how much we needed to improve our forecheck, how some critical turnovers could’ve been avoided, and how we absolutely should’ve taken advantage of their netminder’s lack of rebound control. Anything to keep them busy and pacified while our teammates leaned on each other in private.
Eventually, Glen stepped in between us and the reporters, and he politely said, “That’s enough questions.”
“Are the players ready for us in the locker room?” someone asked.
Glen shook his head. “I’m afraid we’re not going to allow the press into the room this evening.”
Laramie and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. Shit—had things gotten worse since we’d stepped out?
There was a general mutter of irritation, and another reporter said, “This was a big night for the team after theirloss. We’d like to get some comments from the players about it.”
“I understand that,” Glen said, completely unflapped. “But ithasbeen a big night for the team. They’re grieving someone very close to them, and I’m going to ask for them to have some privacy to process that this evening.” He gestured at Laramie and me. “That’s why these two gentlemen made themselves available for questions.”
No one seemed pleased about that, but they didn’t push. Probably because a few members of arena security had inched closer, watching the whole exchange withfuck around and find outwritten all over their faces.
As the reporters dispersed, Glen turned to us and exhaled, letting his own façade crack a little. “Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate you having everyone’s backs.”
“Absolutely,” Laramie said. “I’m happy to get in the way if they want to mess with my teammates.”
“Same.” I grimaced. “I can’t believe they’re so… blunt about asking about Erlandsson. I know reporters can be a little mercenary sometimes, but aren’t theresomelines?”
Glen’s lips formed a thin, bleached line, and he pushed out a breath through his nose. “Yeah. I wasn’t impressed about that. I’m going to have a talk with club management and see if I can’t put out a memo barring anyone from bringing him up to players.” He huffed sharply and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been working with the media for thirty-five years, and even I’m still surprised sometimes at how relentless they can be when they smell a story.”
I made a face. Laramie just said, “Eww.”
Ewwwas right.
We stepped back into the locker room. It was mostly quiet, now—just the sounds of people moving around and of water running in the next room. The equipment managerswere wheeling out carts full of jerseys (which Laramie and I added ours to), and people were putting on sweats and T-shirts so they could go eat.
No one spoke. No one looked at anyone else. The vibe in the room was as somber as if we’d just lost game seven of the Cup final. Guys were going through the motions of their postgame routines, but all the air from our win had been sucked right out of the room.
