His posture is steady. Certain. The stance of a captain taking the mic in the post-game presser. For his team.
For his girl.
“Mr. Blackwood,” he says, voice strong and low in the pin-drop silence. “If I may.”
28
Garrett
God, she's incredible.
Watching Sloane command this room is like watching a master strategist execute the perfect play. Every word calculated, every gesture precise. She's dismantling their skepticism piece by piece, turning doubt into investment, resistance into enthusiasm.
The shift is tangible. Blackwood is sold—I see it in his posture, in the way his jaw has unclenched, the approving nod when she walked them through the community engagement metrics. Frank Miller is already looking at her like she reinvented the sport.
My chest aches with pride. Fierce. Immense.
She did it.
But as I watch her field their final questions with pinpoint accuracy, Emma's voice cuts through my euphoria, sharp and sudden:
"You never fought for me. When things got difficult, you just shut down. Made me feel like I was bothering you by existing."
The accusation still burns three years later. Not because Emma was right about everything—she wasn't. But because she was right about that. When the media circus started, when the rumors flew, I retreated into silence. Called it dignity. Called it taking the high road.
Really, I was just protecting myself.
And now I'm watching the most brilliant woman I've ever known prove her worth to a room full of executives, and I'm sitting here like a spectator. Again. Letting her stand alone while I hide behind professional distance and plausible deniability.
Not this time.
This time, I fight for her the way she deserves. But not loud. I'll just be... supportive. I'll be the partner she needs. I'll give the player's perspective, show them she's not just a suit—she's the one whogetsus. They need to see how brilliant she is. They need to seewhyher vision works. This will help. This will seal it.
I stand before I can second-guess myself. The motion is instinctive, decisive. Like stepping up for the game-winning shot.
Every head in the room turns toward me, but all I see is her. The slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tighten around the clicker. She's surprised, but she'll understand. She has to understand that this is me finally doing it right.
"Mr. Blackwood, if I may," I begin, keeping my voice level and professional. "I'd like to offer a player's perspective on what you just heard."
The room settles. This is plausible—an athlete providing ground-level insight to complement the executive strategy. Blackwood nods, interested.
"What Ms. McKenzie has presented isn't just a marketing campaign," I continue, moving around the table with the same controlled energy I bring to the ice. "It's a cultural shift. And as someone who lives in that culture every day, I can tell you—this vision works because she understands us."
I catch Sloane's expression—still shocked, but there's something else there. Pride, maybe. Relief that I'm supporting her vision instead of undermining it.
Good. She should be proud. They should all see what I see.
"The community engagement metrics she showed you? Those aren't just numbers on a spreadsheet. They represent every kid who'll see hockey as accessible instead of elite. Every family who'll feel welcomed instead of excluded." My voice gains strength as I warm to the theme. "She's not just expanding our fan base—she's expanding our identity."
The executives are listening, really listening. Blackwood leans forward slightly. This is working.
But as I continue, something shifts inside me. The careful professional framing begins to dissolve, replaced by something more urgent, more personal.
"I've watched her develop this vision," I say, my tone becoming more intimate. "Seen her work late into the night, not because she had to, but because she believed in it. Believed in us."
Her face changes. The pride flickers, replaced by something that looks almost like panic. But she's always been modest about her achievements. She needs to hear this.
"She sees connections others miss. Patterns others ignore. When she talks about hockey, she's not talking about a sport—she's talking about a movement. A way to build something that matters beyond wins and losses."
