Not possible even if I tried *smileyface emoji*
Teddy
Good. Sweet dreams, Ivy
Ivy
Rest up, Theodore. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’ll be watching every second.
28
TEDDY
DECEMBER 29
As expected, Em managed to pull everything together overnight. I wonder how many calls she made or who she contacted to make it all happen, but when I woke up this morning, the plan was in action.
She booked the interviewer, the camera crew and scheduled the day with the two-person makeup team. My agent even talked the hospital into letting us use my room instead of the press space they reserve for interviews. Cleaners also visited earlier to ensure it looks spotless on camera.
Em’s been here most of the afternoon, going over the plans with me. We’ve had long conversations about what to include and what to leave unsaid. The biggest worry has been how to keep control of the story without sounding overly rehearsed.
“You sure you want to start with what you can remember?” she asks for the third time, tapping a pen against her journal. “It’s powerful, no doubt. I’m just a tad worried. Not everyone handles devastation well, so it could be mentioned later.”
“I don’t care if they can handle it,” I insist. “I want them to think about it for the rest of the interview.”
"Maybe we start with a little small talk, then let Quinn dig in?"
Quinn Matthews is a sports reporter who started her career in sports writing for the well-known hockey news siteThe Puck News. Being local to New York, she still sometimes pens articles about both local teams, even if she’s often seen on TV these days. Being friends with Em, she was the perfect choice for today, even though it's different from the interviews she normally does at the rink.
Running a hand through my hair, I give in. “If you think it helps to soften the blow, then sure. My main goal is not to sugarcoat anything. The fans deserve to hear the truth.”
“I agree. Still, once the interview is out there, we can’t change a thing. There’ll be clips, headlines, and think pieces. People will dissect every move you make on camera.”
Em is a blur beside me, her presence more familiar than visual. Right now, she keeps circling back, worried I’ll change my mind or retreat.
“Let them.” Fear claws at the edges of me, but it’s nothing compared to the rage I feel at the thought of being silenced. “I’d rather be dissected than erased.”
She lets out a controlled breath. “There’s also going to be questions about the recovery timeline. They’re waiting for news about your future with the Woodpeckers.”
"All I can do is repeat what my doctors have told me.”
According to my latest conversation with Dr. Royce, everything in my recovery is tracking the way it should. That doesn’t mean there are guarantees. No one can tell me what thefinal outcome will look like. All I can do is keep showing up, keep pushing through physiotherapy, and keep teaching myself how to navigate this new version of my life. A life where clear vision isn’t promised, and “normal” has to be redefined day by day.
I can feel Em watching me. “I agree,” she says. “Being open and vulnerable in front of the camera is what will make this authentic. No half-assed truths.”
Our conversation is cut short by more people entering the room. A feminine voice I don’t recognize calls out, “Makeup team.”
The room has grown somewhat fuller over the last few minutes. I wish I could see how many people are squeezed into the space, here to help me tell my side of the story.
“Listen up, everybody. What I’m about to disclose doesn’t leave this room until after the interview airs. Understood?” Em’s confident tone commands the whole room to snap to attention.
“Teddy lost his vision after the hit. He can’t see more than general shifts in light and shadow. So I need everyone—makeup, sound techs, the camera crew and Quinn—to introduce yourselves when approaching him. Tell him who you are and what you’re about to do.” Her instructions relieve some of my anxiety. “He’s letting the world see this side of himself for the first time. The least we can do is make sure he feels safe while doing it.”
There’s a collective murmur of agreement. Just like that, the knot inside my chest loosens. I hadn’t realized how tight it had been until now.
The next minutes go by in a blur of new voices and people introducing themselves to me. One of the sound guys cracks a joke and the room fills with laughter. It helps me relax knowing I’m surrounded by good and fun people.
Then two sets of footsteps approach. “Hi, I’m Yvonne and will be in charge of your makeup today. Do you mind if I touch your face?” I nod and a soft hand tentatively brushes under my eye. “You have some shadows here. We’ll even the skin tone. Nothing heavy, don’t worry. You’ll still look like you. My colleague Zara will also shape your beard and then I’ll get to work.”
