Maybe it’s the years of backlash I’ve gotten in the media or just how long I’ve been dealing with the press, but I can tell tonight isn’t going to go smoothly. I sit straighter in my seat andlean my hands against the wood of the table, preparing myself for the questions about tonight’s game.
The cameras are rolling as the first reporter stands up. It’s Serenity Jade, a reporter fromPack Weekly.Why in the fuck is she here, and who gave her a press pass?
“Max, is there anything you wanted to add to address the rumors?” she asks. Her voice is posh and demeaning.
My brows furrow, and I glance over at Bram. Our pack contract isn’t official until next season, and only our close friends know about the pregnancy. I don’t want to give her information if she’s goading me.
I lean forward into the mic. “I’m not sure what rumors you’re talking about.”
“You haven’t seen the article that published today inPack Weekly?” she asks, and it’s almost like she’s getting enjoyment over having information I don’t have. She probably is. That magazine has been a constant sore in my side since I joined the NHL.
“I tend to not read about myself in the press since they are mostly rumors.”
She pulls out the magazine, and my heart sinks when I see the cover. It’s me and Sloane at the ice cream shop.
“This article claims not only that you’re bonded to Sloane Applegate but that she’s pregnant. Can you confirm that?” she asks.
I look over to Bram who leans forward into his mic.
“I thought the purpose of a post-game wrap up was to discuss the game and hockey, not trivial rumors reported by gossip rags?”
Moments like this are when I know I love Bram Nilsen. Our love might be a little confusing and unconventional. But I know he has my back, no matter fucking what.
“Maybe you would like to comment, Mr. Nilsen, considering the rest of the article goes into detail about how you’re also bonded to Ms. Applegate. Though you aren’t her scent match, are you?” the reporter asks.
Bram’s knuckles are white from grabbing onto the table. He stares at the woman like he wants to make her disappear with just his mental fortitude.
Coach is quickly on the press stage, grabbing a mic.
“Unless you have educated questions that actually pertain to the sport of hockey, I suggest you get the hell out of my stadium,” he says, staring the woman down.
“Or maybe you would like to comment on your daughter sleeping with your players and getting pregnant before bonding. Sources place her earning her bond marks only recently, but?—”
“I’d like to comment on how inappropriate this conversation is. How disgusting it is to comment on what an Omega is or isn’t doing with her body. I’m extraordinarily proud of my daughter and these men before me who are excellent athletes and men. They say there’s no such thing as stupid questions, but you’ve just proved them wrong. Please see your way out, and hand over your press badge. Now, if there are actual questions about tonight’s game, we’d be happy to answer them,” Coach says confidently as Serenity is dragged off by security.
Bram and I glance at each other.
It’s one thing for Coach to accept that we’re bonded and be excited for the baby. But that man just stood up for us in a way I didn’t expect.
The rest of the questions are about the game. All the reporters are shaking in their boots as Coach Applegate stares them all down with crossed arms.
As soon as the press conference is wrapped up, Coach pulls us to the side.
“Go home, and make sure Sloane’s alright. I pulled up the article,” he says with a wince. “It’s not a shining light on your relationship or Connery’s past dalliances.”
“I’m not that guy anymore,” I say, feeling shame.
“I know that. Sloane definitely knows that. The only reason you’re still here is all the work she put in this season to make you look better,” Coach says.
“How bad is it?” Bram asks, and Coach hands him his phone.
We both glance down at the image of me and Sloane at the ice cream shop, my hand on her stomach.
“Rosemary is going to be on that ice cream shop like a hot rash figuring out what little shit sold the picture,” Coach says, and I nod as we read through.
It’s poorly written, speculative, and ridiculous.
Shotgun Pack
