I almost laugh. Instead, a noisy exhale escapes before I clench my jaw again.
“Do you know how much I love you?” Her voice softens again.
This time I chuckle. Not because it’s funny, but because it's the only thing keeping my chest from cracking wide open. “I have a good idea, but it’s not as much as I love you.” I turn on my blinker to exit the highway and coast down the ramp until I get to the stop sign. In my peripheral vision, I see the arena, and my heart stops.
This is where my hockey career crashes.
“I better get off the phone. I’m pulling into the arena, but I’ll see you inside.”
“I love you. Remember, no matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.”
“I love you too.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Wait for me after.”
“Always.”
I hang up as I steer into a parking spot. Throwing my car into park, I sit still for a solid minute while I stare at the arena’s brick walls. When I’ve run out of reasons to stall, I shove the door open and step out.
Time to walk into the fire.
I’m not surprised by the packed lot. After all, I’m the one who called them here.
I thought about calling Bill.
When my phone started blowing up this morning, I even hovered over his name, thumb ready to press, then scratched that idea. I guess I’m a wuss. I’m not sure this is better, but I panicked with all the incoming calls, and I called a press conference. I want to say what I have to say one time. I’ll live with the consequences, but the last thing I need is this dragging out for days with every reporter cashing a paycheck at my expense while I slowly lose my mind.
I stride into the arena and head straight for the pressroom. I don’t slow until I push through the pressroom doors, and there are already rows of people lining both sides of the room.
I’ve never been good with this kind of stuff, but I make it to the podium and stand up straight, staring out at them. The spotlight above my head burns the back of my neck, sweat sliding under my collar. I regret not wearing my jersey. Out of respect for the situation, I put on a collared shirt, sport jacket, and tie. I don’t feel worthy of my jersey this morning.
A suit is more layers than I’m used to, but I’ve never felt more exposed in my life. In the back, I spot Koren, standing off to the side like she’s afraid to take up space. The Granite Ice PR rep walks up, flicks the microphone on, and walks away. So much for an introduction.
The spotlight seems to grow hotter. My fingers tug at my tie. Loosening it just a bit, I try to pull air into my lungs. Clearing my throat, I adjust the microphone, pulling it a little closer.
My eyes cut to the front row, where my parents sit. Startled, my head jerks back. I wouldn’t have thought my dad could handle this kind of press. Then again, maybe he’s here to make sure his own hide is covered? I tilt my head to the side. The nagging question of how this information came to light and my suspicion of my dad aren’t going away. But under the watchful gaze of dozens of eyes, I can’t dwell on that.
A bead of sweat swells on my temple. I grip both sides of the podium to steady my hands. The room goes silent, like everyone’s holding their breaths, waiting for me to fail. I lean into the mic. “Good morning, everyone. I’m not going to take too much of your time, but I’d like to address the allegations—"
The door behind me flies open with so much force a breeze pulls my gaze in that direction. Murmurs ripple through the room. And now I see why.
Bill Baker strides in, chest puffed like he’s wearing protective armor. His eyes lock on me. I know that look. He’s not angry. He’s concerned more than anything. He raises a hand, silencing the whisper. Then leans to my ear. “I need to ask you to step aside, son.”
I freeze. This is worse than any sudden-death round.
Is this where he throws me under the bus for good?
I screwed up not calling him. I have no clue what he’s about to say. Surely, he’ll drag my name through the mud to save himself.It’s going to be one final, humiliating blow, ending my career forever.
I don’t move.
I grip the podium even tighter, glaring at him. “No.” My voice cracks with equal parts anxiety and fury. If I’m getting fired, there’s no point kissing up to Bill. “I have something to say. Everyone thinks I—”
He cuts me off with a hand on the podium, as he slides in beside me. “And you will get your turn. But it’s best if I speak first. This is my team.” His salt-and-pepper eyebrows arc into a warning.
Terrified, I sidestep, one hand still clinging to the podium for balance. Bill slides to the center of the podium, yanking the microphone close to his mouth, causing a screech that doesn’t faze him. He boldly looks at the crowd.
“I’ve got a few things to make clear. The biggest one is that Elijah joined this team a year ago, and it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I followed his high school career very closely and was always impressed. When I met him and learned he hadn’t signed with a college, I was smart enough to understand a good thing when I saw it. Noah had just been traded. I had a spot. I offered Elijah a walk-on spot with Granite Ice, and it’s been a win for us both. He has worked hard every day for this team.”
He pauses, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, bracing on the podium. “Now, about the circumstances of our meeting. That was unconventional, and my fault. He had nothing to do with it. I ran into his car. No one was hurt. Neither of us was doing anything illegal. It was, by definition, an accident. I’d racked up too many speeding tickets and didn’t want any more points. I insisted on paying cash. When he declined and wanted to call the police, I …” Bill pauses, takes anaudible breath, and continues, “offered him a spot on the roster and asked him not to mention the accident.”
