“The narrative is ours to control,” I said, sweeping my iPad toward me. “We’re moving fast, no room for hesitation. I need to see the team. They need to understand exactly what to say when anyone comes at them. No exceptions. Single line, delivered consistently.”
Bob shook his head. “You want to talk to them in the locker room? Really?”
“Yes. They’re the first line. If they don’t know how to respond, thestory spreads faster than anything I can do from here.”
I grabbed my iPad and didn’t wait for further argument.
The locker room held its usual blend of stink and bullshit conversation when I got there. The team had just finished their pre-game warmup, their chatter echoing off the walls. I held up a hand, calling them to attention. Hunter was leaning against the bench, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes following me with that cool but familiar intensity.
“Listen up,” I said, my voice firm and steady. “The press is going to try to get to you about a personal story.”
“Personal story about what?” someone piped up.
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied. “You’re not answering questions. Not a word. This is the only statement you give: ‘I’m focusing on the team and the game.’ That’s it. No elaboration, no commentary, no social media posts. Understood?”
“Don’t we get to know what it’s about?” Grayson this time. His sarcastic laughter got the rest of them going.
A few heads nodded. Mason’s eyes flicked to Hunter, silently challenging him, but Hunter only inclined his head.
“If they hound you for details, just say ‘no comment’ and move on.” I felt my hold on them slipping, but persisted. This wasn’t going to work if they weren’t all on board.
“Wait, I’m not talking to them?” Hunter asked, stepping closer, his tone incredulous but controlled.
“Not now,” I said. “I’ll deal with you separately. Right now, I need the team to help keep the story contained.”
“Why not just deal with it now? I’m here, aren’t I? Stop talking about me like I’m not.” His voice was low but edged with frustration.
I met his gaze steadily. “Not now, Hunter. Focus on your game. I’ll talk to you after.”
He hesitated, the protest caught somewhere between defiance andtrust. The rest of the team glanced at each other, realizing the urgency in my tone. No one moved. No one spoke beyond a quick murmur of acknowledgment.
I could see Hunter’s jaw set, the tension in his posture. I noted it, cataloged it, but didn’t comment. That was my job. My attention remained entirely on managing the narrative. Every player, every response, had to be calibrated.
“Good,” I said, sweeping the room with a glance. “Now that we’re on the same page, remember to not let any of this mess with you on the ice. Your responsibility is to the team first. I’m sure your coach will back me one hundred percent on that.”
Hunter looked like he wanted to argue further, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded slightly and returned to the bench. I held the moment, letting them absorb the instructions, reinforcing the single-line strategy.
Once I was confident they were aligned, I gave Hunter one last sharp look. “Come to my office when you’re ready. We’ll deal with the rest privately.”
He opened his mouth but thought better of it. His attention flicked toward the team, then back to me, before finally walking out of the locker room. I collected my iPad and took a deep breath, letting my mind pivot to the next steps. The media push was contained, the team prepped, and Hunter—well, Hunter would have to wait.
I left the locker room, every step measured. This was the first wave of damage control, but I had a plan, and the control was mine. Not once did I allow myself to get caught up in the reality of it all. Hunter’s dad, in prison. He’d mentioned his family not being in contact or involved, but never told me anything about this. Having it splashed all over must be killing him.
But I couldn’t think about any of that. Not now.
*
Hunter shoved the door open before I had a chance to say anything, the office filling with the sharp snap of his anger.
“Why are you treating me like a product?” he demanded, voice reverberating against the walls. “I’m not some brand you polish and parade around. I’m a person, Holly. A real live person!”
I leaned back in my chair, hands gripping the edge of my desk, letting his words hang there. The storm was coming, and I had to meet it head-on.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re both,” I said, calm, deliberate. “A player with a public image and a human being who happens to skate in that uniform. That’s what you signed up for, Hunter. There’s nothing you can do about it, so stop fighting it and just do what you’re told.”
He slammed his hands against the desk. “Do what I’m told? So what, just sit there and let them run me over? Let them dictate how the world sees me? You call this protection?” His voice cracked on the last word, jagged and raw.
“I call it survival,” I said. “You think you’re ready to just speak your mind and tell the world whatever you feel about your dad? You think it’s simple? It’s not about honesty. It’s about consequences. You want to wreck everything you’ve built in one headline? This isn’t a game you can win by skating fast or making a save.”
