“You’re already on the bill,” Holly said with her attempt at sounding apologetic. She looked totally smug about it, though.
“Take me off the bill. I don’t care.” Reese folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not doing it.”
I knew that look, and felt a little sorry for our PR consultant. All the same, I sat back and watched the power play unfold. It was way more entertaining than the stupid in-flight movie.
“You’re doing it.”
Ooph. That one even had me bracing. I knew Holly had it in her, after watching her give it to Hunter last season. So if there was anyone who’d go toe-to-toe with the inimitable Hopper, it’d be her.
“I’m not doing it,” she repeated. “I’ll give you an off-air statement or whatever, that you guys can vomit out to the press. That’ll be fine. That’s more than enough. Bouchard is who they really want to see anyway.”
“What a neat idea.” Holly straightened, her eyes never leaving Reese. “But you’re doing it.”
If an argument was ever going to fall out of Reese’s mouth, which was opening and closing like a fish, the chances of Holly hearing it grew smaller and smaller as she strode down the aisle away from us. Her point was made, so there was no reason sticking around.
“So… Have you ever been on TV before?”
Her glare was straight-up daggers that almost made me laugh. But I valued my life too much so just zipped it, pulled my headphones back on, and pretended to sleep the rest of the way.
The second the wheels hit the runway, Reese was already halfway out of her seat like the plane was on fire and the press conference was the flames licking at her heels. I took my time, mostly because my headphones were tangled around my neck, but also because she looked one wrong sentence away from bolting down the aisle. Holly corralled her with a hand lightly touching her elbow.
“You’re going to be fine,” Holly said as we filed off the jet. “I would’ve given it to Niels, but he’s technically not head trainer anymore.”
Reese made a noise that didn’t belong to any species I knew. “No. No, no, no. I’m not cut out for cameras. I fix people. I don’t talk to the press about them.”
“You fixTheo,” Holly corrected. “That’s the whole point. If you’re there, it assures the fans that the team’s medical staff knows exactly what’s going on with him and that everything’s under control.”
I opened my mouth, and Reese shot me a warning look that told me to keep it shut unless I wanted my other shoulder taken out of action. So I shut it.
Frost Bank Center was buzzing by the time we got inside. Staff weaving through hallways, reporters setting up equipment.Holly walked briskly, heels clicking, handing each of us a printed script that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Reese took hers like it was a live grenade. I folded mine and stuck it in my pocket.
“You’re not even going to look at it?” Holly asked.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I said, shrugging. “They can ask whatever they want.”
Reese’s gaze snapped up, sharp enough to cut through Kevlar. I ignored it and flashed them both a reassuring smile. “Relax, ladies. Let’s enjoy the limelight for what it is.”
“For what it is,” Reese muttered, as if the phrase personally offended her. She hunched over the script again as we walked, trusting me to be the guide that kept her from ramming into a wall.
We reached the double doors to the press room. Holly slipped inside first, already sliding seamlessly into PR-warrior mode. I tried to follow, but Reese caught me before I’d even made it over the threshold.
She tugged me back into the hallway. “Why aren’t you freaking out? You should be freaking out. This is… this could…” She swallowed. “If this goes badly, it could be the end of your playoffs. Maybe worse.”
It should’ve scared me. Maybe last year it would have. But fear would require me believing the same bullshit the media was pushing, and I didn’t.
“I’m fine, Hopper. And my shoulder’s fine.”
Her eyes said she didn’t believe a word of it. But she also knew she couldn’t drag me down the hallway and lecture me without an audience forming. So she just stared, jaw tight, fingers clenched around that trembling sheet of paper.
I nudged her gently toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”
Inside, the press room was a hub of activity with lights warming the stage, reporters shifting in their seats, cameras adjusting focus. Reese stuck close beside me, practically under my arm. Eyes glued to the script.
Coach spotted us before we spotted him. He cut through the cluster of voices with that big, booming laugh he saved for media days. I angled toward him, already gearing up to reassure Reese, but I only got halfway through turning when I felt the air shift.
I didn’t notice. Not really. Not until it was too late.
