“No, you’re not. Is it the highway? Since the accident?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. How does he know?
“Jonah mentioned it.” Brooks answers my unspoken question. “Said you haven’t driven on highways since that night.”
“I hate that he told you that.” The words come out sharper than intended. “I’m handling it.”
“We all have our shit, Syd.”
The gentleness in his tone makes my throat tight. This is a side of Brooks I’m still getting used to.
“It was raining.” The words tumble out. “That night. I couldn’t see the deer until it was right there, and then...” I swallow hard. “The car flipped three times. They had to cut me out.”
Brooks is quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“It wasn’t,” I say automatically. “Iwalked away with just a concussion and some cuts. It could have been so much worse.”
“But it still fucked you up.” It’s not a question.
I stare out the window at the passing landscape, fields giving way to suburbs as we approach Boise. “Yeah,” I admit finally. “It still fucked me up.”
We lapse into silence as Boise’s skyline appears in the distance. The closer we get to the arena, the more my anxiety about the highway fades, replaced by a different kind of nervousness. This broadcast is everything I’ve worked for—my shot at proving I belong behind the sports desk, not just reporting on unseasonable snow flurries. And so much of this hinges on Brooks being more charming on camera than he is in real life, which feels like asking a cactus to be cuddly.
“What if you freeze up?” I blurt out, the fear finally boiling over.
Brooks takes the exit toward the arena. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious! What if you grunt and glare at the camera?”
“I don’t grunt and glare,” he says, then grunts in annoyance.
“You just did it.” I throw up my hands. “Oh god, I’m so getting fired.”
“Relax.” He pulls into the VIP parking lot of The Boise Arena. “I know how to talk about hockey. I’ve done hundreds of interviews.”
“Being interviewed isn’t the same as being the broadcaster. You need to be engaging, insightful… smile occasionally.”
“Syd. I got this.”
Inside, the Boise Hockey Arena buzzes with pre-game energy as we make our way inside. Fans stream past us in team jerseys and face paint, the air thick with the scent of beer, hot dogs, and anticipation. I flash our press credentials to security, leading Brooks through the labyrinth of corridors toward the broadcasting booth.
“You good?” I notice his sudden silence as we pass the locker rooms.
“Just weird.” His voice is tight. “Being here and not playing.”
I follow his gaze to where geared-up players head toward the ice, sticks in hand, faces set with focus. For the first time, I realize what this must be like for him—only watching the game that’s been his entire life since childhood. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own fears that I’ve barely thought about what Brooks might be going through.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “It must be hard being on this side of things.”
He looks surprised, then shrugs his good shoulder. “It is what it is.”
Marcus spots us as we head to the booth, his face lighting up. “There they are. Beaver County’s hottest power couple!”
I smile, hyperaware of Brooks beside me. “Hey, Marcus. Kermit, good to see you.”
Kermit nods. “Ready for the big leagues, Holt?”
“Born ready,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
