“Captain Hayes,” she says, like she’s greeting a CEO. “Congratulations. Great job tonight.”
“Thank you,” I say, because I’m not Dex and I was raised right.
“Quick run-through,” she says, already talking while we’re still moving. “Media’s going to ask about the connection, the upcoming date, and whether this is outside your comfort zone. Keep it charity-forward. Keep it respectful. No speculation.”
Dex lifts a finger. “What if speculation is my love language?”
The PR rep doesn’t even look at him. “Mr. Miller, you are done for the night.”
Dex’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”
“You have completed your required appearances,” she says, still smiling. “Security will escort you back to the player area.”
Dex turns to us like he’s about to be dragged away in cuffs. “Tell my story. Tell them I died doing what I loved.”
Mason snorts. “Running your mouth?”
Dex points at him. “Supporting my captain’s romantic destiny.”
I glance at the PR rep. “He can walk on his own. No security needed.”
“He can walk,” she agrees.
Dex holds his hands out in front of him. “Fine. I’ll go peacefully. But for the record, this is how revolutions begin.”
“Go,” I say.
He shuffles backward, still performing. “Captain, if you need me, I’ll be in the locker room drafting wedding vows.”
“You’ll be in the locker room icing your face,” Eli calls.
Dex points at him too. “You, Vargas, are the only one who understands me.”
Eli’s expression doesn’t change. “That’s aggressively not true.”
Dex disappears down the hall, still muttering, and the air feels lighter immediately.
The PR rep exhales like she’s been holding that breath all night. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
Mason grins. “You’re getting good at this celebrity thing, Captain.”
“I’m not a celebrity,” I say.
Gregory nods. “Technically, you are.”
I look at him. “Don’t encourage it.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Facts aren’t encouragement.”
We reach a short media line. Bright lights. Two people giving directions. A cameraman adjusting his rig. The rustling of equipment. The kind of setup that makes you aware of your face in a way I don’t enjoy.
“Captain Hayes,” the PR rep says softly, stepping closer. “Same deal. Charity. Respect. No teasing answers. No jokes that can be clipped out of context.”
Mason leans toward me. “So… no fun.”
“Go stand over there,” I tell him.
