“Good evening, everyone,” our coach, Mike Fry, says in his honeyed tenor. The room quiets, all eyes focusing on him. “Thanks for coming. We’re going to make this brief tonight because these guys have played their asses off, and I know they’re looking forward to celebrating their win with family and friends.”
A murmur of agreement fills the room.
“Now, who wants to start us off?”
Ten hands shoot up in the air, and Coach Fry points to a middle-aged man with jet black hair. He asks Coach how he feels about the win, how we could improve in game two, and if there are any lessons we’d take away from tonight’s matchup going into the rest of the series.
The next few questions are more of the same, and I zone out as the coaching staff and Maddox field them like the pros they are. Then Coach calls on a young reporter for an online publication, and the guy’s attention snaps to me.
“Griffin, you had an interesting modification to your uniform tonight. Can you tell us what made you change the name on your jersey to Graves?”
My heart does a little flip. Here we go. “Well, it’s no secret that Madds here is my best friend. We’ve often called ourselves brothers.”
Chuckles flood the room, especially when Maddox rolls his eyes and shakes his head beside me.
The young reporter grins. “So you just thought it would be fun to use his name?”
I shrug, not answering.
“Were you trying to confuse St. Louis?” another reporter asks. “Was it all some weird mind game?”
That makes me laugh. “That would be a pretty elaborate mind game.”
“It would,” the young guy says, cutting back in. “And I doubt the league would be okay with something like that. So why don’t you tell us the real reason behind the change?”
This is it. I’m about to put it all out there, and if Mira rejects me, the whole fuckin’ world will know. I should be terrified, but all I feel is a deep, unshakeable peace.
“The real reason?” I offer the kid a genuine smile. “It’s something I should have done months ago. D’you know that almost eighty percent of women in the U.S. take their husband’s last name when they get married? Eighty percent.” I shake my head, still smiling, as the reporters begin to murmur.
“I guess if the woman has a weird last name, and she wants to change it to something cooler, I can understand. But we treat it like a given that she should have to give up her identity for her husband’s. What if she doesn’t want to change it? I mean, let’s be real, man. We still have some archaic views on shit in this country, and I personally think women get the short end of the stick way too often.”
“What exactly are you saying?” the reporter asks, one brow cocked.
“I’m saying that society views a name change as a sign of ownership, and we can deny that until we’re all blue in the face, but it’s true, whether we like it or not. The thing is, I’d never try to own my wife.” A slow grin curves my lips. “But she sure as shit owns me. What better way to show her, and the rest of the world, that I’m proud as hell to be hers than by taking her last name?”
Thick silence blankets the room for one beat, then two, then the whole place erupts into shouts and blinding light as reporters yell over one another and cameras flash.
“Holy shit,” Bash mutters on my left.
“She’s going to kill you,” Maddox grumbles on my right.
She might. It was a gamble, putting it all out there like this. But Mira is worth every risk. Whatever the consequences are, I’ll deal with them.
“Are you telling us that you married your captain’s sister?” a female reporter shouts over the din.
“Sounds that way, doesn’t it?” I reply, chuckling.
The woman laughs. “But there haven’t been any reports of you two being together, let alone married.”
I run a hand through my hair, not sure how much I should say, but knowing I’ll have to say something. “Our story is long, and it didn’t have the most traditional start. But it’s still our story, and unless I get the go-ahead from her to share more, that’s all I’m going to say.”
My answer doesn’t appease the circling sharks now that there’s blood in the water, and the next five questions are all about my personal life. Coach tries to redirect them to the game the Quarterfinals, and the impressive effort my teammates and I put in, but everyone is more interested in trying to figure out how Mira and I ended up together.
“All right, all right.” Coach makes asettle downmotion with his palms. “I think we’ve about hit our time limit tonight. Let’s take one more question. Does anyone else have something new to ask?”
Hands shoot up all over the room and reporters clamor to be chosen, but above the din, a clear, familiar voice rings out louder than the rest.
“I have a question.”
