“I’m enjoying you being mad about it.” I couldn’t hold back a grin when he snorted.
The host’s voice cut through the room. “If you’ll take your seats, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the press conference.”
Packy turned, all wide eyes and red cheeks. “I thought the thing with the press was private. We’re doing it in front of an audience?”
I kept my hand on his back. “Smile. They’re still watching.”
We sat behind a long table. Reporters and cameras faced us, and behind them, fans pressed together, already holding up their phones.
At first, the reporters took it easy, asking about the tour and our rivalry. We replied with the same jokes and jabs we’d used before.
After someone asked how we liked traveling together, Packy leaned close to his mic. “It’s great. I get to spend every waking minute reminding Nico that the Warriors beat the Condors twice last fall.”
I squinted at him. “Living in the past is a sign of cognitive decline.”
We glared at each other until we both broke. The room laughed with us.
Packy gave the audience a conspiratorial wink. “Honestly, it’s exhausting. Nico’s a lot.”
“Please,” I said. “I was about to say the same thing about you.”
Someone yelled, “PackoForever,” and everybody laughed again.
John Gabel from ESPN leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear. “Since it’s come up, tell us more about ‘Packo.’ Is it official, or are you still seeing where things go?”
“Packo isnotofficial,” Packy said.
“Whatever he says,” I added. “He should be glad I let him put his name first.”
His eyes went cartoonishly wide, and he leaned close to my ear. “You know what they’re going to do with that.”
“Yes,” I said. “But we know the truth.”
He tapped my knee under the table, and I tapped his back. The crowd murmured as their phones rose higher.
The questioning returned to harmless matters like the playoffs, league direction, and upcoming player equipment changes.
Soon, June Plemmons from CSN stood. “I know you were close in college, but since then, you’ve been huge rivals. Goals scored tit for tat, simultaneous penalties, legendary fights, and plenty of ejections. It’s been riveting, honestly. So, tell us the truth: are you miserable being forced together for these events?”
The room went quiet as Pack pointed at me.
“Packy and I have known each other since we were eighteen,” I said. “We were best friends within a week, and after college, playing on opposite sides hasn’t been easy. Hockey players are competitive by nature, and we both hate losing.”
The crowd remained silent.
I gestured between Pack and me. “But look at us. We’re here. No fists, and we’re laughing instead of fighting, so draw your own conclusions.”
Packy nodded. “Hockey’s family. You fight, and then you get over it.”
Everyone started cheering. “Packo! Packo! Packo!”
I smiled because I had to, but beneath all the talk, my chest got heavy. Pack and I had been enemies for so long, I had no idea what was happening. Were we thawing out?
Packy hardly spoke at dinner, pushing food around his plate and staring into space. When I asked about the next day’s schedule, he gave a one-word reply. The silence had weight, like he was thinking through something he didn’t want to talk about.
By the time we arrived on our floor, I couldn’t take it anymore. When we stepped out of the elevator, Packy stopped in the hallway instead of heading to his room.
“Gym?” I asked.
