Hell, probably me more than most, considering I just played my best game of the season. And I did it in front of Logan, which, funnily enough, makes me even more proud…and also wonder if maybe I need to start a new superstition of my own.
“I still can’t believe you snagged that bullet from Davidson, Steele,” Brodysays before slapping me on the shoulderpads. “I thought for sure they were gonna tie it up on that one.”
“Ye of little faith, Andrews,” I joke before giving him a shove with my forearm. “I’m offended you doubt my skills.”
“Yeah, yeah. I should know better by now,” he teases, waving me off.
I strip out of my jersey and pads, chatting with him about the game, when Coach gathers the team for a quick word. As expected, it’s just to give us his typical “congrats on the win, now don’t do anything stupid while you celebrate” speech before releasing us to shower and head out for the night, but before Ican go back to showering and changing, he pulls me aside.
“You did a great job defending the net tonight, Steele.”
I grin and nod. “Thanks, Coach. Means a lot.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, pursing his lips for a moment. “I just got off the phone with Louis, and he wants you at the post-game press conference tonight. You played great, and we feel getting you in front of the camera in a positive light may help the whole…videosituation.”
I blink at him a couple times, not sure I heard him correctly.
Sure, he and Louis talked about getting me in front of the press when shit hit the fan with the video, but I thought they’d have me do something else. Like help with the Christmas toy drive or something, not post-game interviews.
Mostly because I haven’t been allowed to do a press conference since the playoffs sophomore year, where I promptly told one of the reporters weclapped their cheeks harder than a headboard at a cheap motel.And despite completing the media training course three additionaltimes, they still haven’t put me in front of a camera since.
Until now, apparently.
Coach must read the apprehension on my face, because his palm lands on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t overthink it. Just go out there and talk about the game. Think of this as practice for next year, all right?”
I nod, still not convinced this is a good idea. But if this is what they think is best, who am I to question it?
Doing my best to hide my uncertainty, I ask, “And if they bring up the video? What then?”
His lips pinch together tightly, clearly having his own doubts about this idea of Louis’s. “Do your best to reroute the answer to the game. We’re here to talk hockey, first and foremost. And if that isn’t satisfactory, I’ll be there to step in,” he promises, giving me the smallest amount of reassurance. “Plus, I’ve got Andrewsgoing out there with you. Lean on him if you need to; that’s what a captain is for. Now, go get showered, and I’ll let the press know to expect you both in ten.”
Nausea slams into me in waves as I strip down and head for the shower, doing my best to recall everything Coach said, and more importantly, remember what I learned in media training. Of course, now that I’m in my hour of need, I can’t seem to remember a goddamn thing except to enunciate as I speak and use eye contact.
Fuck. Apparently, I could’ve used a fifth round in that course.
I quickly redress, donning a Leighton Hockey hoodie, before heading out of the locker room to the press room. Brody is waiting near the door, and unlike me, he’s cool as a cucumber, scrolling on his phone when I finally saddle up beside him.
“You ready for this?” he asks when he notices me.
I blow out a long breath and shake my head. “Not a chance, Cap, but let’s do it.”
“I’ve got your back. Don’t worry.”
Andrews fields his questions with ease, being captain making him a seasoned veteran when it comes to post-game interviews. Which is probably the reason Coach threw me in here with him—to be of some guidance. And it works…for the most part. But then a female reporter throws the whole goddamn vibe outta whack by bringing up the video.
“Camden, can you tell us how your time on the ice has been affected since this video scandal leaked?”
There’s a beat of silence where I bite my tongue, remembering what Coach told me in the locker room about rerouting them back to the game.
“I think the way I played tonight should answer that question for me,” I reply, somehow managing to keep my voice clear and steady as I speak into the mic.
I catch Coach out of my periphery, giving a slight nod, and the approval eases the tension coiled in my gut ever so slightly.
See? You can do this.
“Yes, but this must have impacted your focus.”
