His stare saysliar, but he doesn’t call me on it.At least he’s holding back.
Stacy, the PR director, reappears, clapping her hands like she’s herding cats and not two grown men with contracts the size of small nations.
“Alright,” she says.“Let’s go.”
Monty and I start walking.
Two steps in sync like this is normal.Like we didn’t spend years trying to erase each other from our bodies.Like we didn’t leave Vesper with a blanket and a bucket and a future that just rewrote itself in her bloodstream.
The doors to the press area swing open and the sound hits—voices layered over each other, camera shutters, the greedy hum of people who came here for a story, not a sport.
Monty’s gaze fixes forward.Mine does too.
It’s ridiculous how quickly the room quiets.
Every head turns.Every camera lifts.There’s a split second where the whole place holds its breath, waiting to see if we’ll give them what they came for—a fist fight, blood ...some sign that our rivalry is still alive.
They want the rivals who are now forced to cooperate.
It’s a cliché with a significant ad revenue.
In fact, our situation could be very profitable.It’s a headline that writes itself, even if the truth is uglier and stranger and tied to a woman with a river-view apartment and a positive test on a marble counter.
The stage is set with the Orcas backdrop—logos on repeat, sponsor names lined up like everyone’s bought a piece of our faces.A long table.Microphones.Name placards.The GM is front and center, coach beside him, Monty and I placed just off to the side like we’re exhibits.
I sit.
Monty’s close—too close—and my skin registers him before my brain can argue.His body radiates heat like it remembers mine.Like it knows things we never said out loud.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
It calms something I didn’t know was screaming.And fuck, it makes me want.To be touched.To be told this isn’t a mistake.That changing teams doesn’t mean losing myself.That I’m not alone.And it’shim.He’sthe one giving me that.
This is the first time in my career I’ve had to start over, and somehow the only reason I believe I’ll survive it is because he’s here.Not saying anything.Not even looking at me.
Just existing.
And I swear I could fall apart from that alone.
The GM clears his throat and starts talking about vision, culture, and leadership.He says my name and it hits the room like a match.Flashbulbs pop.Pens scribble.He says Monty’s and the cameras go rabid, like they’ve been starving for his scowl.
“A tandem that will change the trajectory of this franchise,” the GM says, smiling widely.
My mouth almost betrays me with a laugh.
Sure, if by trajectory he means emotional homicide, then yes.Absolutely.Congratulations to everyone involved.
“Callaway,” he says, turning toward me like we’re friends.“Welcome to Portland.”
I lean into the mic.“Happy to be here.”
Then, the questions begin.Someone asks what it means to leave Colorado.
“My time with them ended on a perfect note.”I give them what they want.“Portland has a passionate fan base.This organization is building something exciting.I’m ready to contribute and do what it takes.”
A chorus of approval in the room.Everyone loves commitment when it’s packaged neatly.
Then they turn to Monty.They ask him if he’s staying, if he’s settled, if he’s finally decided to stop being a lone wolf and pick a den.
