“What if they ask about team chemistry?”
“You acknowledge it’s a work in progress—which everyone expects from an expansion team—but emphasize the commitment level and work ethic you’re seeing in practice.”
We stopped in the back hallway, outside the press-room door. The reporters yammered inside, and I could practically feel the energy that always accompanied post-game media availability.
“You’ve got this,” Wesley said quietly. “Just remember—confidence and composure. Even when you don’t feel it.”
I nodded, straightened my spine, and squared my shoulders. Sixteen years in the NHL had taught me how to wear success like armor, even when doubt gnawed underneath. Tonight would be no different—I’d give them the captain they expected to see, regardless of what I was actually feeling.
The presser was exactly as exhausting as I’d expected. Question after question about what went wrong, about whether the team was ready for the regular season, about whether management had made a mistake in their expansion draft strategy. I deflected, reframed, and projected the measured optimism that was expected from a team captain.
“We learned a lot tonight,” I told a reporter fromThe Athletic. “Sometimes you learn more from losses than wins. We know what we need to work on, and we will.”
“Do you think the age difference between you and some of the younger players is affecting team dynamics?” another reporter asked, and Boucher’s dig echoed in the question.
“Experience is an asset, not a liability,” I replied smoothly. “I know what it takes to build a winning culture, and that’s exactly what we’re doing here.”
Twenty minutes later, Wesley called an end to the session, and I escaped to the hallway, finally able to let my shoulders drop and my careful composure slip.
Wesley found me there, leaning against the concrete wall and running a hand down my face. I needed a shower and a shave.
“You did great in there.” Genuine warmth in his voice made the knot in my chest loosen.
I stood and chuckled. “I was spinning bullshit.”
Wesley’s lips tipped at the corners. “You were spinning perspective. There’s a difference.” He stepped closer, and he reached out and squeezed my bicep. “I have faith in you, Griffin. This team will come together. It just takes time.”
The simple touch, the quiet reassurance, hit me hard. For a moment, I let myself feel the weight I’d been carrying—the pressure to succeed, the fear of failure, the overwhelming responsibility of leading a team that didn’t entirely believe in me yet.
“Thanks,” I managed, my voice rougher than intended. “I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime,” Wesley said, his hand still warm on my arm.
“Griffin.”
The familiar voice of my agent cut through the moment like a blade. I looked up to see Michael approaching, his expression tight and controlled in a way that meant he was furious about something.
“Michael!” I forced enthusiasm into my voice and stepped away from Wesley’s touch. “Thanks for coming to the game.”
“Wouldn’t miss your first preseason appearance in Portland,” Michael said, his tone pleasant but his eyes cold asthey flicked between Wesley and me. “Though the result wasn’t what we’d hoped.”
“Michael, this is Wesley Hutton, our PR manager. Wesley, my agent, Michael Tremblay.”
They shook hands with a professional courtesy that looked more like sizing each other up than a genuine greeting.
Wesley’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and frowned. “Boucher posted again.”
Of course he did. I didn’t even need to ask what it said.
Wesley turned his phone so I could see the post:Told you. Youth over age. @Griff_Lapierre looking every bit his 34 years out there tonight. #WashedUp #NewEra
The words stung more than they should have, hitting every insecurity I’d been trying to ignore. Still, I straightened my shoulders and locked my expression into professional composure. What everyone saw mattered more than what I felt—it always had.
“Ignore him,” Wesley said firmly. “We’re not engaging. He’s trying to get in your head, and we’re not giving him that power.”
His hand returned to my arm, the gesture protective and reassuring. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
After Wesley left, the hallway felt colder. Michael’s expression had gone from tight to thunderous.
