Sandro exchanged a glance with Bennett. They’d both filled out the conflict-of-interest paperwork two days ago, after which Coach had told them that unless their relationship was going to interfere with their abilities to do their jobs, he didn’t much care about their love lives.
And that had been that.
If no one was going to bring it up now, Sandro sure as hell wasn’t about to.
“People are going through the entire Chicago roster from fifteen years ago and making bets on who it could’ve been.” Lynne snorted a laugh. “It’s honestly kind of funny.”
“I’m sure they’re loving that,” Bennett uttered quietly to Sandro.
“Others are curious about Eli, some are wondering why Deeley and Sandbaker are at each other’s throats, and a few are claiming the Trailblazers are liars. A whole bunch of other people are jumping to the team’s defense. None of this is surprising given the reel’s content, but like we’ve already discussed, it was taken out of context. We can release a statement, or we can let this ride out until everyone forgets about it.”
“Either way, I want this footage scrapped,” Ramsey said. “It’s not the kind of thing I want to see in the series. It makes us look weak.”
Dabbs pushed his chair back. “We can’t?—”
“It doesn’t make us look weak,” Sandro challenged, and every set of eyes in the room turned to him. But he couldn’t stand by anymore and watch Bennett’s project get chopped to pieces until it was soulless.
Fifteen years ago, Sandro hadn’t fought for Bennett when it counted.
He’d never sit back and let Bennett shoulder challenges alone ever again.
“It doesn’t make us look weak,” he repeated. “It makes us look human. If all you want to see in the series is hockey, then you might as well just watch a game. The whole point of the series is to show everyone how hard we work and how desperately we want another shot at the Cup, but you can’t do that without showing the humans behind the players, flaws and all. We’re not perfect, and we shouldn’t pretend we are.”
Bennett clamped his fingers around his wrist for a second—a quick thank you—before letting go.
“Zanetti, this reel is mostly about you,” the team owner said quietly. Bill was never one to jump in with demands or opinions until the debate had settled, and Sandro had always liked that about him. “You’re saying you’re okay with this kind of content making it into the show?”
Sandro jerked one shoulder in a shrug. “I mean, snapping at our rookie is admittedly not my finest moment, and I don’t love that my own rookie season struggles are out there for everyone to hear. But there’s strength in vulnerability and authenticity. Believe it or not, our rookie taught me that. So, am I okay with this content making it onto the show?” He shrugged and met Bill’s gaze. “I have to be. Because how else are we supposed to connect with people?”
“We need to let Bennett, Fowler, and their people record us without trying to censor them,” Dabbs added. Considering he hadn’t exactly endorsed this series when the opportunity had first been brought up, he seemed to have accepted it enough not to get in Bennett’s way.
“I tend to agree,” Bill said.
“Me too,” Madolora added.
Friedle nodded, and Lynne looked at them all with an expression that said, yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.
“Fine,” Ramsey said, somewhat reluctantly. “I know when I’m outnumbered.”
“I promise you’ll like the series,” Bennett told him with a confident half-smile that did something to Sandro he didn’t want to examine in a crowded conference room. “Even if this kind of footage is included.”
“That’s a bold statement,” Sandro muttered for Bennett’s ears only.
“And on that note, I think we’re done here,” Lynne said. “Bill, Ramsey, stay on the line for a minute? We can talk about the statement you’d like me to draft.”
“I can draft one too,” Bennett said.
“Leave that to me.” David grabbed his briefcase from the chair. “I’ll take care of it.”
The meeting adjourned, and someone cut the connection with Lynne, Bill, and Ramsey. Sandro blew out a breath and rested his chin on Bennett’s shoulder. “You good?”
“I didn’t get fired, so . . . yeah.”
“Zanetti,” Coach said on his way out the door. “I still expect you at morning skate in an hour.”
Sandro nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Everyone filed out, leaving Sandro and Bennett with David, who strode around the table, one hand held out. “I’m sorry about this mess, Ben. Anything you need, let me know.”
