Chapter 8 Last Question
Everett
When I started in the league, post-game interviews were something I looked forward to.
Cocky and young, I enjoyed boasting about my performance during the game and flirting with the female reporters in the room.
I liked having all the attention on me, but now, I dread being under the spotlight that way.
The older I’ve gotten, I’ve learned what to expect from the reporters sitting in the room, and while some of the questions are far too personal for my liking, the ones I really hate are the ones trying to corner me into saying something damning.
“Alright, so we’re going to take five questions, and then you’ll be done. Let’s not mention the shoulder injury until we know more,” Sally, our team’s PR manager, lectures as we walk down the hallway.
“Five?” I groan.
“We can do four, but that’s as low as I’ll go. They’re expecting to hear from you. You’re the team captain after all.”
“How about three?”
“Four,” she snaps. “I don’t have time for this little game.”
She pushes the door open, and we walk into the well-lit press room.
I find mostly familiar faces of reporters all waiting to talk to me, but I don’t really want to talk.
I want to go home and rest my body that took one too many hits tonight.
Fortunately, my shoulder is still feeling good, but I know a few hours from now, the effects of the injection will wear off, and I’ll be in pain again.
Following behind Sally, I take a seat at the table in the front of the room. Turning my hat backwards, I take a deep breath, readying myself for whatever they throw at me tonight.
“Dale Kisbee,” Sally says, beginning the interview and calling on a man sitting in the front row.
“Hi, yes, thanks for taking the time to speak with us tonight, Everett,” he begins.
I nod and offer him a smile.
“Tonight marks your first game against the Rats after returning to the Crowns this season. We know there’s a longstanding rivalry between the two teams, but tonight seemed to be more intense than past games, specifically at the end. Did it feel that way out on the ice?”
I chuckle, thinking back to the game. “I’d say so,” I begin.
“The energy was definitely heightened tonight, and you know we go into games like this prepared for them to be a little more physical than others. I think it’s just the nature of our teams’ shared history. I was happy we pulled out the win.”
A few hands shoot up, and Sally points to another man in the third row.
“Hello, Everett. Thank you for being here. Tonight you had a few run-ins with your old teammate, Raphael Ulrich. I was wondering if you could comment on how the referees handled some of the calls against him, specifically the hit that took Theo Carter from the game.”
What a waste of a question. Maybe younger me would’ve taken the bait.
Younger Everett would’ve given them the answer they wanted, and they would’ve eaten up every word.
But, I’m not going to comment on bad calls against opposing players, especially after I walked away from that fight with only a major and no match penalty.
“I think the referees called what they saw. You know tensions were high, but that’s part of the game.”
“Two more,” Sally says, moving the questions along. “Damian?”
“During the first period, you took a pretty nasty hit against the boards and then disappeared with the team doctor for a while before returning. Care to comment on what happened?”
I glance toward Sally, and she nods. “Yeah, sure. Doc wanted to make sure I was okay. Luckily, it was nothing serious, and I could return to the game.”
The hands of a couple familiar reporters shoot up. Each one looking hungrier than the next for me to give more details about a possible injury, but I won’t. Not tonight. Not until I fully understand what it means for my career.
“Alright, last question.” Sally says, pointing to a female reporter sitting in the front row who I’ve never seen before. She looks to be in her mid-forties and is wearing a pink suit that matches the highlights in her long blonde hair.
“Hello, Everett. I’m here representing SDN. Great game tonight.” She smiles. “There have been some rumors circulating that your return to the Crowns this season is signaling that you might be considering retirement soon. Is there any truth to these?”
Retirement rumors? Fucking perfect.
“As of now, I don’t have plans to leave the league.
I know that day will come eventually, as it does for every player, but I’m currently trying to focus on the present.
Coming home to New York has been incredible, and I have every intent to finish out the season with this team.
I plan to play as long as my body allows me to. ”
“Alright thank you every—” Sally begins, ending the interview as I start to stand.
“Actually, I do have a follow-up question,” the reporter from SDN interjects, causing everyone in the room to turn to face her.
“I’m sorry. That’s all Everett has time for tonight,” Sally tries.
“It’s a quick question,” she argues. Her lavender eyes find mine, and I sink back into the chair.
“It’s okay, Sally,” I say. “I can take one more.”
“Thank you,” the pink-haired woman continues. “You said that you plan to play for as long as your body allows, so I guess that leaves me wondering if you’re concerned about your current shoulder injury forcing you to retire.”
Silence ripples through the small space, and when I look up, everyone’s eyes are locked on me. Every reporter is poised with their recorders extended or their pens to paper waiting on my answer.
“Excuse me?” I ask, feigning confusion.
“Your shoulder,” she repeats. “From my understanding, it’s been giving you trouble since the second game this season. So, I’m curious if it’ll be the reason you hang up your skates and I don’t know…maybe settle down with someone special?”
My shoulder? Hang up my skates? Settle down? What is this woman getting at? There’s currently no one special in my life, and the one person I ever even considered special enough to date seriously got away.
My eyes scan the crowd in front of me, and I know I need to answer her, but I can’t form a coherent response.
“Who—” I begin, confused as to how she could know any of that. How anyone outside the team doctors could know.
“Thank you all for joining us,” Sally says, abruptly interrupting me. She motions for me to stand. “That’s all the time we have.”
The room erupts with questions, and the bright lights of cameras flash as Sally ushers me out of the room. Following her to the door, my eyes find the pink haired reporter. She’s wearing a smirk, and an uneasiness rolls through me. We hold each other’s gazes until the door shuts behind me.
“What organization did she say she was with?” Sally asks, flustered.
“SDN,” I say, thinking back to when she introduced herself.
“SDN?”
“That’s what she said.” I shrug. “You know I’m gonna have to address this.”
She scans her phone and mumbles something under her breath.
“Go home and get some rest,” she says. “We’ll put out this fire tomorrow after you meet with the doctor and we have more information.”
I hesitate before walking away, but my head is spinning with what-ifs and thoughts about retirement from the league. Whoever she was, she planted a seed in my head—and in the head of every major news organization that covers professional hockey.
Fuck.
My stomach turns at the thought. I’m not ready to quit. I don’t need to quit—my shoulder is fine, and the meds are working. I can’t let some reporter get under my skin. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.