7 media spin
By the time I get called into the office, I already know how this is going to go.
Not because anyone told me, but because there's only so many ways you can spin something like this before it stops being about hockey and starts being about everything else.
Coach is already inside when I walk in, standing near the desk like he's been waiting. There's someone else there too—a woman I've seen around but never actually talked to, dressed like she belongs somewhere more official than a high school rink.
She looks up when I step in.
"Caiden," she says, like we've met before.
Coach gestures toward the chair. "Sit."
I stay standing for a second longer than necessary, then drop into it anyway. The room feels smaller than usual, like the walls have moved in just enough to make this conversation unavoidable.
The woman steps forward, holding a tablet like it's part of her job description—which it probably is.
"I'm Dana," she says. "I handle communications for the team."
That sounds like a problem.
She taps the screen once, then turns it toward me.
The video plays automatically.
Of course it does.
I don't react. I don't lean in, don't look away, don't give her anything she can use as a read. It plays through—the moment, the reaction, the crowd, everything that somehow turned into something bigger than it actually was.
When it ends, she doesn't turn it off right away.
"Do you know how many views this has?" she asks.
"I don't care."
"You should," she says calmly. "Because this isn't just a video anymore. It's attention."
"I noticed."
Coach crosses his arms, watching me. "This is bigger than a distraction."
"It doesn't affect how I play."
"That's not the point," he says.
Dana taps the screen again, scrolling through something I don't bother trying to read.
"You're trending," she says. "Not just locally. This is moving."
"That sounds temporary."
"It is," she agrees. "Unless we do something with it."
There it is.
I lean back slightly, already not liking where this is going. "Or we ignore it."
"That's one option," she says. "It's just not the smart one."
"I'm not interested in smart if it means making this worse."
"It won't make it worse," she replies. "It'll make it controlled."
Coach nods once, like that's the part that matters.
"Right now," Dana continues, "people think there's something going on between you and that girl."
"There isn't."
"That's not what it looks like."
I exhale slowly. "That doesn't make it real."
"No," she says. "But it makes it believable. And believable is enough."
I glance at Coach, then back at her. "So what are you suggesting?"
She doesn't hesitate. "You lean into it."
Of course she does.
"That's not happening."
"You don't have to like her," Dana says. "You just have to look like you do."
"I don't even know her."
"That actually works in your favor," she replies.
That doesn't make any sense.
Coach steps in before I can say anything else. "This isn't optional, Caiden."
I look at him. "It sounds optional."
"It's not," he says. "This affects the team."
There it is.
I sit back, running a hand through my hair as I think through it, even though I already know I'm not going to like the outcome.
"What does 'lean into it' actually mean?" I ask.
Dana smiles slightly, like that's the question she's been waiting for.
"Controlled appearances," she says. "Public interactions. Nothing excessive, nothing messy."
"That sounds like a lot."
"It's not," she replies. "It's just enough to guide the narrative."
"I don't want a narrative."
"You already have one."
That lands.
I don't respond right away, because there isn't a version of this where I win. Either I ignore it and it keeps growing on its own, or I step into it and pretend I'm okay with that.
Neither option is great.
"What happens if I don't do this?" I ask.
Coach answers that one.
"It gets bigger," he says. "And you don't control any part of it."
Dana nods. "People will keep speculating. It turns into something else. Something messier."
I look between them, weighing it in a way that feels more like damage control than a decision.
"So I'm supposed to pretend I'm dating someone I don't know," I say.
"For a short time," Dana replies.
"That's a bad idea."
"It's an effective one."
I let out a quiet breath, leaning forward slightly. "And when it's over?"
"You move on," she says simply. "The story fades. You go back to being just a hockey player."
That part sounds better.
Temporary.
Controlled.
Contained.
Still—
"I don't like it," I say.
"You don't have to," she replies. "You just have to do it right."
Coach watches me for a second, then nods once. "This helps the team."
That's the only argument that matters.
I sit there for another second, then push myself up from the chair. "Fine."
Dana doesn't look surprised.
"Good," she says. "We'll coordinate timing and locations. Keep it natural, but visible."
"Natural," I repeat. "Right."
She taps something on her tablet again. "And one more thing."
I pause.
"Don't contradict the narrative," she adds. "If people ask, you don't deny it."
"That sounds like lying."
"That sounds like strategy."
I don't respond to that.
Coach gestures toward the door. "Get to class."
I nod once and step out, the air outside the office feeling different, like I just agreed to something I can't take back.
?
Declan is waiting in the hallway.
Of course he is.
"Well?" he asks immediately, falling into step beside me.
"They want me to fake date her."
He doesn't even try to hide the grin. "I knew it."
"I said no."
"And?"
"And it wasn't optional."
That only makes him more entertained. "That's even better."
"It's not better."
"It is for me," he says.
I shake my head, heading toward class. "I don't even like her."
"You've said that."
"I mean it."
"I believe you," he replies easily. "That's what makes this funny."
"It's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
I don't respond, because arguing with him is a waste of time.
We walk in silence for a few seconds before he speaks again. "So when do you see her next?"
"I don't know."
"You should probably figure that out," he says. "If you're doing this, you need a plan."
I exhale slowly. "I'll talk to Riley."
Declan nods like that confirms everything. "Good. I want updates."
"You're not getting updates."
"I'm absolutely getting updates."
I push open the classroom door, stepping inside without answering him.
Because the truth is—
I don't know how this is supposed to work.
I don't know how you pretend something like that is real without it turning into something else.
And I definitely don't know how I ended up here.
But one thing is clear.
This isn't going away.
Not yet.