Chapter 5
chapter five
Bennett’s phone rang as he and Fowler were setting up for player interviews in a meeting room within the organization’s headquarters, which were located in an office suite several floors above the locker rooms in the Sport U Arena.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket to silence it, but Fowler waved him away.
“It’s fine if you want to answer that. I need to play around with the lighting for a minute. ”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a sec.” He put the phone to his ear and stepped out of the room. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, you,” she said, her voice warm. “Is now a good time to talk? I never know with your schedule.”
“I’ve got a few minutes.” He wandered down the hallway until he found an empty meeting room so he could talk without disturbing the organization’s employees. “Everything okay?”
“Of course. I just called to see how you’re doing. How’s New England treating you?”
“It’s really cold here.”
She clearly thought that was hilarious based on how loudly she laughed. It was the soundtrack of his childhood, that laughter. No matter how tired she’d been from working three jobs or how stressed she’d been about money, Mom had never failed to make life fun.
“How’s Washington treating you?” he asked.
“It’s cold here too, I’ll have you know.”
“Not as cold as it is out here.”
“You were the one who decided to go out there.”
He couldn’t argue that.
“And how’s work?” Mom asked. “Last time we spoke, you were trying to get permission to bring cameras into the locker room.”
Christ, Bennett wanted to forget about that disaster. He saw red every time he thought about it. “Work’s good. I can bring cameras in there now, and we’re about to start player interviews.”
“Ooh. That’s exciting. Who’s up first?”
“I . . . don’t know, actually. I had to rework the schedule a couple of times.
” On top of a changing practice schedule, he also had to work around the players’ other commitments, everything from school pickup and extracurricular activities to appointments to community engagement events to media appearances.
A last-minute change had landed in Bennett’s inbox again yesterday afternoon, and Fowler had modified the schedule last night while Bennett had been a fly on the wall in the Trailblazers’ locker room during last night’s game against Buffalo.
The revised schedule was probably in his emails, but Bennett had been too busy to look at it. Didn’t matter anyway. He had the same set of questions for almost everyone.
“And have you talked to Sandro yet?”
Bennett’s stomach wobbled slightly. “A bit, yeah.”
“How is he?”
“Good. He . . .” Bennett desperately wished for water to wet his dry mouth. “He looks good.”
“Yes, I know that. I can google as well as the next person. I asked how he is.”
Huffing out a laugh, Bennett strolled over to the window and stared down at the busy downtown street below. “He’s good. Doing well for himself.”
“Hm. Well, you tell him I said hi and to get rid of the maroon suit. It’s not a good color on him.”
“What maroon suit?”
“The one from the picture online.”
“What pic—You know what? Doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
“Thanks, sweetie. And listen, I know you probably need to get back to work, but I wanted to chat about Christmas if you have another few minutes.”
He checked his watch. “Sure. I haven’t booked my flight yet, though. I’m not sure where I’ll be, so I don’t know yet if I’ll need to book a flight from here or from LA.”
“That’s the thing, sweetie—I may not be here at Christmas.
You remember my friend Lorraine? She lost her husband last year, and her kids are grown and doing their own thing for the holidays, so she asked me to go on a trip with her.
She found a great price for an all-inclusive resort in Mexico, but .
. . I know you had your heart set on coming home—”
“Oh my god, Mom, no. Go on the trip.”
Mom made a tsking sound. “Are you sure? It feels wrong to be leaving you behind at Christmas.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Go on the trip. You deserve a vacation. You and I can do our own celebration in the new year.”
“Are you sure?” Mom repeated. “Because I’ve got to say .
. .” She lowered her voice, like she was afraid someone might be listening.
“The resort looks really nice. It’s right on the beach and they have a spa that looks like it’s in the middle of an oasis.
They even have a special Christmas dinner and dance party on the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth. ”
“Damn,” Bennett muttered. “Can I come?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . no.”
Smiling, he headed out of the room and back down the hallway. “I’ll e-transfer you some spending cash.”
Her sigh was staticky over the phone line. “Bennett. Sweetie. For the thousandth time, I don’t need your money.”
“Consider it an early Christmas present.”
“He says that as if he hasn’t already bought me a Christmas present even though it’s not even Thanksgiving yet,” Mom muttered, apparently to herself.
“I like to be prepared. How is that a bad thing?”
“One day you’re going to overprepare yourself into boredom.”
“I . . . have no idea what that means. Hey, Mom, I’ve got to go.” Bennett nodded at Fowler when he stuck his head out of their appointed meeting room and caught Bennett’s gaze. “Work calls.”
They said quick goodbyes, and he walked into the room to find that Fowler had set everything up. Lighting, cameras, Trailblazers-branded backdrop—they were all ready to go. A stool sat between two cameras for him to perch on, with a second directly across from him for the player being interviewed.
“Do you think this corner needs more lighting?”
Fowler didn’t even blink. “No.”
“Are you sure it won’t look too dark on camera?”
“I’m sure.”
Bennett sat on the second stool and took in the cameras facing him from multiple directions. Was four too many? Would the guys be intimidated?
Nah. They were pro hockey players. They were used to being in the spotlight.
“We need another camera over here.”
Fowler crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “No, we don’t.”
“But that angle—”
“Is one you ask me to set up every time we work together on a project but that you never end up using in the final cut.”
Bennett frowned. That couldn’t be true.
“But what about—”
“Bennett,” Fowler said firmly. “Stop trying to control everything. I know how to do my job.” He didn’t sound annoyed or angry. Just calmly matter-of-fact.
“No, I know that. Obviously. I just . . .” Running a palm over his jaw, Bennett let out a breath. He needed this docuseries to go well. This was career make-or-break. He couldn’t afford another failed project.
“You’re still smarting over Chain of Command’s reception and you’re worried this will be another flop.”
“Christ.” Bennett stood, wiping his palms on his thighs. “Take your brutal honesty somewhere else, would you?”
Fowler cracked a smile at that. “Put your game face on. Your first interviewee is about to arrive.”
“Who is it anyway?” He was about to check his email when Kyle Dabbs poked his head into the room.
“Hey. Am I in the right place?”
“Hey, man.” Bennett held out a hand for a shake. “You’re up first, huh?”
“Figured it was my duty as team captain. Fowler, good to see you again. So? Bennett, where do you want me? Over here, I’m guessing.”
Heedless of the cameras, Dabbs sat on the stool in front of the Trailblazers’ backdrop, taking charge of the room like only a team captain could.
It rankled more than Bennett wanted to admit—this was his gig—so he pasted on a smile and sat across from him.
“I’ll give you a quick rundown of how the next hour will go, and then we’ll get started.
Fowler will be on hand in case we have any camera malfunctions. ”
Dabbs smiled benignly. “Sounds good. Let’s do this.”