Chapter 11 - Theo
Theo
“Hey, wake up.”
Hunter jabbed me with his elbow, and I flinched, headphones shifting partway off my head. My ears were still ringing from the deafening Dallas crowd, my shoulder humming under the dull ache I’d been ignoring all game. I yanked the headphones off, blinking against the cabin lights.
“What?”
He held his phone out, the screen angled so I couldn’t miss the news article. Big black letters on white: Iron Man Gone Soft?
I snorted. “It was one loss. What are they talking about?”
But my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
“One loss that helped the Stars tie the round two-all,” Hunter said, scrolling. “And check this—” He flicked through several different social feeds, each one highlighting my mystery injury, questioning my fitness, dragging up last year’s final.
I leaned back in my seat, jaw tight. “Jesus.”
“Only if he suits up and takes your place,” Hunter chided. I glared at him, and he lifted his hands in mock-surrender. “Not that you need replacing. We all have our off days.”
He studied me while I acted like I didn’t give a shit, turning the volume up on my flight playlist. Which, coincidentally, was also my sleep playlist. After a couple of seconds, one ear snapped off and I turned to find him still staring at me.
“You’d tell me if there was anything to be concerned about, right?”
My brain got caught between a few correct responses. Annoyance, incredulity, offense that he’d even imply that I was hiding anything… It was too much, and I short-circuited, so just sat there gaping at him like a dumb fool.
Hunter glanced around and leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Because if they’re right about this injury thing—”
“There’s no injury. You should know better than to believe that bullshit.” I got to my feet. Most of the team were asleep or thumbing their screens. Thankfully, nobody was paying any attention to what was going on with Hunter and me.
“You don’t get to be an ass with the whole team depending on you.” His tense whisper followed me down the aisle, but I made no move to acknowledge him.
I gripped the seats as I staggered my way to the back where the drone of the plane’s engines pressed into the cabin. Reese was alone, head bent over her laptop, fingers flying across the keys. She didn’t look up until I was standing right there.
I dropped into the empty seat next to her, and cleared my throat. Her face was unreadable in the glow from the screen, but she didn’t so much as pause her typing.
“Not now.”
I settled deeper into the seat to get more comfortable. “I take it you’ve seen the news.”
“I said not now, Bouchard.”
“It’s not like we’re the first team in NHL history to come up tied at game 4,” I said, ignoring her as much as she ignored me. “I don’t get why all of a sudden it has to be about my shoulder and what happened last season.”
She snapped the laptop shut and looked at me.
“You think this is all just happening now? After losing to Dallas for the second time this round?” I didn’t answer, because she wasn’t looking for one.
“There’s been suspicion around your injury since the start of the season.
Of course they’re gonna zero in on that at the slightest invitation.
It wasn’t this loss, Bouchard. It’s been everything leading up to this point. ”
I bristled but for the most part, was determined to play it cool. “I keep telling you, I’m fine.”
“Which is total bullshit, and you know it.” She worked hard to keep her voice low, and spared a look around before continuing. “Besides, this isn’t about what I believe. You were supposed to convince everyone else.”
“And you were supposed to keep this off the record,” I snapped. “You had one job—”
“Oh, so this is my fault?” The vein in her neck protruded ominously.
Shit. I’d come over here thinking it would be less tense than with Hunter.
“And just so we’re clear… My job is to make sure you don’t fall apart out there.
Maybe even make it through finals. But you’re so goddamn stubborn.
You just had to keep pushing. I told you it wouldn’t last. My job isn’t to cover your ass just so you can have more time on the ice. ”
“No, but it was your idea.” I held her gaze, refusing to back down. “You wanted to look good for management so you’d get your cushy promotion. If you ask me, that totally makes it your responsibility to make sure things stay under wraps.”
She fell back, stunned to silence. If only for a moment. I relished every microsecond of it, because the way her lips set, and that blazing look in her eyes told me I was in for it now.
“There’d be nothing to wrap if you took yourself out of the game long enough to heal.”
I scoffed, shifting so I didn’t have to look at her. But she jabbed my arm so hard I had no choice but to turn back. “I’m not proud of it, but you can’t sit there and put it all on me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I replied. I was fuming, but that shit had to stay bottled up as long as there were ears around us that could carry it over to whatever reporter was waiting in the wings.
“All I’m saying is… You’re the one writing the reports, doing my rehab, slapping tape on me.
That means in this scenario, you’re the last line of defense. ”
And, ladies and gentlemen, Reese Hopper did not like that. Not one bit.
“How the fuck does that even make sense?” Her strained whisper went so high, so tight, only dogs could hear it. “How am I supposed to defend what you look like on the ice? When the whole world can see the way you’re clearly playing through an injury?”
“I’m just a dumb jock with a stick,” I said with a shrug. “The reason I partnered with you is so that you could take care of all that smart-brained stuff.”
“Oh, we are not partners, Bouchard.” Her nostrils flared, which was how I knew she really meant what she was saying. “Not by a fucking mile.”
I was still trying to smile through the way that ice cold delivery sliced through me when Holly popped up out of nowhere. She leaned over to speak to us both, one hand on the backrest behind my head, and the other on the one in front of me.
“Wipe those panicked looks off your faces. I’ve got it handled,” she said, looking like the least stressed out member of this team. “Once we land, we’re going straight into a presser with McAvoy to straighten this all out.”
“We?” Reese shrank back is if Holly was haphazardly brandishing a flaming torch. “What do you mean by ‘we’?”
Holly simply gestured to the two of us with a perfectly manicured finger.
“No way.” Reese shook her head so hard I got ready to catch it once it broke clean off her neck. “I don’t do press. Reports and behind-the-scenes stuff is one thing, but cameras? No.”
“You’re already on the bill,” Holly said with her attempt at sounding apologetic. She looked totally smug about it, though.
“Take me off the bill. I don’t care.” Reese folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not doing it.”
I knew that look, and felt a little sorry for our PR consultant. All the same, I sat back and watched the power play unfold. It was way more entertaining than the stupid in-flight movie.
“You’re doing it.”
Ooph. That one even had me bracing. I knew Holly had it in her, after watching her give it to Hunter last season. So if there was anyone who’d go toe-to-toe with the inimitable Hopper, it’d be her.
“I’m not doing it,” she repeated. “I’ll give you an off-air statement or whatever, that you guys can vomit out to the press. That’ll be fine. That’s more than enough. Bouchard is who they really want to see anyway.”
“What a neat idea.” Holly straightened, her eyes never leaving Reese. “But you’re doing it.”
If an argument was ever going to fall out of Reese’s mouth, which was opening and closing like a fish, the chances of Holly hearing it grew smaller and smaller as she strode down the aisle away from us. Her point was made, so there was no reason sticking around.
“So… Have you ever been on TV before?”
Her glare was straight-up daggers that almost made me laugh. But I valued my life too much so just zipped it, pulled my headphones back on, and pretended to sleep the rest of the way.
The second the wheels hit the runway, Reese was already halfway out of her seat like the plane was on fire and the press conference was the flames licking at her heels.
I took my time, mostly because my headphones were tangled around my neck, but also because she looked one wrong sentence away from bolting down the aisle.
Holly corralled her with a hand lightly touching her elbow.
“You’re going to be fine,” Holly said as we filed off the jet. “I would’ve given it to Niels, but he’s technically not head trainer anymore.”
Reese made a noise that didn’t belong to any species I knew. “No. No, no, no. I’m not cut out for cameras. I fix people. I don’t talk to the press about them.”
“You fix Theo,” Holly corrected. “That’s the whole point. If you’re there, it assures the fans that the team’s medical staff knows exactly what’s going on with him and that everything’s under control.”
I opened my mouth, and Reese shot me a warning look that told me to keep it shut unless I wanted my other shoulder taken out of action. So I shut it.
Frost Bank Center was buzzing by the time we got inside. Staff weaving through hallways, reporters setting up equipment. Holly walked briskly, heels clicking, handing each of us a printed script that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Reese took hers like it was a live grenade. I folded mine and stuck it in my pocket.
“You’re not even going to look at it?” Holly asked.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I said, shrugging. “They can ask whatever they want.”
Reese’s gaze snapped up, sharp enough to cut through Kevlar. I ignored it and flashed them both a reassuring smile. “Relax, ladies. Let’s enjoy the limelight for what it is.”
“For what it is,” Reese muttered, as if the phrase personally offended her. She hunched over the script again as we walked, trusting me to be the guide that kept her from ramming into a wall.
We reached the double doors to the press room. Holly slipped inside first, already sliding seamlessly into PR-warrior mode. I tried to follow, but Reese caught me before I’d even made it over the threshold.
She tugged me back into the hallway. “Why aren’t you freaking out? You should be freaking out. This is… this could…” She swallowed. “If this goes badly, it could be the end of your playoffs. Maybe worse.”
It should’ve scared me. Maybe last year it would have. But fear would require me believing the same bullshit the media was pushing, and I didn’t.
“I’m fine, Hopper. And my shoulder’s fine.”
Her eyes said she didn’t believe a word of it. But she also knew she couldn’t drag me down the hallway and lecture me without an audience forming. So she just stared, jaw tight, fingers clenched around that trembling sheet of paper.
I nudged her gently toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”
Inside, the press room was a hub of activity with lights warming the stage, reporters shifting in their seats, cameras adjusting focus. Reese stuck close beside me, practically under my arm. Eyes glued to the script.
Coach spotted us before we spotted him. He cut through the cluster of voices with that big, booming laugh he saved for media days. I angled toward him, already gearing up to reassure Reese, but I only got halfway through turning when I felt the air shift.
I didn’t notice. Not really. Not until it was too late.
Coach’s hand was already up. Already coming down. A friendly slap between teammates. A harmless pat a coach gives his top guy to say you’ve got this, kid. The kind of thing I’d taken a thousand times.
Except this time it landed square on my bad shoulder.
The sound wasn’t loud. Not compared to cameras adjusting or reporters rustling their notes. But the pain…
I couldn’t swallow it. Couldn’t mask it. Couldn’t do a single thing fast enough.
The noise tore out of me before I had a chance to bite it back. A sharp, guttural cry that ricocheted off the walls and snapped the entire room into stillness.
A beat of silence.
Then the entire place erupted.
Voices swelled, reporters rushed forward. Cameras angled toward me with predatory precision. Reese froze, horror draining all the color from her face.
And me?
I stood there, chest heaving, shoulder screaming, every lens in the room capturing the exact thing we’d spent months keeping quiet.
My pain.
On camera.
In real time.
And there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.