38. Taking Charge
TAKING CHARGE
brETT
The summons plays out about like I expected it to, but that doesn’t make it better.
There’s an eerie sense of déjà vu at being hauled into Craig London’s office, just like the day I arrived in Missoula. Same cast of characters—the owner, the GM, the PR guru, the coach, the captain, the lawyer.
“—made it clear that this kind of thing is completely unacceptable, and yet—”
Why shouldn’t the rest of my life fall to pieces? First Chelsea, now my career.
Cursed.
I haven’t thought about it in a while. In fact, I actually started to believe that maybe that wasn’t the case. That I was in control of my own fate and that I could make better choices. Do better.
If a woman like Chelsea gave me the time of day, I can’t be all bad, right?
But I ruined it with her, just like I have with every relationship I’ve ever had. And now it’s migrated to hockey.
When the Portland Storm dumped me, that was a one-off. If the Wolfpack let me go, it’s a pattern.
This is why I can’t have nice things.
“—complete disregard for the team’s image, and furthermore—”
My suit’s making me itchy. I run a finger under my collar, reminding myself that my tie is not, in fact, strangling me.
Beside me, my agent is testy. The bounce of his knee speeds and slows with my fate—the more it looks like they’re going to cut me loose, the faster it gets.
I’m drowning in the only you could screw up a franchise-first this way look that Graham Nealon is throwing my way while the Wolfpack brass is busy infighting over my fate.
“—part of the community, not to mention our charity partners, who are bound to—”
I let the power struggle take place around me. The team offices are only a couple blocks from the rink, and London’s office affords a sweet view of the building, so I stare at the gleaming silver complex and make myself breathe through the noise around me.
I wish I was there now. My muscles are tight, and nothing burns off anxiety like a couple of laps on an empty sheet of ice.
“—now that we’ve made the postseason, we can’t be derailed by—”
And just when I thought I was getting somewhere. Just when I thought there was a chance for me to pull myself out of the muck, it comes back in an avalanche and buries me all over again.
Normally, this sort of tabloid story would have sent me into a spiral, have me wallowing, digging myself into a deeper hole.
But now, I can see that the only option that gives me any chance of keeping my hockey career is to do things my way.
“—therefore, we’ve decided that our only option is—”
“Do I get a say in this?”
My question, the first time I’ve spoken since I was dragged into the office an hour ago, detonates with a palpable force. Mouths snap shut and focus turns on me. My agent’s bouncing knee goes deathly still.
“Last night, this team made the playoffs for the first time. And while I would not dream of taking full credit, because the boys worked goddamn hard to give that to you, I am proud to be a part of it. It’s the reason you brought me here.
You knew my reputation, you knew the personal drama that got me put on waivers in the first place, and you took a chance on me anyway. ”
“A decision we’re paying for now,” Lucy Crane mutters under her breath. She turns to face London. “I’ve already had several phone calls from sponsors this morning who are concerned about how this looks, the impact it will have on our brand, and theirs by extension.”
“Your brand?” I ask. The gears of big business are nipping at my heels, trying to get hold of me, to chew me up and spit me out.
Perfectly willing to use me for my size and skill to get to the postseason, but the second I need them to back me up, they’re throwing me to the wolves. Some pack this is.
“So you’re going to chuck me for something that’s out of my control? I would understand your attitude if I spent last night fucking groupies!” I take a deep breath.
Okay, maybe my professionalism needs a little work.
Pull it together, Sillinger. You’re making a point here.
“This is an old video, filmed by my ex-wife during our marriage, without my permission. And the only reason she released it is because we made the postseason.”
There’s a knock on the door, but I’m too into my rant to care who Craig London admits with a slight frown and a wave of his fingers.
“She used me for publicity, and while I wish to God it had never happened, it was completely out of my control.”
“I think what my client is trying to say—”
Oh, sure. Now you want to give me a hand, Graham?
I shoot him down with a look.
“What his client is trying to say is this is bullshit. You brought me here to play hockey, and that’s what I’ve done. I’ve been on my best behavior.”
I’m pretty sure my ears turn red at London’s arch look, but I can’t think about Chelsea right now if I’m going to get through this. I turn my attention to the head of PR.
Lucy scowls at me, and it reminds me what’s at stake.
“You think I want this video on the internet? That I’m proud to be a laughingstock? I’m not. But I’m damn proud of what happened on the ice last night. How we rallied and played a hell of a game against one of the league’s best teams. I’m proud of my teammates and what we accomplished.”
Fletcher lifts his chin at that, and I appreciate his support more than he knows.
“And I get that this is a money game. That you need sponsors to make this work. But why don’t you remind those sponsors that I helped get us into the playoffs. I’m part of the reason that they’re going to be earning postseason exposure, postseason revenue, all of it.”
Lucy acts like I haven’t even spoken. She turns toward London and the lawyer. “Maybe we can sweep it under the rug, see how it plays out. I can smooth things over with some of the big sponsors and we can—”
“That’s not good enough.”
Once again, I’m the center of attention.
“I want to face this head on.”
“What are you doing, kid?” Graham’s growl is a warning, backed up by the way his hands ball into fists around the papers he’s rolled into a tube, twisting it slowly. No doubt wishing it was my neck in his grasp right now.
“Let me do a press conference this afternoon.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Lucy advises, and legal counsel Thad Osprey is nodding vigorously at her assessment.
“Then fire me. But I’m talking to the press this afternoon, either way. I’d prefer to do it with the backing of the team, but I’m not hiding from this any longer than I have to.”
“Brett’s right.”
The words would have surprised me anyway—they’re not ones I’m used to hearing—but coming from her, they’re even more shocking. My heart stutters in my chest as I, and everyone else, turn to watch her striding toward the desk.
She doesn’t look at me. Not even once.
“I think it’s imperative that he speaks out as soon as possible about this.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been fielding concerns from sponsors all morning. I’m trying to keep millions of dollars from walking out the door, so maybe I missed the part where you added public relations manager to your credentials.”
Lucy’s rebuke doesn’t even slow Chelsea down. She’s magnificent.
And I’m so fucking in love with her that it hurts.
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s seen the backlash to this video on social media? The op-eds flooding blogs and newspapers since its release? If you let those sponsors cut ties over this, you’re dooming them to stand on the wrong side of this issue.”
She looks at everyone in the room in turn. Well, everyone except me.
“Have you all watched the video?”
For the first time all morning, no one will look at me.
“Then you’re aware it was filmed without Brett’s knowledge.
There is a firestorm of support growing in his defense.
In fact, my phone has also been ringing off the hook this morning—” she sends a dark look at Lucy, “—with calls from a whole host of charities who are interested in working directly with Brett, and by extension, the team, on raising awareness about the realities of revenge porn, cyber bullying, and consent.
“Sponsors who abandon the team over this are going to look foolish and short-sighted. It’ll seem like they have no idea of the reality young people, and young women in particular—those they are trying so desperately to attract to their products—actually have to live with.”
I can barely process what she’s saying. That she’s standing up for me right now. After what happened between us last night.
“One of the local women’s shelters has already expressed interest in having Brett speak about this experience, to raise awareness about the fallout of this sort of abuse, and to illustrate that no one is immune. I think it would be wise to do the press conference from there.”
“We always do our press conferences from—”
“I’m well aware of what we usually do, Lucy.
But I think the location change will keep this from seeming like it’s just business, because it’s not.
What happened to Brett has happened to countless other people, and it’s the sort of thing that can ruin lives.
It would be a mistake for the Wolfpack organization to make it seem like it’s anything less than that. ”
There’s a moment of shell-shocked silence around the room, and I use it to my advantage, getting to my feet. “That,” I say simply, referring to Chelsea’s entire plan. “I’m doing that.”
She jots down something on her clipboard, but doesn’t look at me. “I’ll set it up.”
I don’t get a chance to thank her, as Lucy cloisters me away in a boardroom with the entire PR department and they hammer out the details of what I should, and shouldn’t, say in front of the microphone this afternoon.
So it’s not until I arrive at the shelter a couple hours later, that I get a taste of just how incredible Chelsea is at her job.
Sure, I’ve seen her pull stuff off with months of preparation, but this, today, is a testament to how much she cares about the community.
It’s awe-inspiring to see what she’s accomplished in such a short time.
The place is packed with reporters, yes, but also with the entire roster of the Montana Wolfpack, decked out in T-shirts emblazoned with a variety of slogans, some decrying revenge porn, others lauding consent, and all of them currently available for pre-order on the shelter’s website to help support the women and children who are bravely telling their heartbreaking stories to reporters scattered around the room.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Where else would we be?” Fletcher asks matter-of-factly as he shakes my hand.
Orlov and Ehrhoff follow suit, though Nik adds a quiet, “What happened was way out of bounds,” before he moves on.
Mason’s next. He doesn’t say anything, just claps me on the shoulder. I tip my chin in thanks.
“We’ve got your back, man.” Decker grabs my hand, pulls me in for a bro hug.
“Always. Or I mean, at least until they trade your ass again.”
After I thank the rest of my team for coming, for standing by me, I take my place beside the podium and wait for the executive director of the shelter to introduce me.
And then it’s on.