Chapter Six
Carter
Flashes pop like lightning. Questions fire off from every direction, each one sharper than the last.
Sitting behind a long table, my shoulders squared, jaw locked. The team logo looms large on the banner behind me, the perfect backdrop for damage control. My suit’s pressed, my tie straight, my smile fixed. All part of the show.
Olivia stands off to my right, just out of the camera’s view. Calm. Composed. Clipboard in hand like a shield. Every time I glance her way, she gives the smallest nod, a steady, silent reassurance that I won’t drown out here.
“Carter! Carter!” A reporter leans forward, voice cutting through the chaos. “Can you comment on the incident at The Luxe last night? Witnesses say you were—”
I lift a hand, cutting him off with a practiced ease.
“I appreciate everyone being here. The situation was blown out of proportion. I was at the club with friends. A misunderstanding happened, and I tried to prevent someone from getting hurt. The police reviewed the footage, and the matter’s been resolved. ”
More shouting. Cameras flash. Someone yells, “Were you intoxicated?”
I force a smile. “I’d had a drink. I wasn’t drunk.”
Another voice: “Will there be disciplinary action from the team?”
That’s when Mark Davidson jumps in from his seat at the end of the table, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The Dakota Dragons stand fully behind Carter Storm. The footage is clear—he was not at fault. Our focus remains on the upcoming season and continuing our work in the community.”
Translation: Crisis contained.
Still, the questions keep coming, about my image, sponsorship, leadership. I keep my tone measured, my words clipped and rehearsed. This is what Olivia prepped me for. What she trained me for in one morning.
The conference drags on another twenty minutes before Mark calls it. Security ushers the press toward the doors while the lights cool and the room starts to empty.
I stand, tugging my tie loose, and glance toward Olivia. She’s already gathering her notes, efficient as ever, but there’s a flicker of something, relief, maybe pride when our eyes meet.
I walk over, ignoring the low murmur of staff around us. “You didn’t tell me I’d have to sit through an inquisition.”
Her lips twitch. “You handled it fine.”
“Fine?” I echo, arching a brow. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she says, but her voice softens, the edge of amusement slipping through.
Mark claps me on the shoulder as he passes. “Good work, Storm. You’re back on track.” Then he’s gone, barking orders at another assistant.
When it’s just us, I lean closer, dropping my voice. “Guess I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Olivia replies, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Just try not to end up in another scandal before Sunday.”
“Can’t make promises I can’t keep.”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrays her. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling for real this time. “But you like impossible.”
She shakes her head and turns away before I can see her reaction, but I catch the faintest laugh under her breath.
And for the first time since that night, it feels like the storm’s finally starting to clear.