Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
CHANCE
The press conference starts on time and moves briskly. With Max fielding questions, the vultures—ahem—journalists don’t swarm or pick at me like I’m the deer carcass I passed driving to practice yesterday.
I discuss my expectations for the season and Max shares his grand plans for the Lucky Strikers. No one interrupts or butts in to take the conversation in another direction. Whether it’s Max’s intimidating size or the security team’s shakedown, the reporters behave respectfully.
“How is it that you and April are trending more than the press conference?” Max complains after the reporters leave.
We’re running down the hallway to the lockers since I’m ten minutes late for our in-house scrimmage.
I shrug. “Same thing happened when I was in the league. The media put my dating life under a giant microscope.”
“Really? I didn’t hear much about your dating life back then.”
“Because you weren’t paying attention. Sports fans stick to the games and the stats. The general population wants details on our personal lives and they’re the bigger audience, so they control what trends.”
The invasion of privacy used to bother me. I only wanted people to care about how I did in the game, not what I was driving or who was in my passenger seat. But now, I can harness the power of the general audience to bring me back to where I belong.
Max sighs heavily. “I have to hand it to your fans. They’re creative.”
“Huh?”
“Look at this.” He shows me a short video. Someone took the clips from me and April at the burger joint and compiled them with the footage taken of us today.
In the video, I’m smiling at April and tilting my head back in the middle of a laugh. She’s staring up at me, eyes sparkling.
“Does she look at me like that?” I ask, pointing to the phone.
“Don’t get excited, Chance. Everything looks more romantic when you slow down the speed.”
I scowl and return the phone to Max.
He groans loudly.
“What did the internet do now?” I grumble.
“They gave you a couple name. It’s ‘ chapril ’?”
“I think it’s pronounced ‘chay-pril’. And what’s wrong with that?”
“They’re using your couple hashtag along with the Lucky Strikers hashtag. Now my team will forever be linked to your relationship.” He covers his face with his hands.
“They should have put her name first. ApeChance… oh. That sounded better in my head.”
“Bro, do you hear me? You and April are now linked with the Lucky Strikers.”
I slip out of my shirt and remove my jersey from the hanger. Seeing my last name and number on the back reminds me of April wearing my hoodie and I smile.
Then I frown.
Being in the spotlight comes with perks but it also comes with lots of bullying. I need to make preparations so I can protect April online.
“Since you’re on there, make sure to report anyone you see talking trash about April.”
His eyes bug. “You think I have nothing better to do than report trolls on your behalf?”
“Then send me a screenshot. I don’t mind if they come for me, but I won’t let them talk badly about her.”
Max scrolls down and winces. “You plan to sue the entire world then?”
“If I have to. Our family lawyers are on retainer.”
Max snorts but it slowly dies into a cough. “Oh you’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” I grab my gloves.
“I admire your ‘go the extra mile’ spirit, but they don’t give hand out trophies for fake boyfriend of the year.”
I reach for my hockey stick and press the locker door until it clicks. “Shut up, man. What else are they saying online?”
Max follows me to the exits, reading out. “This article says you… whoa. Did you really give April that convertible?” He eyes me with a smirk. “If so, I hope my custom cruiser is coming in the mail.”
I unclip the toy car linked to the side of my gym bag and toss it over to Max. “Here you go. No need to thank me.”
Max huffs. “Forget it.”
Chuckling at his disappointed expression, I head to the arena. Everyone is already warming up on the ice. A few of the players wave to me. I’ve met up with the rest of the team and gotten to know them over the past week.
Unfortunately, the friendliest faces on the ice belong to the weakest players. I accepted a pseudo-mentorship role, but it’s been difficult training with skaters who still lose track of the puck.
Shaking out my limbs, I get on the ice and notice two cameras set up on either side of the bleachers. There’s a camera lady standing at the entrance, speaking into a microphone.
Just then, Gunner skates past me and knocks into my shoulder, sending me sprawling forward. My hands windmill forward and it’s only my instincts that keep me upright.
Without an apology, Gunner skates on and starts stretching.
The schmuck is my least favorite person and I especially despise him for being related to April’s bum of an ex, but I can’t lose my cool.
Not in front of a camera.
My agent told me to revamp my image and fighting a teammate on the nightly news won’t win me brownie points.
Think about April and you’ll be alright.
I grip my hockey stick, inhale a deep breath and think about April squealing over the Bel Air in the parking lot. A smile inches over my lips and, when I open my eyes, I don’t have the crazy urge to shove Gunner into the boards.
“Hey, man.” I skate up to Gunner who’s using his hockey stick to stretch his arms behind his back.
He glares at me behind the visor of his helmet.
“Hate me or not, we’re both here for the same reason.” I nod. “Let’s have a good game.”
His stare turns ten times frostier than the ice. “Don’t think we’ll go easy on you because of the cameras, McLanely.”
“Give it your best shot.” I tap my shoulder where he’d knocked into me. “I’ll repay you for that later.”
He skates off.
Renfrow, Theilan and Watson follow him.
Looks like I won’t be invited to the cool kids’ table any time soon.
I glance out at the bleachers and notice Max, making a ‘calm down’ motion with his hands. Rolling my eyes, I skate to the opposite corner of the ice to get my stretches in.
The game starts and I know exactly what play Gunner, Renfrow, and Theilan are going to make as if I was a fly on the wall during their strat meeting.
The defensemen are on my tail, forming a block whenever one of my teammates looks for an opening to pass me the puck. No matter where I go, there’s always three guards, leaving my other teammates free.
Unfortunately, Gunner can skate circles around them and every time we make a move, Gunner takes back control of the puck.
Frankly, I’m impressed by the game plan. It speaks of preparation and effort.
Someone did his homework.
My team, who’d been banking on relying on me for the pass, lose momentum in the blink of an eye.
I’m not surprised when Gunner shoots and scores.
The horn blares.
The scoreboard blinks.
0, 1
“Keeping up, McLanely?” Gunner taunts, skating by.
I grit my teeth but make no comment. Instead, I gesture to my teammate.
Pointing to the blue semi-circle directly in front of the net, I instruct him, “Keep your eye on Kinsey. He’ll try a backhand shot at the paint for an easy score.”
The kid nods and skates off.
I yank another one by his jersey. “Renfrow and Theilan are going to attack like crazy. Don’t pass to me until I ditch my tails.”
He looks worried, but there’s no time to baby him because the game’s already getting hot.
Determination firing my blood, I speed into the attacking zone. Renthrow’s flanking me but not for long because the minute our team takes control of the puck, I cut across the line.
Behind his visor, Renfrow puckers his lips in confusion, but it’s too late. I’ve already outmaneuvered him.
Once I’m free, there’s no stopping me.
The left winger passes for the assist and I line up the puck, sending it straight into the net with a beautiful twuck!
My teammates celebrate with pumping fists and wide grins.
Momentum is in our court now.
I pass Gunner and give him a little chin-up gesture, no words needed.
The scowl that mars his face is a perfect reward. After that, he skates like a fire is lighting under him, but my team settles into a groove. We beat the opposite team three to one, giving Gunner no time to get the last word in.
It’s a sweet victory and I relish the sound of the whistle calling the game.
The coach looks about as happy as Gunner does to see me take the victory. That’s a bad omen for the season but, I focus on the win and the interviewer that’s waiting for me the moment I step off the ice.
It’s not an annoying interview—I’ve had a few of those in my career—but after answering all those questions during the press conference, I’m camera-ed out.
Seeing my lack of interest, the journalist pries around for an ‘exclusive’ scoop on my past scandals, but I’ve done this interview song and dance enough to keep my answers short and diplomatic.
It helps that sweat is dripping down my face like someone turned on an invisible faucet above me.
After a while, she closes the interview with a sheepish, “Thanks for your time, Chance. Last question. What are you going to do to celebrate tonight’s win?”
“Me?” I grin broadly at the camera, suddenly filled with a ton of energy. “I’ll take my girlfriend on a date.”