7. Piper
SEVEN
PIPER
I can do this .
I can do this .
I think I can do this .
Shit .
Can I really do this?
I fix the neck of the pink blazer I put on earlier this afternoon and stare at my reflection in the portable mirror I propped up on my desk in the Edmonton Bulls’ media room.
The color is bold as hell, bright enough to be seen from across the rink, but it does little to calm my nerves.
My confidence is wavering. I glance at the clock and know I have five minutes before I need to head out to the ice, and my stomach somersaults.
“Hey.” Lexi taps my knee. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I smooth out my high ponytail and add a touch of hairspray around the crown of my head to tame my flyaways. “I’m good.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Not for real. I filled in for two seconds during a game when we had the worst record in the league a couple years ago. This is totally different. People are going to be watching. The players actually care what I have to say because they know me now. It sounds so cheesy, but this feels like the start of something new, and I don’t want to mess up.”
“What’s the worst that happens if you do mess up?”
“I get fired? I become a meme for saying erection instead of election? I-I make a fool of myself in front of diehard fans who love to troll in the comments on social media posts?”
“You can do this, Piper.”
“What if I only got promoted because they pitied me?” I whisper. “What if Charlie was right? That I’m only supposed to be on camera because of how I look, not because of my knowledge of the sport. I spent years of my life trying to be this woman who appealed to a man who, in the end, wanted nothing to do with me. This job is the most important thing to me, and I want this to go right.”
“I want to show you something.” Lexi laces our fingers together and squeezes my hand, helping me stand. She leads me out of the media room and down the visitors’ tunnel. The roar of the crowd gets increasingly louder as we approach the ice. “They could’ve given this job to anyone, but they gave it to you. You know why? Because you work hard—harder than anyone else. Because you’re smart and because you’re capable. I know you’re still learning to believe in yourself, and that’s okay. But in the meantime, I don’t want you to think you don’t have a shit ton of other people ready to cheer you on. Look at this.”
We walk to the end of the tunnel, right where the floor turns to ice. I blink and my vision adjusts to the bright spotlights above us. When I can see clearly, I nearly trip over my white sneakers.
The whole team is lined up, organizing themselves in the same formation they take after they finish a game and interact with the opposing players.
Maverick is at the start of the line, followed by nineteen other guys in their bright blue away jerseys.
He skates in my direction, a wide grin on his face as he holds out his arm, motioning for a fist bump. My knuckles knock against his glove and he tugs on my ponytail with his free hand until a laugh slips out of me like popped champagne.
“Give them hell, Piper,” he calls out as he skates away.
Each player repeats the motion until I get to the end of the line and Liam is the last one left. He slows to a stop in front of me with his larger gloves and his intimidating presence.
“ Piper ,” he grunts.
“Liam,” I say.
“Heard about the promotion. Congratulations.”
“Thought you hated talking to the media.”
“I don’t see a microphone in your hand yet.”
“Maybe I’m hiding one in my pocket.”
“Your jacket is very pink.”
“Some might say it’s not pink enough.”
“What shade is that? Pepto-Bismol?”
“Close. It’s actually Mind Your Business,” I say jokingly.
His snort is barely audible over the music blaring from the public address system, but I hear it loud and clear. He lifts his helmet until it sits on top of his head, the tiniest smile on his mouth.
We never spend this long talking at games.
He usually gives me a quick nod. A curt hello before grumbling toward the locker room, and I like the extra attention from him more than I should.
“Felt like I needed an extra boost of confidence tonight, and brightly colored clothing was a safer choice than downing some vodka. Having access to a microphone while tipsy sounds like the recipe for an FCC violation.”
“You’re going to do great,” he says, voice dropping impossibly low so I have to lean in close to hear him. I smell his sweat and the faint trace of fabric softener clinging to his jersey.
“And if I don’t?”
I ask the question I know he’ll answer honestly. Liam doesn’t beat around the bush and there’s ever any hidden meaning; his bluntness is a blessing and a curse. He’ll tell you exactly what he means, and somehow, I need to hear this from him .
“Then you dust yourself off and try again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next, until you fucking do it. But you don’t have a damn thing to worry about.”
“Wow. That’s some surprising optimism from the guy who once told a reporter to piss off.”
“I didn’t like that reporter, and he can still piss off. You’re a different story.”
“A good different story?”
“Your fate is in your hands, Pipsqueak.”
“That’s not the sage advice I was looking for.”
“You’ll figure it out. And until then, you’re going to be just fine.”
Liam puts his helmet back in place and heads for the goal. He drops to the ice to stretch his groin. When he lifts his chin and gives me a slow thumbs-up, I take it as the biggest compliment in the world.
“We’re going live to Piper in two,” the voice in my earpiece says, and I wrap my fingers around my microphone. “First period interview with Hayes on deck.”
“You good?” Bernie, my cameraman, asks.
“Yeah.” I nod and turn my attention to the ice, watching Liam stop a goal with an outstretched arm. The clock on the big screen ticks down from fifteen seconds to ten, and the save solidifies a tied game at zero as we head into the first intermission. “I’m good.”
The buzzer sounds and I get in position, waiting for the guys to finish their huddle before moving to the locker room for their eighteen-minute break. Bernie holds up his finger in warning and I nod.
“Hudson,” I call out. “Can I snag you for a second?”
“Shucks, Piper.” He grins, skating up and stopping sharply enough to send little ice shards flying at my feet. “I get to be your first interview? I’m flattered.”
“You’re the only person I trust to not get me in trouble eight seconds into this gig.”
“You’re right about that one.” Hudson leans against his stick lazily. “You’re going to do great, by the way.”
“Elbow me if I forget what I’m supposed to say.” I nod as my countdown cue goes from five to one, and I smile big and wide. “Thanks, Bradley. I’m here with Hudson Hayes, who had a solid first period on defense. Hudson, this time four years ago, the Stars boasted the worst record in the league and you were in the middle of an eleven-game losing streak. Tonight, you’re keeping the defending Stanley Cup champions scoreless through the first twenty minutes. As the second most tenured player on the team, what growth have you seen in the four years that have passed?”
“We’re all older than we were back then. Having experience—including losing—and leaders who went through those losses goes a long way. We’ve already been down in the dumps once and clawed our way out of it. We know we can do it again if we have to.”
“Let’s talk about the shot you had with three minutes to go in the first. It was a good look while on a power play, but you came up short. You typically like to assist, not score. When you have an opportunity like that, what goes through your mind when deciding if you’re going to pass or attack?”
“That was honestly supposed to be a pass.” Hudson raises his voice over the announcement of a winning raffle ticket number, and I stand on my toes so I can hear him. “I thought Richardson had a better look than me, but the puck wanted to go to the goalkeeper instead. Almost lined up nicely. At the end of the day, I don’t care who takes the shot, just that it goes in and we win.”
“Last thing before I let you head to the locker room. This is the same match up we saw last season in the Stanley Cup Finals. It feels like there’s some lingering tension between these two teams. I know we’re nowhere near June yet, but what’s it like playing against the opponent you hope to see later down the road?”
He rests his chin on his stick and looks down at me. “We know the regular season doesn’t mean anything as far as bragging rights go. You could play well all year then falter in the playoffs when it matters most. It is good to get a feel of the kind of gameplay we’ll be hopefully experience come playoff time, though. The Bulls are a good team. They play hard, and this kind of matchup is exactly what we need to gauge how things are working for us.”
“Thanks so much, Hudson. We’re going to send it back to Bradley who’s going to break down the stats from the first period.”
Bernie gives me the all clear and my shoulders sag with relief. My grip on the microphone eases and I take a deep breath, my lungs filling with air for the first time in hours.
“I don’t know why you were nervous. You knocked that out of the park, Piper,” Hudson tells me. “You’re a natural.”
“It helps you’re a good conversationalist. Far easier to talk to than someone like Liam.”
“A wall would be better, I think. Would give you less attitude too.”
I laugh. The nerves in the pit of my stomach dissipate, and there’s a small part of me that thinks I can actually do this.
For real.
Every single day.
And be good at it.
“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me. I appreciate you being patient.”
“You’re going to go a long way.” He knocks his knuckles against mine again and heads for the locker room. “And, hey. If Sullivan ever gives you a hard time about refusing to do an interview, send him my way. I’ll put him in his place.”