CHAPTER 2 #2
My phone buzzes again—Dad, no doubt—but I ignore it.
"So," Becker says, standing up and stretching his arms above his head in a way that makes his hoodie ride up and reveal a strip of skin above his jeans. I very deliberately look anywhere else. "I guess we're doing this."
"Guess so."
"Three weeks of forced bonding in the wilderness with no wifi and probably terrible coffee."
"I brought my own coffee," I say. "French press."
Becker's eyebrows shoot up. "You brought a French press to training camp?"
"I like good coffee."
"Oh my god." He's grinning now, and it's deeply annoying. "You're one of those guys. Let me guess—you alphabetize your protein powder collection and fold your underwear?"
"I organize by nutritional content, actually," I say before I can stop myself.
Becker stares at me for a long moment, then laughs. "This is going to be the longest three weeks of my life."
"Likewise."
He heads for the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth? The tax form thing was a low blow. You're more like... a really boring instruction manual. For something nobody wants to buy."
"That's not better."
"Wasn't trying to be." He pulls open the door, and I can see other players milling around in the hallway beyond. "See you on the bus, roomie."
The door closes, leaving me alone in the conference room with my phone full of ignored messages and a growing sense that I've made a terrible mistake accepting this transfer.
I pull up my messages.
Dad: Call me. Now.
Instead, I open the team's official app and navigate to the roster page. Riley Becker: defenseman, five seasons with the Wolves, 2.1 points per game average, known for "solid defensive play and team leadership."
There's a small note at the bottom: Host of "Ice Cold Takes" podcast.
I pull up the podcast page against my better judgment. The latest episode—uploaded approximately two hours ago—is titled "LIVE: Training Camp Chaos (ft. Unexpected Guest Appearance)."
It has 85,000 views.
I click play.
"—and another thing about Gatorade..."
I listen to the whole thing. All thirty-seven minutes of it, including the part where I interrupted, the part where we traded insults, and the part afterward where Becker signs off with: "Well, folks, I think I just committed career suicide, but at least we got it on tape.
Subscribe for more disasters, apparently that's my brand now. "
The comments are a mix of people praising the "entertainment value" and people concerned about "workplace hostility."
One comment catches my eye: These two are either gonna kill each other or fall in love. No in-between.
I close the app so violently my phone momentarily freezes.
My phone rings. Dad again.
This time, I answer.
"Before you start," I say, "yes, I saw it. Yes, I know it was unprofessional. No, I don't need a lecture about optics."
"You took the bait." My father's voice is measured, controlled. "That's what concerns me. You're supposed to be better than that."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building. "It's handled. The captain already talked to us."
"Good. Make sure it stays handled." Another pause. "You requested this transfer to get away from scrutiny, Jayden. Not to create more of it."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you just handed the media a storyline that's going to follow you all season."
He's not wrong, which makes it worse.
"I'll fix it," I say.
"See that you do. And Jayden?" His tone shifts slightly. "Maybe invest in some media training. The stiff answers aren't helping."
He hangs up before I can respond.
I sit in the empty conference room, staring at my phone, trying to figure out how everything went sideways so fast.
Four hours in Chicago. One press conference. Fifty thousand views and counting.
And now I'm spending three weeks in a cabin with Riley Becker.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
I pull up the team's group chat—added this morning by someone in admin—and scroll through the messages I've been ignoring.
Groover: Anyone see the press conference? ??
Wall: New guy just murdered Becker's podcast dreams on live TV
Petrov: Is best content Becker has ever produced
Ace: Becker's views are up to 75K ??
Groover: Should we intervene?
Wall: Absolutely not. This is hilarious.
Washington: You're not enemies, you're teammates ffs
Becker: Tell that to the Hockey Robot
I should probably say something. Establish that I'm a team player, not the villain in Becker's podcast drama.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
Kane: Tell that to the failed comedian
I hit send before I can second-guess it.
The chat explodes.
Petrov: Oh this is going to be good
Wall: Twenty bucks says they kill each other by week two
Ace: I'll take that action
I close the chat and pocket my phone, heading out of the conference room before anyone can corner me for an in-person interrogation.
The hallway is mostly empty now, though I catch glimpses of players heading toward what I assume is the locker room. I should probably go introduce myself properly, start building those team relationships that are supposedly important.
Instead, I find my way to the parking garage and sit in my car for twenty minutes, trying to remember why I thought this transfer was a good idea.
Fresh start. New team. Away from Dad's media empire and constant commentary.
How's that working out so far?
My phone buzzes with a new notification.
ESPN: Wolves' Kane and Becker Face Off in Viral Press Conference Moment.
Perfect.
I start the car and drive to my new apartment, already dreading tomorrow's bus ride and the three weeks that follow.
Cabin 12.
With Riley Becker.
Who thinks I talk like a tax form.
I can survive three weeks of anything.
Probably.