Chapter Five
~HENDRIX~
The energy is pumping in the locker room.
We just clinched playoffs!
The music is loud and the team is celebrating while doing the normal post-game rituals of showering and readying for a night out.
It was announced by someone on the team that we were partying tonight, which means we’ll be headed to the Backwoods, the bar that the team tends to frequent after games and for normal hangouts.
My particular group of friends enjoys spending our time there too.
“Monroe, can you please head into the media room with me?” Coach Watts asks as I’m pulling shin guards from the sleeves and getting ready to take off some pretty smelly game day socks.
“Sure,” I say slowly, looking up at him, my chocolate eyes begging him to not make me go into the media room. I loathe speaking in front of a room full of reporters, even if it is part of the job.
Of course, he picks up on it and claps me on the back. “It’ll be fine. Mac and I are going too. You won’t be alone in there,” he promises.
I let out a groan. “Sure, Coach, whatever you need.” I like it so much better when it’s Cassie and Mac who are asked to speak to the press.
Watts knows I’m not a fan of it and Jase was able to keep me from them earlier in the season.
But whenever I play a key role in the game, he said he can’t save me from them. I think this is one of those times.
“Thank you,” he says, giving my back one last pat while I continue to struggle to make myself presentable for the media.
“You’ll do fine,” Jase says as he is coming around the corner. His English accent sounds pretty thick due to the low timber of his voice. “Just try and smile.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “I can smile the whole damn time I’m in that room, it’s not going to make me feel more comfortable.”
“I’ll be there the entire time.” Mac sidles up to us and places a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“Gee, thanks,” I reply, sounding no more hopeful than I did when Watts told me that I was going to face the media.
“No one is going to bite you, Hen,” Mac says, lowering herself onto the bench beside my locker. “At least you won’t have Danny in there attacking you for the way you played. We had a stellar game tonight.”
I nod, remembering the way that Danny tore Mac apart in the press room and in his article. But the sparks that flew in the press room ended igniting into something special between the two of them.
“I’ll be there the whole time,” Mac promises me again.
“Yeah, yeah, so you say.” I pull a clean Blaze top on and glance in her direction. Somehow Mac already has herself camera-ready.
Her long blonde hair is hanging pin-straight down her back. I can see a bit of makeup that accents her blue eyes. She’s wearing the same navy blue Blaze T-shirt that I’m wearing expect she paired hers with a pair of dark jeans that hug her curves and accent her long legs.
I will not be pairing mine with jeans. Instead, I pull out a pair of black joggers that are like my shield. Dressy enough to make me look presentable but also fitting enough so that they are not baggy, all the while showing the curves that I have, which are a bit more ample than Mac’s.
Some people call me ‘The Wall’ because I can stop a ball that is flung at me at around seventy miles per hour.
The pros I play against aren’t soft with that ball and I know how to stop it, hence the nickname.
When I first heard it, I thought it was because of my skill but also because I’m not petite.
I’m not delicate. I take up space and I refuse to apologize for it.
My hips are full, thighs are strong, and I have broad shoulders that opponents bounce off of when they charge the goal.
Curves wrapped around muscle in a way that makes me look unmovable, grounded like I’m built from something sturdier than most women.
When I plant my feet, I don’t budge. When I hold my line, no one gets through.
Sometimes I catch my reflection, and I see what they mean—not a wall as in “big” but a wall as in unshakable.
A wall as in solid, reliable, the last thing standing when everything else gives way.
I’m not the player that slips through the cracks; I’m the player that closes them.
I’ve learned it’s not something to shrink away from.
It means I’m just what the team needs. It’s a strength, not a weakness.
I decide I shouldn’t be afraid of a couple rows of reporters and sigh deeply, suddenly feeling ready to face them.
“Hey, you ready, Hen?” Mac asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say with a shake of my head. “Let’s get this over with so we can get to celebrating.”
“Amen to that.” Mac holds her hand up and I return the high five.
Together we make our way out of the locker room and find Coach Watts leaning against the wall waiting for us.
He’s tall and with his wide shoulders, he can be intimidating.
But he has kind blue eyes and is always ready to talk to a player who needs it.
I’m told being a father has softened him; he has twin girls that are the apple of his eye.
Right now, watching him stand to his full height, I think those eyes look more tired from little girls that aren’t really sleeping.
But I guess that’s just another season of parenthood.
“I figured we could all get through this together,” he says, grinning at both of us.
“Thanks, Coach,” I reply. Mac replies with the same.
“Cindy will be in there,” Coach Watts explains, mentioning the name of the PR staffer who always handles the press.
“She’ll be calling on the reporters for questions like she always does.
You’ll each answer a few of them before we finish for the night and then the two of you can go out and celebrate. ”
“You’re not coming, Coach?” Mac asks, grinning over her shoulder at him.
He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, I am not coming out tonight. I’m hoping that when I get home, the girls are sacked out and sleeping so that I can do the same.”
“You’ve certainly earned a good night’s sleep tonight,” I add.
“Thanks. For whatever reason these girls have stopped sleeping through the night and are waking up to sleep in our bed. I would love to just let them lay down. However, their mother says no to co-sleeping at this age.”
I laugh. “I imagine it’s not as comfortable as it sounds.”
“It is not,” he confirms.
We reach the press room and Cindy is walking towards us. “Ladies, great game tonight. Congratulations to all three of you on making the playoffs.”
There’s a short chorus of greetings and thank yous from me, Mac and Coach.
“The press is in there waiting. I’ve hand-picked a few that we’ll take questions from. But if there is someone that you would like to speak with, just let me know and I’ll direct them,” Cindy explains. I’ve done this before and so has Mac, but the refresher is welcome.
“Whoever you think is fine with me,” Mac replies, smiling at her.
“Same,” I chime in.
“I’m sure you’ve covered everyone we usually talk to,” Watts says. “Now, let’s get this over with.”
“Alright, here we go.” She places her hand on the doorknob that will take us in through the back entrance of the press room.
I can already hear the hum of talking inside the room.
“Just remember to smile and be natural with your expressions and answers. No need to put on a show or front. Tonight’s press will be friendly,” she promises.
Without waiting for a response, she opens the door, and we follow her through it.
Inside the rows of chairs are full of reporters and photographers.
There are a few cameras set up along the side of the room.
I follow Mac and Coach Watts up the steps and onto the risers that hold the table and chairs that the Blaze staff sit at.
Behind us there is a backdrop of the Blaze crest, in case anyone forgets where they are.
I lower myself into the chair and fold my hands in my lap. This way when I fidget, the tablecloth will hide my nerves and clammy hands.
“It’s going to be fine,” Mac says lowly, placing a comforting hand on my leg.
I turn and wink at her. “I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she says, winking back at me.
I sigh, hoping that I’m right—that I will be okay.
While all this press may be normal for Mac as our team captain, this is a room that I do my best to avoid.
Usually, Coach Watts allows me to duck out, but I stopped quite a few shots from the Spirit tonight, so I knew that there was a good chance that I would find myself in here.
Cindy is greeting the press and introducing us to them. I’m pretty sure most of them know exactly who we are from the press briefing packets, but I nod and smile when she gets to my introduction.
The questions are underway and most are for Mac and Watts, thankfully. Until it’s my turn to talk.
“Hendrix, you had an awesome game tonight,” a reporter named Mike from the Tampa Bay Chronicle says. “How does it feel to earn a shutout against the Spirit? The last time these two teams met, I think it was a draw, correct?”
I nod. “Yes, it was a tie. But this time, Mac came up big for us in the scoring, and I was able to make the correct saves. The first time we played them we were a bit new and still learning our rhythm. This time, I think we were better prepared and worked hard together for this win.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Cindy and Watts are pleased with my response to Mike.
“You sure did, Hendrix. And I know Tampa Bay is pleased with that.” He chuckles before asking Mac about her shot that found the back of the net.
I relax a bit, leaning into the back of my chair. This might not be so bad after all, I think to myself as I sit there.
I feel someone watching me. I don’t bother to scan the room. I know who it is. Even with the cameras flashing and reporters firing questions at us, there’s a steady warmth at my back. It’s August standing against the wall just behind me.
I keep my eyes on the reporters, remembering all of the direction that I’ve been given about being in this room from Cindy.
But a part of me is tuned into him, like a second heartbeat.
It’s ridiculous how much calmer I feel knowing he’s here.
I know he’ll never let them tear us apart, not that they would after today’s game.
But ever since Danny and Mac squared off in this room, he’s ready to jump in and prevent it from happening again.
There’s a flicker of vulnerability—that soft, exposed part of me that hates being in this room and dissected by the reporters.
But with him here it feels safer, not that I would ever admit that to him.
If I were to stumble over an answer or say something stupid, he’d back me up.
He wouldn’t judge me; he’d still be there leaning against the wall, eyes on me, making sure we’re all okay.
Having him here means more to me than I’ll ever admit to anyone. Especially him.
I answer another question or two, but it’s nothing too heavy or serious. The mood of the room is light given the win and our successful clinching of playoffs. And before I know it, Cindy is thanking everyone for their time. We rise and head out of the room.
I turn and see him standing right beside the door. He says something that I can’t hear to Watts and Mac as they pass him. Our eyes lock when I reach the spot where he’s standing.
“You were wonderful out there tonight,” August says lowly, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear his words.
I nod. “I was just doing my job.”
He reaches out and grabs my arm, like he knows I’m seconds from hurrying past him. “Just take the compliment.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, keeping my tone steely and guarded.
“Hen,” my nickname slides from his lips like it’s a habit and something that he’s always called me. Even though, given the fact that he’s the owner and I’m a player, I haven’t heard him call me that in years. Not since we were in college. Right before he left me.
“I’m sure I’ll see you at the bar tonight, August,” I reply and make my way past him. As I pass I breath in the expensive cedar and flowery scent that has become so familiar to me.
“You sure will,” I hear him call after me.
But I don’t react or turn around. Instead, I keep moving, following Mac to the locker room, where we’ll retrieve our stuff and head out for the night.