Chapter 28 - Tish
TISH
The soft glow of Christmas lights reflects off my laptop screen as I settle into the hotel chair.
Becky’s playing with Krystal with the babysitter so we can tackle the new disaster.
Outside, snow falls in thick flakes, blanketing the city in pristine white.
The TV drones quietly, showing highlights from last night’s 3-2 victory against the Wildcats, a win that feels distant now, overshadowed by our mounting PR nightmare.
I scroll through the TikTok account Ash showed me yesterday, watching increasingly viral videos that paint the Thunderwolves in an unflattering light.
Each clip feels like another nail in our coffin.
My fingers hover over my phone as I compose a group text to Carl, Jake, and Ash. Can you all meet in Ash’s room? I have something important to discuss about our PR situation.
The responses come quickly. Jake’s immediate On my way is followed by Carl’s measured Give me five minutes, and Ash’s simple Already here.
When I knock on Ash’s door, it opens immediately. His blonde hair is still damp from a shower, concern evident in his brown eyes as he steps aside.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I admonish.
He grins and plops onto the bed, adjusting himself against the headboard with a slight frown.
Jake arrives moments later, his usual easy smile replaced by seriousness. “You look like you’ve been up all night,” he observes, settling on the bed’s edge.
“Close to it,” I admit, setting up my laptop on the small desk. The room’s artificial Christmas tree sits in the corner, its blue and gold ornaments matching our team colors.
Carl enters last, silver hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. He’s already dressed in khakis and a Thunderwolves polo, his coaching attire.
“What’s the emergency, Trisha?” he asks, using my full name as always. Something about how he says it makes my stomach flutter, even amid our crisis.
I turn the laptop so they can all see. “I wanted to show you this TikTok account.” I glance at Ash, who nods slightly. “It’s grown since we saw it earlier, over fifty thousand followers now.” I scroll through videos, each more damaging than the last.
Grainy footage of team members stumbling from bars, on-ice fights with dramatic music, and worst of all, testimonials from people claiming to be former girlfriends or employees with grudges.
“Jesus,” Jake mutters, running a hand through his hair. “When did this start?”
“The day before yesterday, but it’s gaining momentum fast. Look at the engagement numbers.” I point to likes, shares, and comments climbing into the thousands.
Carl leans forward, jaw tight. “This is coordinated. Someone’s feeding them information.”
“That’s what I think too. But here’s the thing, we might be able to turn this around.” I minimize the TikTok window and open my email. “I’ve been contacted by a production company about doing a docuseries on the Thunderwolves.”
The room goes silent except for the TV’s low murmur.
“A what now?” Jake asks, eyebrows raised.
“A documentary series. Behind the scenes, following the players, showing the real story.” I pull up the email. “They want to embed with us for the rest of this tour. Full access.”
“Absolutely not,” Carl says immediately. “We don’t need cameras making things worse.”
“But that’s just it,” I press. “This way, we control the narrative. Instead of letting anonymous TikTok accounts tell our story, we tell it ourselves. Show people who you really are.”
Ash shifts uncomfortably, wincing slightly. “Having cameras around all the time…that’s a lot of pressure. A lot of chances for screwups.”
“More pressure than what we’re dealing with now?” I ask. “We’re hemorrhaging public support. Ticket sales are down, sponsors are nervous. This could be our chance to show people the truth.”
Jake stares at the screen. “What kind of access? Everything?”
“We’d have some control. No locker rooms during certain times, no personal family stuff unless you agree, and we’d have approval over the final edit. They want to make good television, which means showing the whole story, including positive parts.”
Carl shakes his head. “Too many variables we can’t control.”
“Carl, with respect, we’re not controlling anything right now. At least this way, we have a seat at the table.”
The room falls silent. Then the TV cuts to breaking news.
“We’re getting word of an impromptu interview with a former Thunderwolves team member,” the anchor says.
My stomach drops as the screen switches to a reporter with a young man I recognize, Marcus Webb, cut from the team two seasons ago for attitude problems.
“It was like nothing I’d ever experienced,” Marcus says, looking directly into the camera.
“They called it ‘team building,’ but it was torture. Rookies had to do things that could have killed us. Being locked in freezers, forced to drink until we passed out, physical abuse beyond normal hockey roughness.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jake says loudly, but I shush him.
“The veterans, especially the captain and older guys, acted like it was tradition. Like we had to earn our place by surviving their sick games.” Marcus’s voice shakes with apparent emotion. “I reported it to management, and suddenly I was cut. They said performance issues, but I know the truth.”
The interview continues with increasingly outrageous hazing claims. When it ends, the room is dead silent.
Carl speaks first, voice low and dangerous. “That little shit. He was cut because he couldn’t skate worth a damn.”
“But people will believe him,” I say quietly. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. We’re letting other people control the story.”
Ash looks pale. “This is bad. Really bad.”
Jake starts pacing. “We have to respond. Tell people he’s lying.”
“And say what? That he’s a disgruntled former player? People expect us to say that.”
Carl stares at the TV screen. “The docuseries. Tell me more about it.”
I read through the details. “Six-part mini-series, following the team through the rest of the tour. Real day-to-day life such as practices, games, meetings, and some personal stuff if players are willing. The production company has a good reputation.”
“Timeline?” Carl asks.
“They want to start right away. There’s a small crew ready to travel with us.”
Jake stops pacing. “What do you think, Ash? You’re the captain.”
Ash is quiet for a long moment. “I think we don’t have much choice. If we don’t tell our story, people like Marcus Webb will tell it for us.”
Carl nods grimly. “Agreed. Tish, set up a meeting with the production company. But I want final approval on everything.”
“I’ll call them first thing tomorrow.”
“Actually,” Carl says, checking his watch, “you’ll have to call them from the road. We’re leaving today.”
“Today?” I ask, surprised. “But Ash just got out of the hospital—”
“The doctor cleared him for travel. And after that interview, I want us out of this city before the media circus gets worse.”
Jake frowns. “Where are we going?”
Carl walks to the window. “I’ve been thinking about our accommodations. All these hotel rooms, scattered across different floors, it’s too easy for people to get to us, plant stories, cause trouble.”
He turns back to us. “I’ve canceled our hotel reservations. Instead, I’ve booked us a camping area two hours north of our next game location. Several cabins and a large lodge for team meetings. More private, more secure.”
“Camping?” Jake asks incredulously. “In December?”
“The cabins are heated,” Carl says dryly. “Only for a couple weeks. All our games in this region are close together.”
I’m already calculating logistics. “What about the production crew?”
“They can film at the camp. Might actually be better. More intimate setting, shows we’re not hiding anything.”
Ash struggles to sit straighter. “When do we leave?”
Carl checks his watch. “Bus leaves in three hours. That gives everyone time to pack.”
The TV switches to a commercial, and the sudden quiet makes us realize how much our lives are about to change.
“So we’re really doing this?” Jake asks. “The documentary thing?”
I look around at these three men who’ve become so important to me, each dealing with this crisis in their own way.
Carl, taking charge and making hard decisions.
Jake, trying to keep things light but clearly worried.
And Ash, hurt and vulnerable but still thinking about what’s best for the team.
“We’re really doing this,” I confirm. “It’s time to take control of our story.”
Carl heads toward the door. “I’ll make the final arrangements. Everyone be ready by eight o’clock.”
As he leaves, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re about to embark on something that will change everything.
Whether it will be for the better or the worse, we’ll just have to wait and see.