Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sadie
As soon as the last team member clears out of the game tape viewing room, Isla closes the door and steps in front of it. “Hey, guys? Mind if I steal a few moments of your time?”
Cruz looks to Dom, who looks to Erik, who looks to Jax. It’s like a domino effect, taking every confused man down.
“Sure,” Jax replies, gesturing for everyone to stay seated. “What’s up?”
Isla, in a hunter green power suit, moves to the computer hooked to the projector.
“I thought it would be helpful for us to touch base, as a team, about what things are—and are not—advantageous to say in interviews. For the betterment of the Fury brand.” She clears her throat, looks at me, and carries on.
“Specifically as it pertains to Coach Rivers.”
Jax’s gaze is glued to Isla as he wraps his head around what she’s saying. “Oh. Absolutely. I’m quick to divert the conversation away from Sadie’s personal life, or even stupid questions about her professional life, as often as I can. Tell me how else I can help.”
Isla waves her hand. “You’re great, Mr. Biggs. In fact, you are the model of how I’d like the rest of this management team to act.”
A confused, albeit pleased, look passes over Jax’s face as a flush creeps up his neck. “Good. That’s—thanks.”
“Now, I cannot say the same for the rest of us.”
I stifle a laugh. She pulls no punches.
“Of course, I’m not a manager,” she continues.
“I’m purely speaking from a PR and marketing perspective.
But I have some concerns.” Isla clicks away on the computer, pulling up a tab I prepared for her today when I was pulling game tape footage for the team.
The screen fills with Eric’s face. “Mr. Erikson, I want to draw your attention to an interview you did on December seventeenth—”
A familiar face appears in the window, scoping out our scene.
The door to the viewing room creaks open. Andy swaggers in, not waiting for any sort of invite. “Hey, my favorite people in one room! What are we watching?”
Isla’s gaze glides from the owner to me. A silent question dances in her eyes.
I nod.
Show him. Andy should see what his AGM is saying about his head coach, if he hasn’t already.
Once upon a time, I would’ve thought it’d make Andy or Jax think less of me, to draw attention to myself in this way. I would’ve worried about Eric’s retaliation.
Now? We’ve won more than we’ve lost. Good press rivals the bad. People want to know what we’re doing right.
What I’m doing differently.
If Eric would cease his revenge tour, we’d really be getting somewhere good.
“Mr. Callahan, we’re just going over some prior interviews in search of ways we can improve the brand. No different than how we go over game tapes.” Isla’s smile is polite yet assertive. This is her show, and we’re all just here to bear witness.
I’m pretty sure this girl fears nothing, least of all this room filled with men.
Eric’s ruddy face fills the screen as soon as she presses play. Sound bites I’m all too familiar with bounce off the walls.
“Maybe it’s because Coach Rivers is new and out of her depth, maybe she’s distracted like usual, who knows. I’ll be the first to say this loss shouldn’t have happened, and I’m working behind the scenes with Jax on a plan.”
“Czernecki has been playing better, absolutely. When someone underestimates you and makes you feel less-than, it lights a fire.”
“Auclair, I don’t know what’s been going on there, what playing advice he’s been given by his head coach. I’m glad he’s back on his game and that Dom was able to step in and correct course—”
Isla presses a button and pauses on Eric’s face.
Present-day Eric doesn’t flinch. “And?”
“We can agree I’m no longer new, given we’re deep in the season,” I begin.
Isla offered to do all the talking, but I said we’d share the proverbial mic—her expertise is welcome, but I want to share my opinions, too.
This is my life. I’m not afraid to own it anymore.
“‘Out of my depth’ is an opinion you can keep to yourself. Not because you aren’t welcome to it, but because it makes the team look weak.
You should have trust in your head coach—or at least have the good sense to fake it. ”
He scoffs, slumping in his chair.
“As for Ivan,” I continue, “Jax and I agreed that he couldn’t stay in his position as captain with his poor behavior and attitude. So framing it like I underestimated him, singularly, is misleading. We’re a team.”
Isla jumps in, the portrait of calm, cool, and collected.
“And suggesting Dom had to fix a mistake Sadie made looks bad. It smacks of dissent among leadership. Furthermore, telling the press she’s distracted leads to the next natural question: by what?
Given the other, much more invasive accusations against Sadie, I’d prefer we are more concise when answering questions so we don’t breed more speculation.
” She pauses to perform a sweeping gaze of the group.
“We don’t want more speculation, do we?”
Jax’s face wrinkles in disgust. “Hell no we don’t. The press are vultures we shouldn’t feed.”
Andy furrows his brow as he leans against the wall, but doesn’t speak.
“We get it,” Eric bellows. “You’re looking for a fight that isn’t there, kid. I don’t actually give a shit what Rivers does or doesn’t do behind closed doors. I never spread those stories about Czernecki or Auclair, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Isla’s glare is razor sharp. “I don’t know which of us you’re calling ‘kid,’ but no. Neither of us is looking for a fight. We’re looking for cooperation and respect. That’s all.”
“What about that crap you said to me about rumors?” I add.
“I was just talking shit,” he admits sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ll make comments about the starting lineup—which I stand by. But I’m not blabbing to reporters about who you may or may not be fu—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Jax snaps, fury welling in his eyes.
“Eric, from now on, leave her name out of your mouth. Period. Bring your opinions about our starting lineup to me, or eat them. Rivers, I’m sorry that happened.
You don’t deserve an added stressor, and we’re damn thrilled with how you’ve turned this team around.
Now, can we agree that we need to keep whatever this is contained to this room for the betterment of this team?
Or do we need to have further conversations? ”
Isla nods as if impressed.
I flash a thumbs-up. “That’s good with me.”
Eric swears under his breath. “Well it’s not good for me. I’m getting lectured in this—this—intervention and will be muzzled in interviews, while she continues to do whatever she wants, unchecked? All because she can’t take the fucking heat?”
“Enough.” Jax’s voice booms with authority. “What aren’t you understanding? I tell you to leave it alone, and you immediately carry on. One more word out of you and you’re fired.”
Eric’s glare intensifies. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. But he doesn’t speak.
“I just want the Fury to be the absolute best we can be.” I work hard to keep my voice even. “I want our team reported on for the right reasons—”
“Pardon me,” Andy interjects. “But I’d like to offer a counterpoint.”
Isla’s head whips toward him.
“The Fury is a living and breathing machine.” Andy clasps his fists in front of him. “Do you know what feeds the machine, Rivers?”
I lift my chin, defensive armor clicking into place at his adversarial tone. “Great players and great hockey.”
“Attention. However we can get it. They come for hockey, but they stay for the drama of it all. The fights and the scandals. Everyone loves a good story. Is it really so bad if they report on you, as long as they’re talking about us?”
Understanding pours through me in a sudden deluge.
I’m pretty sure he’d draft Tom Holland and throw him in the crease so long as it got the Fury brand the attention Andy himself lives for.
It’s him.
It may be Eric taking the interviews, but it’s Andy pulling the strings. Fanning his flames. Telling stories to whoever will listen.
He doesn’t give a shit about the cost.
Isla juts out her bottom lip, visibly bothered but not altogether upset. She’s recalculating. “Ah. All press is good press, is that it?”
Andy shoots her a wink. “You got it, Isla.”
“Ms. Keane is fine,” she says back. “You know, I grew up hearing that line my whole life. I don’t know if you all know this about me, but my stepmother, Bailey Haverly, is rather involved with the press.”
Andy’s eyes flash like sun off a blade. “Your stepmother—”
“Owns Haverly Communications, yes. And they own, well, the list is too long to name.” She shrugs like it’s not worth bothering with the specifics.
She doesn’t have to. They own everything, including the network that airs our games.
“She’d be really interested in some of the stories I’ve heard—and experienced—since starting with the Fury. ”
Andy scratches his chin as he stares at her. It’s rare that he’s silent.
Jax looks at me, confusion etched on his face.
I don’t know the specifics, but I can glean the gist of what’s happening here. Isla has dirt on our owner, perhaps even something personal that he’s done to her or around her, and she’s willing to pass it along to her mother, who runs the damn press herself.
But she hasn’t, for reasons I’m sure I’ll find out.
Whatever it is has Andy visibly cowering against the wall.
Isla breaks the heated silence with a laugh that’s equal parts calculated and disarming.
“Mom—she prefers I call her that instead of Bailey, I’m sure you understand—is a very busy woman, though.
I don’t want to bother her, especially since I’m determined to thrive in this job on my own merit.
Anyway, sure, you could argue that all press is good press, but let’s remember Sadie represents this team, yeah? ”
The men grunt in assent, then clear out in a hurry.
In the resulting quiet, I’ve never felt more peace.