Page 230 of Cross the Line
“Fuck,” Rio curses beside me, shoving his kit bag back into his cubby as the room falls silent. “This is bad.”
Jayden’s already suited and booted when he drops onto his bench. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say a single word. He doesn’t get a chance to before Coach starts taking us all out to task.
“It’s shameful, disrespectful…” he growls, ending his reprimand with a shake of his head. “Each one of you involved in tonight’s brawl will make a public apology for the insensitivity you showed tonight. And hopefully, it’s enough to appease The Wolves’ fans and players that were present to pay their respects to Cavanaugh.”
Coach is out of the dressing room the instant he’s done, taking Dylan and Jayden back out with him for the press conference.
Meanwhile, the locker room opens for the reporters looking for one-on-one interviews. The PR staff are ready and listening to diffuse any murky strings of conversation. It should make the process easier and safer; however, a lot of the time, it feels like they’re just another set of ears waiting for us to trip up.
Even so, I take myself as close as I can to Cecilia. She’s quiet and sweet, but can handle the press no problem.
The reporter interviewing me starts off with a few harmless questions. All play-related, which is really an opportunity for me to iterate on how the Wolves’ players brought their A-game tonight.
“Without their tenacity and hunger for a win, the game would not have been as fast-paced and thrilling as it was. The Wolves are always a great team to play and?—”
“You would know, having worn the jersey,” the reporter cuts in.
“Yes, this is where I started my career. I’ve played with most of these guys and?—”
“Including Presley Tomes. You’re from the same town, played together in the junior league, and his sister is your?—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Cece edges in quickly, “but there are only a few minutes left here, and there are a couple of other press members who want to interview Eli.”
Before the reporter has a chance to go down the same road of questioning, I say, “The Wolves will always have a special place in my life. Tonight was a hard game. Not only because of the game they brought, but also because there was a missing part of their team.”
Dragging in a deep breath, I attempt to settle my nerves. My hands are shaking as I shove them in my pockets and clear my throat.
“Casey Cavanaugh was a standout figure in the organization and in the sport. Throughout the years we played together, there isn’t a single moment where he wasn’t the life and soul of the team, and for that, he will be sorely missed.”
“Poignant words after the chaotic end to tonight’s game. How do you feel about that? About Morrow’s involvement. Given what you just said…”
“It was an emotionally driven and highly strung game. I think in the end it boiled over for us and for them. That’s hockey, though. Sometimes our passion gets the better of us in the heat of the moment.”
The reporter nods before she asks, “Today should’ve been about more than the heat of the moment.”
Fuck.
With a deep inhale and long exhale, I ball my hands in my pockets. “You can’t have hockey without the heat of the moment, and no one knew that better than Clover. I’m deeply sorry to anyone who was hurt and/or offended. Nevertheless, I think we should take tonight back to the essence of the evening.”
“What’s that?”
“Remembering a great player and a decent human being whose life was tragically cut too short.”
With that, I allow Cecilia to usher me towards another reporter and then another before the locker room is closed to the press again, and we leave for the bus waiting to take us back to the hotel.
Connie slips in beside me before Jayden makes it onto the bus. By now, everyone knows that the seat beside mine is always Jayden’s and vice versa. However, Connie doesn’t care one bit as she gets settled in while he glares daggers at her from the empty seat beside Weissman.
“What a game,” is how she starts nonchalantly.
Always with a comment that steadily unravels into a deeper conversation.
Today, all I offer her is a clipped, “Yeah.”
“Is it always like this, or was today different?” She’s got her phone in her hands, and when I glance at her screen, she has one of those random jewel-matching games.
Although she’s visibly focused on the game, I know that she’s listening to every word when I tell her, “Today was different.”
“Good different? Bad different?”
