Page 6 of From Ice to Grace
“What did Marachino say?” Lindgren asks, walking in, winded and sweaty. “Because he tossed a few chirps my way too.”
He tosses his gear in the bin, his blonde hair still short since it’s the start of the season. After last season he looked like a golden retriever, but luckily he got a haircut. Marachino’s chirps won’t land on Lindgren. The rookie is too good a guy. Too young, too filled with naive belief, humor, and excitement for life.
No wonder the guys on the team call him Barney.
Although I think he’s worse than the giant purple dinosaur.
No, Marachino’s chirps were for me because he knew they’d land. That’s how he operates. He didn’t say anything I haven’t heard before…or worse. But it was everything else. The whole night, the build-up of the game, the moment the momentum shifted…and then having him yank me down to his level, spewing his garbage into my ear.
I snapped.
Maybe it was his proximity. Or maybe it was the reminder of my failed shot at a skate endorsement. It’s no secret that Lucas is the hot one in the media right now because of his Vegas wedding and marriage success story. Which only casts shadow and doubt on my own reputation…which isn’t good, especially when it comes to potential sponsors.
“Nothing he hasn’t said before,” I say, shaking my head. “I just need to get my head clear, that’s all.”
With that I get up and refuse to look at them. Pulling on my sweatshirt and my cap, I grab my duffle and make my way to the media room, hoping to skip the lecture from Coach right now. I’ll talk to him when I have answers to give him.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I groan inwardly, knowing who it is before even looking.
Brady Sullivan: I thought I told you to ease up, Dec. As my little brother, you’re supposed to be making my job easier, not harder.
Letting out a sigh, I hit reply.
Sorry about that bro, I tried. Really. But luckily I’m sure your mad skills will somehow spin this my way.
Brady’s my brother first and my agent second. How he’s managed to put up with me and still agree to take me on as one of his clients, is beyond me.
Brady Sullivan: If you keep handing me kindling, there’ll be nothing to do but start a fire.
If you burn down my career, I’m taking you down with me.
Brady Sullivan: Speak for yourself.
I’ve known my brother for a long time, well technically he’s my step-brother. He’s still family in all the ways that count. Right now, he’s ticked off at me and he has every right.
A familiar urge rises within me, not only to fix things, but to prove that I can. That I’m more than just the hot-headed defenseman the press makes me out to be.
Any tips for the press?
I stare at the screen as three dots flicker in and out of existence. The least I can do is follow his advice on handling the press. I don’t need to make things worse for myself after all those penalties…social media will do that on its own.
Brady Sullivan: Stick to the facts. Don’t apologize. You’ll just look guilty. Acknowledge the penalties, say you let your emotions get the better of you and you won’t let it happen again. Stay calm, stay firm. You owe it to your team to not let rats like Marachino get under your skin. And for the love of all things holy, don’t take the bait. The press will push hard tonight.
He’s not wrong.
The NHL press cycle is brutal after a loss, especially when you’re the reason for the headlines they’ll be printing in a few hours. They’ll circle like sharks, asking the same question in ten different ways to see if they can make you crack.
Shoving my phone in my bag, I take a deep breath and allow Brady’s advice to settle in.
No emotion. No outbursts.
Just grit and control.
I walk into the press conference with my jaw clenched and my answers rehearsed. They ask the same thing over and over again.
Did I initiate the fight?
Do I regret it?
