Page 21 of The Last Guy On Earth
And DiCosta actually listens. He meets Clay’s eyes and gives him a quick nod. The players trust Clay, so he must be doing something right. More proof—Colorado pulls off a victory against St. Louis.
“Road points!” Clay shouts, slapping backs afterwards. “That’s how we get ’er done!”
I almost catch myself smiling.
We all troop back to the dressing room, where I change back into my suit after playing zero minutes of hockey. On the bus to the airport, I take a seat alone. But then Tate, the team publicist, sits down beside me. He’s a sleek guy with an impeccable suit and the slick manner of publicists everywhere.
My exact opposite, basically.
“Mr. Hale, I need to catch up with you for a minute. Welcome to the team.” His smile is blinding.
“Thanks,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. Which is not much.
“First of all, I need to give you the one-minute stump speech—if anything should happen in your life that a loudmouth onsocial media would make a fuss about, I need to be your first call.”
“After I dial 911, right?”
He laughs. “I like a dry sense of humor. But you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I’m easy, though,” I promise. “Been doing this job a while without the wrong kind of media attention.”
“Then you’re already my favorite,” he says, opening up a leather folio containing a legal pad. He clicks a gold pen against his thumb. “Can I ask a few questions?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have a partner? It helps me to know who’s in your sphere.”
Seriously?“Like you didn’t google that shit already? No partner.”
Tate laughs uncomfortably. “Well, I tried. But you keep a low profile. No social media at all?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t suit my surly personality.”
He laughs again, as if I were kidding.
“And thank God, right? The shit they must be saying about me right now.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t want to know.” Getting traded late in my career is deeply humiliating, and I sure don’t want to read the comments.
He taps his pen against the pad. “It’s not that bad,” he says. “Just a few armchair morons who think they know hockey better than the pros.”
“Uh-huh.” I don’t even have to look to know what they’re saying.Has-been.Should have retired already. Ugh. I haven’t even played a game for my new team yet.
“The thing is, you never show your side of things,” he says. “You could have posted a triumphant pic in your new jersey. Or posted a sunset shot of the Rocky Mountains. The Motor Cityisn’t the only place on Earth, you know? You could take charge of your own narrative.”
My own narrative. “Yeah, because I’m so good at friendly chatter.”
“What if I start the account for you?” Tate asks. “I’ll put the posts in draft, and you can post the ones you like.”
I probably won’t like any of them, but I find myself nodding anyway. “Yeah, sure.”
“Sweet!” he says with too much enthusiasm. “And I’ll handle the comments section and shut down the trolls. Okay. Now back to my questions. No partner… so no family?”
“Oh, I’ve got one of those. My sister made herself unavailable to raise her kid, so my dad and I are doing that.”
“Hell,” he says, his smile fading. “I’m so sorry. And your family is moving out to Colorado with you?”
“Yeah, Liana found us a three-bedroom. My dad’s name is Jeffrey Hale. And my kid is Toby Hale. Although it’s best for everyone if those names never appear anywhere. They deserve their privacy.”
“Understood.” He scribbles them down anyway. Then he looks up at me. “There’s one more thing we need to discuss. In a few days, we’ve got an upcoming announcement, and the team is sure to make some headlines.”
