Page 75 of Offside Secrets
“Here’s what I want you to understand: Campbell Stockton earned his position as captain through talent, leadership, and dedication. Every goal he’s scored, every game he’s won, every moment of respect he’s earned from his teammates—none of that has anything to do with me.”
My voice rises slightly, passion bleeding through my professional composure.
“And if you think a man of his caliber, his integrity, and his strength, would compromise his career for personal gain, then you don’t know Campbell Stockton at all.”
The room is quieter now, reporters listening instead of just waiting for their turn to pounce.
“I’m not going to apologize for caring about someone who stayed late to help me when my car broke down. I’m not going to apologize for being impressed by a man who puts his team first, who leads by example, and one who treats everyone around him with respect and kindness.”
I pause, letting that sink in.
“And I’m not going to apologize for refusing to let otherpeople’s discomfort with successful women dictate how I live my life.”
Sarah Chen raises her hand again. “What about the NHL interest in Captain Stockton? Some people are suggesting that your relationship might influence those opportunities.”
“NHL scouts evaluate players based on performance, character, and potential. Campbell’s hat trick tonight spoke for itself. His leadership of this team speaks for itself. His work ethic and dedication speak for themselves.”
I lean forward slightly, making eye contact with as many reporters as I can.
“If anyone in the NHL is more interested in gossiping about his personal life than recognizing his talent, that says more about them than it does about Campbell.”
The questions keep coming—about the team’s future, about the Alexandria affiliation, about how long Campbell and I have been involved—but the tone has shifted. Less predatory, more professional.
When a reporter from ESPN asks about the challenges of being a woman in professional sports leadership, I feel the conversation turn toward something more meaningful.
“The biggest challenge isn’t the work itself,” I say. “It’s the assumption that I need to be perfect in ways men don’t. That one mistake, one personal decision, one moment of being human instead of being a flawless representation of female leadership will undo everything I’ve accomplished.”
I look around the room, meeting eyes, holding gazes.
“I’m not perfect. I’m a woman who works hard, who cares about this team and these players, and who happens to have feelings for someone I respect enormously. If anyone thinks that makes me unfit to own a hockey team, then the problem isn’t with me.”
The press conference winds down after another ten minutes, but I can tell something has shifted. The questionsbecome more thoughtful, more focused on hockey and business rather than scandal and speculation.
As reporters start filing out, Sarah Chen approaches the podium.
“That took guts,” she says quietly. “Not many owners would face the music like that.”
“Not many owners are women who have to,” I reply.
She nods and heads for the door, already typing on her phone.
I’m gathering my things when movement in my peripheral vision makes me pause. Someone’s still here. My eyes lift to the back row, and my breath catches. My heart stops, then starts again at double time.
Campbell.
He’s showered and changed into street clothes—dark jeans and a fitted Henley that does nothing to hide what hours of training have built. His hair is still damp, pushed back from his face. He’s watching me with an intensity that sends heat crawling up my neck, an expression I can’t quite read but can definitely feel.
The room suddenly feels smaller. Quieter. The fluorescent lights seem too bright.
How long has he been sitting there?
He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Just holds my gaze across the empty space between us like he’s waiting for something.
My fingers tighten around my clipboard. I should leave. I should definitely leave.
I don’t move. Instead, something passes between us—understanding, maybe, or possibility, or the recognition that everything just changed.
Again.
