Page 20 of Ice Wolf
How was I going to sugarcoat what appeared to be the truth?
CHAPTER 6
Saint
“No fucking way,” I barked. “I’m not doing it. Period.”
“Then you’re off the team,” Coach Cavanaugh retorted. He tossed me a paper copy of the latest edition of theChicago Sun.
Front page news. My ugly mug was right there.
The headline today?
Experts Confirm the Validity of the Werewolf Video
A cold knife slashed down my spine.
Or straight into my gut.
The press had been relentless, hounding me since the story had been posted. On the phone. Over email. On all my social media accounts. Hell, they’d stood outside the door of my house since the beginning.
Plus, they’d stormed their way into the arena during practice.
“They say any press is good press, right?” It was my way of lightening their moods. I could tell by their long faces that wasn’t possible.
Everything had gotten out of hand. James Braxton, as I’d learned the jerk’s name to be inside the bar, certainly hadn’t kept his mouth shut. He’d played the helpless victim very well. Facial expressions. Agonizing groans at the right moments. Every news agency in the country and some abroad were upping their bids to have an exclusive interview. By this time next week, the dude could be a millionaire. It had gotten so bad that my father’s attorney had convinced a judge to issue a cease and desist.
Yeah, we’d see how that worked.
Now I was in a conference room surrounded by the two coaches and the team attorney, along with some PR mogul. I’d never felt so scrutinized in my life. Why not have every member of the team in on the conversation? Maybe they could get a vote as to how low I’d need to sink before plateauing out.
I glared at the coach and he lifted his eyebrows, glaring back at me. The man was serious.
All four remained quiet, likely hoping I’d realize and accept the gravity of the situation.
“This is crazy. I can handle myself in public,” I insisted.
“Maybe you can, but you didn’t do so well when Pete teased you yesterday. Did you?” Jonathan had taken the lead on that one. Not that I blamed him. Pete had marks on his neck from where I’d nearly strangled him.
“Ah, that. He was harassing me.” I scratched my head, trying to figure a way out of this.
“What do you think is going to happen if you’re confronted by a dozen reporters and I assure you that you will be.” The coach had his arms folded.
I shrugged. “I’ll blow them off. Plus, the news is dying down.” I had no clue. I’d stopped looking at social media and the television.
The coach took long strides across the room and beckoned for me. “Come here.”
“Why?”
He gave me his angry look.
I sauntered forward, peering out to what he was pointing at in the parking lot below. Well, shit.
“That’s why this needs to happen. We have an important game coming up, maybe the most important one of the season.” Coach Cavanaugh’s jaw was stiff.
“We’re already in the playoffs,” I responded. We were, but since we were neck and neck with the Denver Devils with the number one and two positions, the last game would decide who went into the playoffs at number one. Over the last few years, every season the Wild Dogs hadn’t finished first during the regular season had proven to be a curse.
Not a single championship won.
