Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I hid behind the image I’ve created, not the new one Trina helped shape. I didn’t stand up for her.
The next day in Seattle, I’m stepping off the plane with Dev, debating whether we should get Korean barbecue or check out some cool new sushi spot in Capitol Hill. The argument is better than being alone with my incessant thoughts of the woman I can’t have and the friend who I don’t want to talk to.
“Apparently, the sushi is so spicy your mouth will be on fire,” Dev says, making his pitch.
“Please. Sushi has nothing on Korean barbecue,” I say, but mostly I don’t want fish and rice since it reminds me of the first gift we gave Trina.
“Sushi’s closer to the hotel,” Dev adds when Oliver catches up to me on the jetway.
“Got a sec, buddy?” he asks in his upbeat tone.
He’s always upbeat. That’s the job. He’s chipper when he gives you bad news and when he delivers good news. The last twenty-four hours, though, have been all bad. My agent, Josh, called this morning when I boarded the flight, wanting to know what the hell had happened. “This podcast episode is everywhere,” he said, sounding like he wanted to track down Bryce and my ex and give them a piece of or else.
“That’s great news,” I’d deadpanned.
To his credit, Josh also asked if there was anything he could do. But since muzzling Selena was not a viable answer, I said, “Nothing, man. But I appreciate the check-in.”
What else could I say? In one podcast episode, all the work Trina did for me during the last week crumbled to dust. If the team didn’t like my rep before, they’ll hate it now. Oliver’s probably about to let me know I’m on the shit list.
“Sure,” I say to him, since what’s the alternative? I’ve got to own my mistakes.
Dev laughs. “If the debate’s over, that means sushi after the game.”
“Nope. Sushi is not the answer,” I say.
But Dev shoots me a cocky grin. “Fish it is,” he says, then continues on his way. Un-reprimanded. Lucky fucker. But at least he didn’t mention my clusterfuck of a reputation on the flight. Or ask for any details about what went down with Trina.
I’ll chalk that up as a small victory.
I turn to Oliver as we continue down the jetway, bracing myself. “What’s up? Nothing good, I presume.”
“Well, it’s not great,” he says, diplomatically. “There was a lot of coverage of that podcast. But,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a here’s the but coming my way. “I get—and the Avengers’ front office does too—that it’s not your fault.”
What? I jerk my gaze to him. “They do?”
“You didn’t cause this problem,” he adds.
“But that piece. It was grist to the sports news mill.”
“It was. But like I said, not your fault. It’s not Trina’s fault either,” he says, and the sound of her name rips at my tattered heart. “We don’t blame you, or Chase, or the VIP guest,” he says, and she’s so much more than a VIP guest, but I shut my mouth about that. “It’s just a situation that got out of hand. We do appreciate what you did to work on your socials. We appreciate, too, that she helped you out.” He shrugs, but it’s not a helpless one. “You can’t control what others say.”
True. But still. “I thought you guys wanted the whole good guy image,” I say, doubtful.
He laughs lightly. “Of course we want positive press. We want our players to present well online. You did all that. And then this happened, but there’s nothing you can do. We’ll just keep on moving forward. How does that sound?”
Like I don’t buy it.
“Sus,” I admit as we head into the airport.
He chuckles. “Love your ‘trust no one’ attitude. It’s great for a hockey player. But seriously, it’s fine, Ryker. I swear.”
“What was the point then?”
He stops and I do too. Oliver’s young, but in this moment, he seems wise beyond his years as he meets my gaze straight on. “The point was to let your fans know who you are.” He takes a beat, still intensely serious. “Someone who loves his family, who cares about his sisters, his mom, his grandmother. Someone who gives books to a library. Who gets a jersey signed by teammates and helps donate it to rescue dogs. That’s who. The rest? You can’t control it. Sometimes you let it go and focus on what you can control.”
I didn’t have get good life advice from the PR guy on my bingo card today, but I’ll take it. I ease up on my doubt. “I appreciate all that. Thank you, Oliver,” I say genuinely.
“If you want to sit out of any press conferences, that’s fine with me.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
But mostly, I spend the day thinking about all the things I don’t think I can control. And trying to figure out if I can control any of them.