Melissa gives me a sharp look at the familiarity but continues smoothly. "Dr. Sinclair will speak about a new mouthguard program for the youth hockey camp. You'll speak first about your community service. Then, she'll present her initiative. You'll both take questions afterward."
I nod, trying to process this unexpected development. I'd prepared myself to face the media, to decide whether to read Brian's statement or speak my truth. I hadn't prepared to do it with Lena in the room, watching me.
I catch a glimpse of her through the glass wall of a side conference room. She's seated at a table, surrounded by communication staff, reviewing notes. Her dark hair is pulled back, and she's wearing a black suit that somehow makes her look both professional and achingly beautiful.
As if sensing my gaze, she looks up. Our eyes meet briefly through the glass before we both look away, the moment electric despite its brevity.
"You're in here," Melissa says, opening a door to a smaller room. "We start in twenty minutes. Your agent said he's on his way."
Left alone, I pace the small space, alternating between reviewing Brian's script and my notes. The words swim before my eyes, my thoughts repeatedly drifting to Lena. Will she stay for my statement? Will she listen to what I have to say? Will it matter to her?
The door opens, and Gunnar and Tucker enter, both in suits that suggest they've come straight from a meeting with their financial advisor.
"You look like you're about to skate into Game 7 without a cup," Tucker says by way of greeting.
Gunnar studies my expression with more seriousness. "Whatever you're planning, just make sure you're ready for the consequences."
I stop pacing, looking between my brothers. "What if the consequences are worth it?"
They exchange a glance that speaks volumes about their familiarity with my stubborn streaks.
"Then you'll have no regrets," Gunnar says simply.
The door bursts open again, revealing Brian in a state of barely contained panic. "Five minutes. Stick to the script, A-Stag. I'm begging you."
I fold my notes and tuck them inside my jacket. "I'll say what needs to be said."
Brian looks to my brothers for support but finds none. "You're all going to be the death of me," he mutters.
"Drama queen," Tucker coughs into his fist.
Charles Sutton stands at the podium, his practiced owner's smile firmly in place as he addresses the assembled media.
"...commitment to the highest standards of conduct from every member of our organization," he's saying as I tune back in. "The Pittsburgh Fury believes in accountability, which is why Alder Stag has agreed to apologize for his actions and commit to community service with our youth hockey program."
I'm seated at a long table to the side of the podium, acutely aware of Lena, who is several seats away. She hasn't looked at me since we entered the room, her attention fixed on Sutton or her notes.
"Now, I'll turn the microphone over to Alder Stag." Sutton gestures toward me, his expression making it clear this is my one chance at redemption.
As I approach the podium, the weight of multiple expectations pressing down on me: Brian's desperate face in thecorner, my brothers' supportive presence in the front row, Sutton's stern vigilance, and Lena, whose expression I can feel but don't dare look at directly.
I pull out Brian's statement and place it on the podium. The words stare back at me, hollow and impersonal.I deeply regret my actions at the Black and Gold Charity Gala. My behavior fell short of the standards expected of a Pittsburgh Fury player...
I look up at the assembled media, cameras trained on my face and recorders capturing every word. Then, I set the paper aside.
"I was supposed to read you an apology that someone else wrote," I begin. "About regrettable actions and commitment to sportsmanship. But that wouldn't be honest, and you deserve honesty."
A murmur ripples through the room. I see Brian cover his face with his hands in my peripheral vision.
"Yes, I hit Adam Lawson at the charity gala. No, it wasn't professional or appropriate. I take full responsibility for that action and accept the consequences."
I pause, feeling the familiar pre-game focus settling over me. This isn't a script anymore. This is real.
"But I'm not here to just apologize for losing my temper. I'm here to talk about something more important—the mental health of athletes."
Another ripple through the crowd, this one accompanied by the rapid clicking of cameras.
"When I first joined the Fury, I was twenty-one years old. I'd spent my entire life focused on hockey, defined by hockey. And suddenly, I was in the spotlight, not just as a player but as one of the first openly bisexual men in the league."
