I exhale, my good mood dimming as I’m forced to relive the unwise decision on my part. “Farrington found out about the pregnancy pregame and started chirping. I was already losing it when he only mentioned Haisley, but then he said something about the baby. That’s when I lost it.”
“Lost it?” Silas raises an eyebrow. “You fucking went after him. You sure that’s the way to handle it?”
The room falls still again, and everyone waits for me to answer. The adrenaline from the fight is wearing off, and I’m left with the reality of what happened. I shouldn’t have done it. I know that. But at the time, it felt like the only way to defend what was mine.
“I don’t regret it,” I say, my voice steady. “You don’t talk about the mother of my child that way. Not in front of me, not in front of anyone. I won’t apologize for that.”
“You sure about that?” Silas presses, his eyes narrowing. “That fight might’ve cost us the game, Ras. You’re not only jeopardizing yourself when you throw punches. You’re putting the whole team at risk.”
I don’t flinch at his words. I’ve heard this before. “I’m putting Haisley and the baby first. This team’s my chosen family, but they’re my world now. I’ll take any penalty for them, even if it costs us.”
Felix nods from the side. “Well, if nothing else, I respect the hell out of you for standing your ground. No one messes with family.”
There’s a beat of silent understanding. Papa Shane, still standing near his cubby, steps forward with a softened expression. He looks more approving than I expected. He claps a strong hand on my back. “Well, shit. I mean, congrats. Welcome to the dad club.”
With his approval, laughter moves through the room, easing the tension. The mood shifts, and the icy silence from before thaws. It’s replaced by curiosity, teasing, and, most importantly, acceptance.
“I still don’t get why a stunning woman like her picked yourugly mug,” Lee teases. “She could have had any other man and picked the Swedish man bun master.”
I roll my eyes and Felix grins. “You know what this means, right?”
“What?” I ask, already regretting asking.
“You need to start listening to ABBA in public now. No more hiding it,” my friend declares. “Meatball’s going to grow up respecting their Swedish roots.”
Laughter erupts again, this time unburdened and genuine. And I’m lighter for the first time since I entered the room. This is my team. My new brothers. And while tonight didn’t go as planned, this moment right here makes all the difference.
The speakers start playing a familiar song, and the beginning of “Take A Chance On Me”fills the room. And I’m not the only one singing and jamming along.
When we’ve all showered and changed, the door to the locker room swings open, and a handful of reporters shuffle in. Their voices quickly fill the space, and I feel the familiar trickle of sweat forming along the back of my neck. I know I’m the main story tonight. Thanks to the fight, the social media frenzy, and all the rumors swirling around the pregnancy.
I catch one of the Peacocks' PR team members leading the reporters toward the designated corner for interviews in the corner. She glances over at me and gives a curt nod. “Westerholm. They’re ready for you.”
Taking a deep breath, I force my hands to stop trembling as I stand from my cubby and make my way over. As soon as Ireach the area for interviews, the cameras flick on. A few microphones are thrust toward me, the reporters eager to get their questions in.
“So, Rasmus,” one of them starts, his voice sharp and demanding. “What exactly happened with that fight tonight? It seemed a lot more than a disagreement on the ice.”
My jaw tightens, but I hold my ground. The last thing I want to do right now is let the frustration boil over and show them how rattled I am.
“Yeah, it was more than just a disagreement between me and Farrington. He crossed a line when he started talking about my family and bringing up the recent news about me and H—Miss Lavigne.”
The reporters exchange glances, their eyes lighting up. They want more, they expect drama. But I’m not giving them what they want. It would only strengthen my former reputation and the image many hockey fans still have about me.
“And were the unwanted comments what led to the fight?” another one asks, her eyes narrowing as she rapidly scribbles notes on her pad.
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to let him keep running his mouth.” My voice is steady, giving nothing away. “Hockey’s a physical game, but when someone goes after you personally like that, it’s not just about the game anymore."
The cameras click again, and the reporters seem to agree with my comment, but the atmosphere is tense. There’s no doubt in my mind that they’re trying to bait me into a more emotional response. But I’m not biting. Not today.
A reporter in the back, an older man with a graying beard, shifts on his feet and looks up from his notes. “You’ve beenwith the Peacocks for over a month now, but this is the first we’re hearing about your relationship with Haisley Lavigne. Care to share more?”
My heart rate spikes. This is the question I was dreading. The one I was hoping to avoid. The last thing I want is to delve too deep into this whole thing in front of cameras. But I know that if I don’t give them something, they’ll keep pushing until I crack.
"We’ve kept it private for a reason," I say, forcing myself to make eye contact with him. "We wanted to keep things between us and focus on getting to know each other away from the public. But clearly, that’s no longer possible."
"So, are you saying the news about the pregnancy wasn’t meant to be public yet?" he presses.
I nod, my teeth gritting. “Exactly. It was supposed to be something we shared with our families and the team first. But now it’s out there, and it’s part of our story, I guess.”
