Another reporter leans forward, her tone now more casual but still probing. “And how does Miss Lavigne feel about all of this?”
“She’s overwhelmed. Who wouldn’t be in her position?” I ask carefully. “But I’m doing everything I can to make sure she knows she’s supported. We’ll get through this together like we always do.”
“There have been a lot of people questioning the timing of the pregnancy, especially since you were traded not too long ago. Any comments on that?”
The insinuation that this somehow ties into the trade, that my commitment to the team or my career could be questioned because of the baby, makes me feel angry.
“The timing is what it is.” I try to keep my voice level, even though every part of me wants to snap. “It’s a personal thing, and I’m not going to let people speculate on it.”
Another reporter clears his throat. “You’ve always had a bit of a bruiser reputation, especially back in Minnesota. Are we going to see more of that side of you this season? Is there any pressure from the Peacocks coaching staff to tone it down or, conversely, to step up physically again?”
I exhale through my nose, keeping my posture relaxed even though the question grates. “I’m not here to be a fighter. I’m here to play hockey. That being said, if someone comes after my loved ones, yeah, I’m going to respond. But I’m not out there looking for trouble like I might have in the past.”
Some of the reporters nod in agreement, others not quite satisfied with the answer. But I’m almost done here. I know they won’t get anything more from me. Not today.
One final question comes from the one with the graying beard. “Do you regret fighting tonight? The team could have used you on the ice, especially during that power play before the fight started.”
I know dropping gloves with Farrington wasn’t the smartest decision, but in that moment, with him talking about Haisley and our baby…I couldn’t let it slide.
“I regret that my actions affected the team. But I don’t regret protecting my family. That’s all I will say today. Thank you.”
The reporters exchange glances again, probably taking mental notes on my answer, but I’m done. I stand up straight, my shoulders squared, and nod at the PR rep, signaling that I’m ready to leave. I want to get home to her as soon as possible.
36
DRIVE SAFE WITH PRECIOUS CARGO ON BOARD
RASMUS
As I’m about to head out, one of the coaching staff’s junior members steps into the room. He looks around until he finds our captain and my stomach knots. Something’s off.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Shane’s expression morphs from his usual easy smile into something more serious. He nods, then turns toward me.
“Westerholm,” he says, “can I talk to you for a second?”
My back stiffens at his use of my last name, and I join them. The staff member glances at me, his voice quiet but firm. “Mr. Lavigne had a seizure, and they’re taking him to the hospital right now,” he shares. “I don’t have any other details, but I was sent to tell the captain.”
The locker room fades into background noise as my heart lurches, a cold sweat forming under my collar. I think of Haisley, the way she talks about her dad who can be annoyingly overprotective but endlessly loving. The only thing I see in that moment is Haisley’s sad face when she told me about how growing up without her biological mother was hardon her. The way she lights up every time someone mentions her family. How she’ll be worried sick to hear the news.
“I have to go,” I say, already yanking my jacket off the hook.
Sprinting across the parking lot, I unlock my truck with shaking hands. The second I slide behind the wheel, I pull out my phone and hit her contact.
It barely rings once.
“Ras?” Her voice is small, not even close to her usual bright tone. She already knows.
“I’m on my way,” I say, putting the call on speaker. “I just heard. Where are you?”
“I’m still at your place, but Mom and Holden just arrived at the hospital.”
“I’ll be there to pick you up in less than five. Grab your coat and be ready.”
She doesn’t answer right away. There’s only the faintest hitch of her breath as though she’s trying to hold herself together. “Okay.”
When I pull up outside the building, she’s already standing there on the sidewalk wearing a comfy dark orange loungewear set under her outerwear. The moment she spots me, she moves toward the car like her legs are working on autopilot.
I jump out, meeting her halfway. “Hey, I’ve got you.”
