"They notice you too," she assured me. "Speaking of being noticed…"
We stepped out into the Fijian sunshine, only to see a contingent of Australian press gathered around our bus.
"Storm, what can you tell us about the death of your head coach?" one shouted.
"Was it just an accident?" another yelled.
"Dallas, Frost, what can you tell us about the general manager, Bruce Fergus? Would you say it's a coincidence that he died, then Coach Stanley?"
"Would you say the Smashers are cursed?"
We pushed through them towards the bus, not answering any of the questions. The more they yelled, the higher my anxiety rose. My hands started to tingle and my heart raced.
"Jayden Lang, can you give us some words about Coach Stanley?"
I found a microphone shoved into my face, right in front of my nose. My first instinct was to grab it and throw it to the ground before stepping on it and crunching it into a million pieces.
Instead I muttered, "No comment."
"Come on, you must have something to say," the journalist insisted. "You're sad about it, right? Would you say you miss his leadership?"
With the palm of my hand, I shoved the microphone away and all but ran onto the bus and right down the back. I threw myself down onto a seat and curled up on myself.
"Jay?" Of course it was Atlas who approached me carefully, gesturing for everyone to give me some space. Chelsea wasn't far behind, looking worried, but also keeping a careful distance.
"Hey." Atlas eased the strap of my bag off my shoulder and handed the whole thing to Chelsea, who stashed it in the rack above us. "It's okay. They shouldn't have been up in your face like that." He looked like he might get back off the bus, grab the microphone and shove it down the journalist's throat.
"They just wanted to know how we were feeling," I said, half to myself.
Was that a bad thing? The team released statements, but people always wanted to know how the players felt at times like this. It wasn't unreasonable, was it? I hated that I felt like I overreacted. I hated that it got to me like this. They had microphones in everyone's faces and no one else ran off like I did.
"They were pushy and rude," Atlas said. "They should know better. You did nothing wrong."
"I should have kept my cool." Right now, I couldn't remember what my cool felt like. My heart was racing so hard. Taking a deep breath was a struggle. I wanted to curl up in a ball. At the same time, I wanted to scream at the whole world to fuck all the way off.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. No way I was going to cry in front of my team. Fuck, why couldn't this happen at the hotel, or somewhere I could melt down in private?
"I barely kept mine." Atlas took my hands and squeezed them gently. "We're on the bus now. You won't have to deal with them again."
"But when we get to the hotel—" I started.
"They won't come near you," he promised.
Chelsea sat in the seat opposite, facing us. "We'll all make sure they don't." She shook her head, her ponytail flicking back and forth. "Is that normal? I haven't seen the press behave like that since I joined the team."
"It can be," Atlas said. "Especially when something goes down like losing two major people. It's bullshit; how do they expect us to feel? Of course we're going to be grieving. Of course we think it's fucked up. What did they want?"
"What do they ever want?" I asked. "They think if they push, we'll say something juicy." If I was worked up enough, I might. Or I might have punched one of them. That would make a great headline. For them, not for me. I'd be in a shit ton of trouble.
"Then they're out of luck, because we don't have anything juicy to tell them," Chelsea said with a faint smile.
"We have plenty, but we're not telling them." Atlas squeezed my hands again. "I'm sorry this happened. I should have been closer. I should have put myself between you and them." He looked frustrated at them and himself. As if somehow he let me down and not the other way around. The last thing I wanted was to behave in a way that embarrassed the team. I couldn't stay there anymore, listening to the barrage of questions. The overwhelm was too much to handle.
"You can't protect me forever," I said quietly. Sooner or later, he'd get sick of doing that, right? He'd start to feel overwhelmed and crowded. By me.
"The hell I can't," he said. "That's what I'm here for. To make sure you're good, no matter what goes down."
Frost popped up from the seat in front of us. He gave me his usual smile with no hint of judgement. If he thought I was some kind of emotional mess, he gave no sign. "He can and so can the rest of us. Right guys?"