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He has a lot more faith in humanity than I do.

“Everybody needs to set limits with the press,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with saying your family is off limits.”

“Won’t that make them more curious?”

“Sometimes, you have to have a little blind trust, O’Conner,” he tells me, clasping my shoulder.

I huff. “I don’t know if I have that in me.”

“Relationships are built on trust,” he points out. “Do you trust Olive?”

“Yes.”

“Everybody has the capability of hurting us, but that doesn’t mean they’re all going to. Let go of what’s holding you back. Open up a little. Draw the line. I think you’ll have better luck than you think.”

Public speaking is the last thing I want to do, especially if it brings more attention to the people I want out of the limelight. But maybe he’s right.

And I’m willing to do what I need to if it means protecting the women in my life that I love.

Love.

Christ.

*

The suit jacketfeels a little looser than I remember, which is a reminder that I need to start hitting up the gym again and do Clarkson’s training exercises to bulk up before getting back on the ice. I button it and adjust the tie, frowning when I see how crooked it looks in the mirror reflection.

“You look nice,” Olive says from the bathroom doorway. “It’s not game day, though. Why are you so dressed up?”

I try to redo the tie, remembering how my old college coach did it when he showed me. “I had Kyle, my agent, set up a press conference.”

Olive walks in and stands in front of me, moving my hands away from the mint green tie that I bought a year ago because it reminded me of her eyes. Kyle told me I’d need nice clothes for press junkets, so I picked out three suits using the money I got, and five different ties. This one is my favorite.

“But you hate public speaking,” she notes softly, her fingers moving skillfully until my tie is straight and tucked into my jacket.

I flatten my hand down the front of it and look at her. “I hate what people are saying about you more.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re doing this forme?”

Is she really that surprised? “You can pretend like this isn’t impacting you, but I know it is. I can see it. The light in your eyes that’s always burned so damn bright has dimmed. I’m going to make sure people know that’s not okay with me.”

Her lips part, a gaping expression leaving her cute and speechless.

My hand moves to her face to graze her cheek with my knuckles. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,but I could definitely use one of your famous pep talks before I sit down in front of the cameras.”

I see her throat bob with a thick swallow as she releases a long breath. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? We both know people are going to say whatever they want to.”

“We have a say in the narrative, though.” My thumb brushes her bottom lip. “And I have every intention of letting them know that I have a thing for the girl in those pictures who can outsmart any hockey fan with stat shots on players without googling a single thing. And if they have a problem with it, they’ll have to deal with me.”

A small smile tilts her lips. “I don’t think threatening them will do any good. If it did, one of my friends offered a particular skillset with laxatives.”

My brows go up. “That’s fucked up.”

She doesn’t disagree.

“Today is about letting people know what, and who, is important to me. That’s you. That’s the game. My team. My mother. If they want me to talk to them, then they need to show me some respect. If fans want to call themselves that, then they need to prove it. I hate getting in front of people and talking, but I’m willing to do it for you. We’re a team too, right?”

Those green eyes start to glisten. “We are.”