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My fingers curl into themselves as I watch Alex’s shoulders square. “She has a name, you know. It’s Olive. Olive Henderson. Which you all know, since I’ve seen more than one of your papers share some interpretation of the news fodder over the last two days.”

The room is silent, not denying the accusation or apologizing for any of their part in spreading the news.

“What I choose to do with my life should be up to me and the person I’m with,” he tells them firmly. “And us only. I understand we all have careers that we need to build, but I don’t want my relationship or personal life to be at the expense of it.”

I find myself smiling at his no-nonsense attitude.

“It’s not often you have people who are willing to call off the dogs for you,” someone says from behind me.

I’m surprised when I see Thomas Moskins leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He isn’t looking at me, he’s watching his teammate.

“I’m sure you have people who would be willing to do the same for you,” I say. Although, I don’t know that for sure. I can talk stats all day long, but I barely know anything personal about most of my favorite players. The last I knew Moskins was married, though. That must mean he has someone.

He pushes off the frame and walks in, tucking his hands in his pockets. “You’d think so, but not all of us are that lucky.”

It’s hard to fight the frown, but I do. He doesn’t seem like the type of person who likes sympathy.

“Look, I was an ass the other day.” He scratches the back of his neck. “The cap and your boy tore into me over it. But I didn’t have anything to do with those photos.”

Poking the inside of my cheek with my tongue, I turn from Alex to Moskins. “I believe you. For the record, I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I get a little amped up when I’m talking about hockey. It’s sort of in my blood.”

Growing up watching Sebastian play makes me excited when I’m around other players, especially professional ones. But nobody likes hearing that they’re not as good as others, so I get why he was so defensive.

He studies me. “Ever since I was younger, I’ve always been the top of my game. I took pride in the praise I got from people; in being told I was the best. That changed when I came into the league.”

It’s competitive when you enter the NHL. They only want the best, which means you stop being number one like you were in your hometown. Sebastian experienced it too. “You should still take pride in the fact you got in. You said so yourself, you’re good. Not everybody who gets drafted can say that.”

There’s something passive in his dark eyes, like he doesn’t quite believe me. But how could he get so far in this career if he didn’t at least believe in himself at some point? Sure, some people’s cockiness is fake. Fake it ’til you make it and all that. But I don’t believe that’s him. “I’m sorry you don’t have the kind of support you deserve. Everybody should have someone in their life who cares.”

His lips press into a thin line as he dips his chin and glances at Alex. “Yeah, they should.”

Where is his wife? I know better than to pry, as much as I want to. “Did you come here to apologize? Because you didn’t need to.”

“I didn’t have anything better to do. Heard O’Conner was holding a press thing here, so I figured I’d stop by and see what it was about. And I figured you’d be here with him.”

There’s something else, but I don’t know what it is. And if I asked, I’m positive he wouldn’t tell me the truth. “Does this mean we’re good? No hard feelings?”

He studies me.

I stick my hand out in front of me, waiting for him to shake it.

It feels like forever by the time he extends his and firmly grasps mine. “We’re good.”

I smile at him. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to apply to intern for the team, so I don’t want to get on anybody’s bad side if they choose me for the position.”

“If you know as much as you say you do, they’d be dumb not to have you. You’d be an asset. The interns we’ve had in the past just try sleeping around with us. Most of them don’t even know what a slapshot is.”

I wince. “It couldn’t have been that bad. They must have been qualified enough to get it.”

He deadpans. “The last intern asked how many points was scored when the ball went into the goal.”

At first, I think he’s yanking my leg. Then I realize he’s completely serious. “Oh.”

He only nods grimly.

My attention is pulled away when I hear Alex say, “Thank you for your time and understanding.” I watch him stand, scraping his chair back and walking off the makeshift stage set up for him.

When he sees me and Moskins, his shoulders draw back like he’s ready for war.