Page 5

Chapter 5

Paige

T he shrill ring of my phone cut through the quiet morning, pulling me from the remnants of a restless sleep. I squinted at the screen, seeing Mom flashing insistently. My stomach churned as I swiped to answer.

"Paige! Have you seen the news?" Her voice crackled with panic, sharp and frantic.

I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my brain. "No, Mom. I'm just waking up. What happened?"

"The Serpents… there’s footage of some of the players in a fight—it’s everywhere! Is this going to affect your job? What’s going to happen?”

Heart pounding, I fumbled for the TV remote on my nightstand, nearly knocking over a glass of water in the process. My fingers finally found the power button, and the screen flickered to life.

“Mom, hold on,” I muttered, turning up the volume.

Hockey World News was already broadcasting footage of several Serpents players in a violent altercation at a bar. My breath caught as I saw Ryker Kane at the center of it all, fists flying. The headline scrolled ominously across the bottom: Serpents Stars Involved in Brawl—Team’s Reputation at Stake.

“Paige? Are you there?” My mom's voice trembled through the speaker.

“I’m here,” I whispered, eyes glued to the screen.

“I knew working with a hockey team would be rough, but this? Is this going to be a disaster for you? What am I even saying? Of course it is. Can you handle this? I mean, this is the NHL, Paige. This isn't college hockey, you know?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. “I need to know more before I can say for sure." I paused. Then, more to myself, I murmured, "This is bad, really bad.”

The footage looped again, showing Ryker throwing another punch. I froze. Brendan mentioned Ryker rarely reacted to anything. To see him like this… What caused this?

My mind raced with potential fallout—sponsors pulling out, fans losing faith, management in chaos. I couldn’t help but think about how hard I'd worked to prove myself and how easily this could unravel everything.

“I can’t believe this,” my mother continued, her worry seeping through every word. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Not sure yet,” I replied, swallowing hard. “I’ll need to talk to the team and see what our next steps are.”

“Well,” she said softly. "I just don't want you embarrassed. You've only been on the job for three days now. Oh, this isn't fair."

“It's my job, Mom.” I forced a small smile even though she couldn’t see it. “I’ll figure it out.”

Ending the call, I felt an overwhelming wave of frustration and helplessness. This wasn’t just about Ryker or the team; it was about everything I'd sacrificed and built. And now it felt like it could all come crashing down because of one reckless night.

I clenched my fists and turned back to the screen, determination hardening within me. There had to be a way to fix this—to salvage not just their reputation but mine as well. I wanted to prove myself. Well, I got the perfect opportunity to do just that.

I took the fastest shower of my life, scrubbing away the remnants of sleep and replacing them with cold, clear determination. I slipped into a pink blazer and matching skirt—sleek but undeniably feminine, like something Elle Woods might wear if she were fighting for justice in the NHL. I glanced in the mirror, tightening my ponytail. This wasn’t just about looking the part; it was about embodying confidence when everything felt like it was crumbling.

My phone buzzed again as I grabbed my purse and keys. I checked the screen: an emergency meeting called by Gideon Strong. My heart skipped a beat.

As I hurried out the door, I was hit with a blast of humidity already, and prayed my hair didn't frizz. But I pushed that to the side. My mind was racing with strategies, possible outcomes, ways to spin this disaster into something salvageable.

When I reached the Serpents’ headquarters, tension hit me like a physical force. Executives paced hallways, faces grim as they murmured into phones or tapped out frantic emails. The air felt thick with dread and uncertainty.

I entered the conference room to find Gideon already addressing a group of key executives. He stood at the head of the table, his presence commanding and unflappable. The room was filled with low murmurs, everyone’s eyes darting between their phones and the looping footage of Ryker’s fight playing on a screen at the far end.

Gideon’s voice cut through the noise like a knife. “We’ve faced worse than this,” he began, his tone calm but authoritative. “And we came through stronger each time.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though it sounded more hopeful than convinced.

“This incident,” Gideon continued, “is not going to define us. We’re already implementing damage control strategies. PR is working on statements. Legal is preparing for any potential fallout.”

I took a seat at the far end of the table, trying to catch my breath and collect my thoughts. The Richard Mathers scandal had nearly destroyed the team; this felt like another blow when we were just beginning to regain our footing.

Gideon’s gaze swept over us, his eyes hardening as they met mine briefly before moving on. “We need to present a united front,” he said. “The media will tear us apart if they sense any division.”

My phone buzzed again—texts from worried sponsors wanting reassurances. I silenced it and focused on Gideon’s words.

“Paige,” he said suddenly, drawing all eyes to me, “you’ll be handling some of these sponsors directly. Make sure they understand we’re in control.”

I nodded sharply, feeling every eye in the room scrutinizing me. This was my chance—no matter how daunting—to prove that I belonged here.

“We’ll get through this,” Gideon finished with a nod that felt like a command more than reassurance. “Together. That's it.” A beat as he turned to look at me. “Paige, a word."

The meeting broke, the room buzzing with a mix of tension and determination. People filed out quickly, heads bent together in hushed conversations. I stayed in my seat, fingers drumming lightly on the table’s edge.

I waited until the last person left; the door closing softly behind them. The room felt cavernous now, echoing with the weight of our predicament. Gideon remained standing at the head of the table, remote in hand.

“This is a disaster,” he began, voice cold and professional. He clicked the remote, and the footage from the bar fight flickered back onto the screen. Ryker Kane was front and center, fists swinging. My stomach tightened at the sight.

“We’re already under scrutiny because of Richard Mathers. The last thing we need is a media frenzy over this fight.”

I nodded, my throat tight. The stakes had never felt higher.

Gideon’s gaze swept across the room before landing on me. “You’re going to handle the PR fallout,” he said without preamble. “You need to get the players under control, coordinate their statements, and make sure this doesn’t spiral further. The last thing we need is more negative press. I don't understand. Ryker Kane is not the sort to get caught up in…" He waved his hand at the screen. “This. Find out what the hell happened.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders. I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I’ll manage it,” I said, even though the task ahead felt crushing.

Gideon nodded curtly. “Good. Start by getting Ryker in line. He’s the face of this team; we can’t afford for him to be seen like this.”

My mind raced with strategies as I left the conference room and headed toward my office. I needed to craft statements that would placate sponsors and reassure fans, all while dealing with Ryker's notorious temper.

The hardest part would undoubtedly be Ryker himself. Our interactions so far had been icy at best. Now I had to navigate his resistance and convince him to toe the line for the good of the team.

As I reached my office, I pushed open the door and sank into my chair. My phone buzzed with incoming messages—sponsors wanting reassurances, media requests piling up.

No time for hesitation.

I rolled up my sleeves and began drafting statements, my mind laser-focused on damage control. There was no room for error; everything depended on how well I could manage this crisis.

And first on my list was a conversation with Ryker Kane—a conversation that could make or break everything we were trying to salvage.

Drafting statements and organizing a media strategy consumed my morning. My fingers flew over the keyboard, crafting the perfect words to distance the team from the scandal. The players involved, especially Ryker, needed to be on board with the plan. That’s where things got tricky.

I headed down to the locker room, where I knew the players had already been briefed on the situation. The tension was palpable even before I entered. I spotted Assistant Coach Kakashi Yamaguchi standing near the door, his tall frame and white hair giving him an air of composed authority especially for someone as young as he was — I'd say mid to late thirties, if I had to guess.

"Am I good to go in?" I asked, trying to sound confident despite the anxiety gnawing at my insides.

He nodded without a word, his eyes betraying no emotion.

"Thank you," I said, pushing open the door.

The atmosphere inside was heavy with frustration and unease. Ryker sat with a few of the other players involved in the fight, his face hard and eyes dark with anger. He looked like he wanted to punch something—or someone—again.

I took a deep breath and walked over to him, steeling myself for what was bound to be an unpleasant conversation.

"Ryker," I said firmly but calmly, "we need to talk about the media strategy. You’re going to have to make a statement."

He looked up at me, jaw tight. "I’m not talking to the media," he said flatly.

I had expected this. "You don’t have a choice," I replied. "If you don’t get ahead of this, the media is going to spin this story out of control. The longer we stay silent, the worse it’s going to get."

Ryker's eyes narrowed into slits of defiance. "I don’t care what they say. This is a bullshit story. We’re not going to win by playing nice with the media."

I stood my ground, feeling every ounce of my determination solidify. "You’re not going to win by staying silent, either. You’re the captain of this team. Whether you like it or not, your image matters."

The room fell silent as other players watched our exchange with interest and caution. This was more than just about making a statement; it was about leadership and accountability.

Ryker stared at me for a long moment, his face an unreadable mask of frustration and anger.

The air felt charged with unspoken words and unresolved tensions as we faced off in that crowded locker room, each waiting for the other to give in first.

The silence stretched, tension crackling between us like static electricity. I refused to back down, despite the weight of Ryker’s glare bearing down on me. This was a power struggle—he wasn’t used to being told what to do, especially by someone in my position. But I couldn’t let him brush this off. The team’s reputation hung in the balance.

"You think you know how to fix things?" Ryker demanded, his voice a low growl. "You leave more of a wreck than before you get there. Everything you touch crumbles."

His words hit like a slap. I squared my shoulders, refusing to let him see how deeply they cut. "What happened between me and Brendan is none of your business," I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady. "There are things you don't know?—"

"Bullshit," he interrupted, sneering. He took a step closer, looming over me. My heart skipped at the proximity, a mix of fear and something else that made my pulse quicken. Ryker Kane was an enigma—both alluring and intimidating, like hot ice. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I was afraid I'd get burned.

I glanced away, remembering the aftermath of Brendan's betrayal and even now, with Ryker losing it on a fan. The memory was enough to douse any flicker of curiosity with a bucket of cold water.

"Regardless of what you think," I said, lifting my chin to meet his gaze head-on, "you need to let me do my job. And if I mess up, fine. I'll be fired and then your life will be so much better without me."

His eyes darkened further, but he didn’t move back. "You really think it’s that simple? This isn’t about making mistakes, Paige. This is about responsibility."

"And I'm taking responsibility," I replied firmly. "I know what's at stake here, more than you realize."

Finally, Ryker let out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone making it clear he was far from happy about it. “But I’m not sugarcoating anything.”

I nodded, feeling a small sense of victory despite his obvious displeasure. “I’ll write up the statement,” I said, keeping my voice calm despite the tension still simmering between us. “You’ll have final approval. And I'll want to know what happened. The truth."

He said nothing more, turning his attention back to his teammates, the conversation clearly over as far as he was concerned.

I walked away, the weight of the crisis still heavy on my shoulders, but at least now I had a starting point. This wouldn’t be the last difficult conversation I’d have with Ryker, but for now, it was enough.

I headed toward the front of the room, feeling dozens of eyes on me. The players were anxious, their faces twisted into both worry and defiance. They needed reassurance—something solid to cling to in this storm.

Taking a deep breath, I faced them head-on. “All right everyone,” I began, projecting as much confidence as I could muster. “We’re going to get through this.”

The room quieted down further as all eyes fixed on me. This was my chance to set the tone for how we’d handle this crisis.

“We’re putting together a unified statement,” I continued. “One that addresses what happened and reassures our fans and sponsors that we are taking this seriously.”

A few nods of agreement rippled through the crowd. Good—they were listening.

“I need everyone’s cooperation,” I said firmly. “We can’t afford any more slip-ups or rogue comments to the press. This is about protecting our team and our reputation.”

A murmur of assent moved through the players. The tension began to ease just slightly.

“We’ll be in touch with each of you individually for your statements,” I added, locking eyes with a few of them to emphasize my point. “Stick to what we discuss and don’t go off-script. But I would like to know your side — the truth. If there's anything that you're hiding, anything that might bite us in the butts, I need to know so I can get ahead of it and protect the team. All of us. Together."

With that, I turned and left the locker room, feeling both relieved and exhausted by the confrontation. There was still so much work to do, but at least now we had a plan in motion.

As I made my way back to my office, my phone buzzed with incoming messages. Even my mom wanted to know how I was doing.

I couldn't even respond to that. I didn't have the time or the emotional bandwidth to handle her right now.

No time for hesitation; it was time to roll up my sleeves and get to work again.

I sat down at my desk, the weight of the morning’s events pressing down on me. The office felt like a hiding place, a brief respite from the chaos outside. But as I opened my laptop and began drafting Ryker’s statement, I knew this was just the beginning of a long, grueling PR battle.

The words came slowly at first. Each sentence had to be precise, every word chosen carefully to convey remorse without admitting fault. It was a tightrope walk, balancing honesty with damage control.

“ Given the recent events, I deeply regret my actions ,” I typed, imagining Ryker’s voice saying the words. “ My behavior was unacceptable and does not reflect the values of our team. ”

I paused, chewing on my lip. Would he actually say this? Would he even mean it? My fingers hovered over the keys, hesitating before continuing.

“ I take full responsibility for my actions and am committed to making amends. I apologize to my teammates, our fans, and the organization for any embarrassment or disappointment this incident has caused. ”

I sighed.

I needed the truth.

Why had they been in a fight in the first place?

I pinched my nose, sighing again.

Would Ryker even tell me?

And, even if he did, could I trust it to be the actual truth?