Page 83 of Daddies on Ice

“The day before yesterday, but it’s gaining momentum fast. Look at the engagement numbers.” I point to likes, shares, and comments climbing into the thousands.

Carl leans forward, jaw tight. “This is coordinated. Someone’s feeding them information.”

“That’s what I think too. But here’s the thing, we might be able to turn this around.” I minimize the TikTok window and open my email. “I’ve been contacted by a production company about doing a docuseries on the Thunderwolves.”

The room goes silent except for the TV’s low murmur.

“A what now?” Jake asks, eyebrows raised.

“A documentary series. Behind the scenes, following the players, showing the real story.” I pull up the email. “They want to embed with us for the rest of this tour. Full access.”

“Absolutely not,” Carl says immediately. “We don’t need cameras making things worse.”

“But that’s just it,” I press. “This way, we control the narrative. Instead of letting anonymous TikTok accounts tell our story, we tell it ourselves. Show people who you really are.”

Ash shifts uncomfortably, wincing slightly. “Having cameras around all the time…that’s a lot of pressure. A lot of chances for screwups.”

“More pressure than what we’re dealing with now?” I ask. “We’re hemorrhaging public support. Ticket sales are down, sponsors are nervous. This could be our chance to show people the truth.”

Jake stares at the screen. “What kind of access? Everything?”

“We’d have some control. No locker rooms during certain times, no personal family stuff unless you agree, and we’d have approval over the final edit. They want to make good television, which means showing the whole story, including positive parts.”

Carl shakes his head. “Too many variables we can’t control.”

“Carl, with respect, we’re not controlling anything right now. At least this way, we have a seat at the table.”

The room falls silent. Then the TV cuts to breaking news.

“We’re getting word of an impromptu interview with a former Thunderwolves team member,” the anchor says.

My stomach drops as the screen switches to a reporter with a young man I recognize, Marcus Webb, cut from the team two seasons ago for attitude problems.

“It was like nothing I’d ever experienced,” Marcus says, looking directly into the camera. “They called it ‘team building,’ but it was torture. Rookies had to do things that could have killed us. Being locked in freezers, forced to drink until we passed out, physical abuse beyond normal hockey roughness.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jake says loudly, but I shush him.

“The veterans, especially the captain and older guys, acted like it was tradition. Like we had to earn our place by surviving their sick games.” Marcus’s voice shakes with apparent emotion. “Ireported it to management, and suddenly I was cut. They said performance issues, but I know the truth.”

The interview continues with increasingly outrageous hazing claims. When it ends, the room is dead silent.

Carl speaks first, voice low and dangerous. “That little shit. He was cut because he couldn’t skate worth a damn.”

“But people will believe him,” I say quietly. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. We’re letting other people control the story.”

Ash looks pale. “This is bad. Really bad.”

Jake starts pacing. “We have to respond. Tell people he’s lying.”

“And say what? That he’s a disgruntled former player? People expect us to say that.”

Carl stares at the TV screen. “The docuseries. Tell me more about it.”

I read through the details. “Six-part mini-series, following the team through the rest of the tour. Real day-to-day life such as practices, games, meetings, and some personal stuffifplayers are willing. The production company has a good reputation.”

“Timeline?” Carl asks.

“They want to start right away. There’s a small crew ready to travel with us.”