Page 116 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

My legs feel unsteady as I follow her to a smaller room. The door opens, and there they are.

“Son!” Dad pulls me into a hug. “We couldn’t miss this. Your first big television interview.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” I manage.

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Gramps says, his weathered hands gripping my shoulders. “We’re proud of you, boy. You’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.”

Tanaka steps forward, extending his hand. “Jason. I thought I should be here to support one of my players. This is a big moment for the team.”

The room feels too small, the air too thin. All three of them are looking at me with such pride, such expectation. They think they’re here to watch me talk about survival and hockey and getting back to normal.

They have no idea what I’m planning to say.

“Are you nervous?” Dad asks, straightening my tie. “Don’t be. Be yourself. Tell them how you battled the elements on that island. Show them what a real hockey player looks like.”

“The Blizzards are lucky to have you,” Tanaka adds.

My throat feels like it’s closing. “I should get back...”

“We’ll be watching from here,” Gramps says. “We can’t wait to see our boy on national television.”

I stumble, my limbs awkward and unsteady. They’re here. They’re all here.

They’re expecting Jason Larvik, the straight hockey player. The one who keeps his head down and his mouth shut about anything controversial.

But that’s not who I am anymore.

Finally, I return to the interview room, and Cal walks in.

He’s not the Cal I remember from the island or who visits me in my apartment. He’s wearing a blazer and a shirt buttoned all the way up. He even wears a bowtie.

His eyes lock on mine, and my heart glows.

This is why I’m here.

He gives me a perfunctory nod and a shy smile that makes me want to topple into his arms.

He walks toward me, clothed in his news reporter style.

“You didn’t have to do this.” He angles his body away from the cameras, so his words are just for me.

“I wanted to.”

The floor manager starts counting us down from ten.

Cal takes his seat opposite me.

The producer narrows her gaze, and I remember I’m supposed to look at his camera.

Not, well, his socks or something.

Even though everything about Cal is fascinating. Even though everyone is an idiot if they haven’t noticed. Even though Cal should have been locked down long ago, an engagement ring slid over his finger and moved into his dream house.

I’m so fucking lucky I met him.

And I try to focus on that, my gratitude, as the red light flicks on. We’re on air. Live.

Cal looks straight into the lens.