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CHAPTER 3

DECK

THIS STOOL IS IN MY BUSINESS

Monday morning I headed into practice and was immediately cornered by Coach Merritt. “Get suited up and then head into the office next to mine,” he said, his tone every bit as friendly as ever—meaning not at all friendly.

“Uh, okay…” I wanted to ask why, but I didn’t want to get my head bit off.

“The PR consultant is in there.”

“Oh.”

Great.

I headed for the locker room and then did as I was told, stepping into the small office, which was mostly dark. There was someone in there, but she was hard to see since a huge ring light stood between me and her.

“Hey, hi,” I said. “Coach told me to come in and… uh… help?”

“Oh, hi, yes.” There was a clatter as the woman I couldn’t quite see dropped something to the floor and leaned down to pick it up.

“Do you need help?”

“No, no,” she sounded flustered, and I felt a little sorry for her. “I’ve got it. Just have a seat there, okay?”

“Sure.” I looked at the stool set in front of the glaring light. There was a microphone on top of it, one of those tiny ones people pinned to their shirts. “The mic?”

“Oh yeah, you’re going to talk into that while I record,” she said, not looking at me. She was gathering papers together onto the clipboard she’d dropped.

“So I just… hold this microphone here?” I asked, perching on the stool that felt about thirteen sizes too small squeezed between my butt cheeks. Shouldn’t they have sized this interview setup for hockey players? Seeing as how they were going to be interviewing… hockey players?

“Yep, perfect. Just like that.” The new team PR consultant nodded from where she stood on the other side of the ring light currently blazing in my eyes.

The stool felt a bit as if it was becoming a part of me, a new appendage attached in a place I most definitely didn’t need to be introducing a new item.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I stood? This stool is a bit invasive.”

“The stool?” The woman asked. “Invasive?”

“Yeah, my butt… listen, never mind. I’m gonna stand, okay?” I pushed the stool back and stood, holding the microphone awkwardly. “Okay. Perfect. Are you going to ask me questions?”

“Uh, right. Questions. Okay.” The new PR consultant the team had brought in did not—in my humble opinion—appear to know a good goddamned thing about PR. Not that I was an expert, but this lady hadn’t even introduced herself yet. She looked like a deer in headlights (a very fit deer in headlights—seriously, even with the bright light in my eyes I could see she had guns some of the guys on the team would envy. I wanted to ask her about her protein supplementation strategy, but that would have to wait.)

“What’s your name again?” I asked her now.

“Lizzy Canfield.”

“Okay, Lizzy. Well, I’ve got practice in a minute and kinda need to get going, so let’s do the questions, okay?”

She nodded, shuffling through a bunch of note cards in her hands.

“So you’re?—”

“Deck Gillespie. Left wing for the Wombats.”

“Right. And this is your?—”

“Third season.”

“Tell me about your childhood, Deck. Did you always know you wanted to play pro hockey?”

That was actually a funny question, but I couldn’t tell her that.

In my country, hockey wasn’t a sport you could play, thanks to the sweltering heat and general lack of square footage. No, hockey was pretty much the dividing line between my former life and my current one. The line had been drawn when I was only ten and I was pretty intent on keeping it firmly in place.

“Yep, pretty much from the beginning. I was playing for a travel team here in Virginia when I was twelve.”

“And… you’re from Colorado originally? Or Virginia? My notes aren’t clear.”

“Colorado is close enough.” Ha, not even close. Another question I couldn’t answer truthfully.

“So your family is supportive of your career?”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m here now.”

Lizzy’s eyebrows went up and a strange look crossed her pretty face.

She was pretty, I noticed, now that my eyes had adjusted a little bit and she’d stepped closer to the camera aimed at me. Long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Pouty dark-painted lips, and wide dark eyes. And then there was the body. I’d always been partial to women who looked like they could potentially kick my ass. It created a fun dynamic in other wrestling-type activities. Not that Lizzy and I would be partaking in any of those together.

Also, Lizzy was basically a coworker, and the team had a strict no fraternization rule. Plus, she was a distraction. In my opinion, this whole PR thing was a distraction, but I was not going to argue.

“So what do you bring to the Wombats?” she asked me now.

“Power, speed. Good looks. Charisma,” I laughed.

“And your intention is to stay on the team for the foreseeable future?”

“Um. Yes. Wait, why? Did you hear something?” That question made me nervous. Was I being cut? Traded? Had Dad finally succeeded at working some kind of deal to get me fired?

“No, of course not. Just trying to drive at your commitment.”

“I’m committed,” I assured her, maybe a little too vehemently. I checked my watch, realizing I was going to be late for practice if we didn’t wrap this up. And being late was not how I wanted to demonstrate my commitment. “Lizzy? I’m gonna have to catch you later. Practice and all.”

“Of course. Thanks, Declan.”

I handed Lizzy the microphone back, and was halfway out of the room when I realized she’d used my full name. Which I definitely had not told her. Of course, it was probably on the official roster, but everyone in the states called me Deck.

Weird.

And those questions… If these were the kinds of things the public relations effort was going to focus on, it was not going to make us a household name. Maybe the subject of some biting jokes or recommended nap time fodder for infants…

“Deck! You’re late!” Coach hollered.

“Your PR lady,” I explained, pointing a thumb behind me as I hustled toward the locker room.

The coach rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

I laced my skates and stepped out onto the ice with the rest of the Wombats for practice. I just needed to keep my nose clean, my history hidden, and my record impressive. Pretty little PR ladies with pouty lips were definitely not my concern.