“We have to.”
“Zee, they make you look like a prick. You can’t even talk about Active Minds without them changing the subject to who you’re fucking or fighting.” Maddison stands from the table in frustration.
I’m frustrated too. I don’t give a shit if they want to talk about my personal life, but it would be nice if the media would mention the good things I do for the community too. Most people don’t know I’m half the face of our foundation. They assume that it’s Maddison’s charity because it fits the whole nice, family guy image. It wouldn’t make much sense for the media’s narrative that I’m this asshole who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but also happens to be the co-founder of a charity for underprivileged youth suffering from mental illness.
“We aren’t doing this anymore. I’m tired of everyone thinking you’re this dick who doesn’t have feelings. The way they talk about you, Zee...” Maddison makes his way to the door of the conference room, shaking his head.
“I don’t have feelings,” I quickly counter. “At least not until June when I’m holding that Stanley Cup and a new extended contract in my hands.”
“You don’t have feelings?” Maddison asks, unconvinced. “You cried while watching Coco with Ella. You have fucking feelings, man. You should start letting people know.”
“Don’t use Coco against me! That shit was sad!” I stand from my seat, following him to the locker room to get suited up for our game. “That song at the end? It gets me every time.”
As soon as my ass hits my seat on the airplane for our flight home, I melt into it with a sigh. That loss was brutal, and I played like shit. I wasn’t focused tonight, and I take full responsibility for that.
I didn’t expect for us to take an L so soon. In fact, I figured we would go at least ten games without putting a tally in the loss column. That’s how good we are. But tonight just wasn’t our night.
It’s a long season, though. We’ll be fine.
My phone dings in my pocket, and I pull it out as the rest of the team boards the plane, finding two texts waiting for me. I reluctantly open the first one from my agent.
Rich: EZ, my guy. I had a girl waiting for you outside of the locker room tonight, and you blew right past her. It would’ve been a prime time for the media to get some pictures of you two leaving the arena. What’s up with that?
In frustration, I stretch my neck and blow out a deep exhale. I can get my own girls, and it happens plenty without Rich setting it up for me. The media gets the whole man-whore thing. I don’t need to act it out. That was evident by our pre-game interview with the Chicago Tribune when we couldn’t get two words in about hockey or our charity.
After the shitty loss and hearing about my mother twice in twenty-four hours, I wasn’t in the mood to add fuel to the fire. Most of North America knows that I’m a playboy. Taking a night off isn’t going to change my image and therefore lose me my contract next season.
Ignoring Rich, I move on to my next text. My expression completely shifts, contrary to the frustrated one I’ve been sporting all night.
“Your wife texted me.” I nudge Maddison to show him the text and picture Logan sent me.
It’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in a while. My unbiological niece, Ella Jo, is posted up about two feet away from their TV, her necked craned and her eyes glued to the screen watching our game. The big-ass bow somewhat tames the crazy hair on her head, but the best part is the jersey she’s wearing. She’s sporting number eleven, with “UNCLE ZEE” stitched right there on the back.
Logan: Do not show my husband this. He will kill me for letting her wear this, but I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing your favorite girl wearing your number.
“What the fuck?” Maddison says in shock, seeing his three-year-old daughter decked out in someone else’s jersey other than his.
Three little dots dance along my screen before another text from Logan rolls in.
Logan: And since you love to piss my husband off, I assume you’re showing him right now.
She knows us both way too well.
Logan: Hi, baby. I love you. Please don’t kill me.
Maddison finally laughs.
“If Ella was wearing that shit tonight, it’s no wonder we lost.” A smug smile slides across his lips as he leans back and laces his hands together, contently resting them on his stomach.
“Dick,” I mutter with a smile.
“Asshole.”
“Are you guys ready for your exit row briefing?”
I send Logan a quick response, thanking her for the picture of Ella in my jersey before I give Stevie my full attention.
This is my newest tactic to get under her skin. She wanted my attention last time? Well, from now on, I’m gonna hang on every word she has to say, and it’s going to be awkward as fuck.
“Yes, please!” I tuck my phone away and cross my hands in my lap, sitting forward in anticipation.
Her head jerks at my eager response, her brows furrowed as she looks at me, puzzled.
Maddison snickers next to me, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
“Okay...” she drags out the word in confusion.
Stevie continues to explain how the window exit works if we need to use it in case of emergency, though she’s much quicker this time than last. I assume because she’ll be repeating this to us every flight for the remainder of the season.
I enthusiastically nod at every little thing she has to say, but whenever her blue-green eyes find mine, they narrow in annoyance.
“Are you willing and able to help in case of an emergency?” she asks both Maddison and me.
“Yes,” Maddison quickly answers.
Me? Not so much.
“Question,” I begin. “How exactly do I open the window again?”
Maddison shakes his head, but his chest moves with a silent laugh.
Stevie takes a deep breath, I’m sure in frustration, before she repeats what she’s already told me. “Remove the plastic placard, pull the red handle inward, and release. The window will lock against the aircraft.”
I nod my head repeatedly. “I see. I see. And when do I open it?”
Stevie inhales sharply, and I can no longer contain the sly grin on my lips. This shit is fun.
“When instructed by a crew member to do so.”
“And how—”
“For fuck’s sake, Zanders! Are you willing and able to help in case of an emergency or not?”
I can’t help but break into a laugh. I already feel ten times better than I did when I left the arena.
Thankfully, a smile pulls at Stevie’s mouth even though she’s trying to contain it. She presses her full lips together, trying to bite it back, but finally, a laugh escapes her.
“Yeah, I’m willing and able,” I resign with a big-ass smile on my face as I lean back in my chair.
She shakes her head in amusement. “I need a new job,” she mutters before walking away.