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I blew out a sigh. “So be it. Sometimes you have to stand up for what’s important. For what’s right. There’s no one like Molly. She deserves to be treated as one of the team.”
Turning off the recorder, Pete glanced down, then returned his eyes to me. “Is she really worth it? Losing everything?”
I shook my head. “You’re looking at it backassward, Pete. Standing behind Molly, we can never lose. She’s the future of our team. The coaches have to see that and act accordingly. If they don’t, they’ll never have a winning team.”
“Holy shit,” he exhaled.
I raised my chin. “Feel free to talk to the others. We’re all doing interviews.”
Pete shook his head in awe. “You guys are fucking renegades!” He pulled out the recorder again. “Okay, now tell me about that girl you’re always with.”
I batted the recorder away. “Fuck, no! No comment on her.”
Pete pouted. “But she wrote the article that brought this to everyone’s attention. Who is she to you?”
I glanced down. “Off the record, I’ve known her forever.” With my eyes darting up to him, I crowded him to the wall. “She’s an incredible journalist, so don’t you do anything fucking stupid like name her in terms of me. She should be recognized in her own right.”
He held up a hand. “Easy, big dog. I got it. Phoebe Garrison, investigative journalist. I won’t link the two of you if you don’t want to be.”
I pushed my index finger to his chest. “It’s not like that. Don’t be one of those dumbass reporters who runs a byline saying ‘friend of a Cavalier’s defenseman writes an article’ or some shit. She’s her own person. The fact that she’s been coming to my games since college you can mention, but right now we’re just friends.”
Pete gave me a knowing look. “Oh, I see.”
I narrowed my gaze and thrust my forearm into his neck. “You see what?”
His eyes bugged as his head bounced off the wall. “Nothing. I don’t see a fucking thing.”
I pulled back. “That’s better. You’d better be fair to her or you won’t want to see my reaction.”
He nodded, pressing his hand to his throat and coughing. “Got it.”
Leaving Pete behind, I milled around for another half hour doing interviews with various media, from bloggers to reporters. At the end, we did something akin to a press conference where we all stood together as a team and reporters asked more questions. We stood united and let our team captain field the questions.
When we were done, we went to the back room of Gilly’s for some time together but away from prying ears.
Milo looked around at us. “Has anyone heard anything from management?”
Damien stood at the end of the table. As our team captain, the hope was he knew something. “So, Coach bitched me out, as I expected, but I threw it back in his face. I asked if he thought they would know soon and he shot me a glare. So, I’m guessing that’s a no.”
“Just means we’ll have more time with our families,” Milo said, pulling out his phone.
Ilya stood. “I wasn’t trying to end our careers here. I know Molly doesn’t want that either. If you guys want to play, look for a way to be traded, or go elsewhere—”
“Fuck no!” Damien stood and slapped the table. “No way in hell. We stand with Molly!”
One by one, the guys stood and if we were close enough, we clapped Ilya on the back. It meant we were with him too.
While he rasped out his thanks, we all drank to Molly. She was the one truth we all had. We were nothing before her. So, now we waited for management to get their heads out of their asses.
But we wouldn’t let it put a damper on Christmas. Kiley and Ilya had a big celebration planned in the conference room of the rink. Maybe we’d even do a quick pick-up game with everyone else gone. It was insane how much I missed playing the game.
By the time I made it home an hour later, I saw the light on in the guest bedroom but the rest of the place was pitch dark.
I turned on a nearby lamp. “Raven? You here?”
“Oh, hey. I’m back here working.” she hollered back, popping her head around the corner. “What time is it?”
I grunted. “Eight. You busy?”
