From what I know, it’s been his stock-in-trade his entire career. We might not run in the same circles—professional or social— but I’m still well aware of his reputation.
I’m a few reporters to his left, back a bit so he doesn’t catch me in his peripheral vision. I don’t want him to notice me. Thelast thing I need is for him to work out who I am and aim that devious smirk my way. Best to keep out of his line of sight.
Not that I should be worried. He didn’t recognize me before when he was sizing me up as a threat and now he’s got his eyes glued to the front of the room.
On Higgison I think.
As I move closer, questions are tossed out about the game, the team, the coaching staff being inexperienced, and being two games into pre-season with two wins under their belt. My brain is cataloguing some possible bites when Draper shouts above everyone else.
“Beckett, you’ve played for Calgary, Montreal, and the last five years Toronto. Now you’re here with the league’s newest, and some would say most controversial, franchise team, the Baton Rouge Rogues.”
“Right?” Higgison nods with a frown, obviously not hearing the question and I don’t blame him, I don’t hear one either. It sounds like Draper is reading the man’s bio.
Draper grins and I’m stepping closer, my body coiling tight, bracing for what, I don’t have a clue, when the next words out of his mouth stop me in my tracks and send my gaze whipping to the man at the front of the room.
“How is it no one knows you have a kid?”
There’s a collective gasp, heads turn, and the team officials spread around the room snap to attention, but nothing comes from Higgison. His stony gaze is on the man to my right, and if looks could kill that’s the one.
It’s razor sharp and ice cold.
I can’t help the shiver that raises goosebumps all over my body. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that look.
Higgison shakes his head slightly and says, “I’m not sure where you get your info?—”
“It’s right here.” Draper waves his phone above his head. “An Instagram post from WhitHigg, a high school senior. It’s a pic of the Rogues on the ice after tonight’s final horn and thecaption reads ‘So proud of my dad, leading his new team the Baton Rouge Rogues to victory. Winning their way to the cup!’ with a bunch of hashtags and two account tags. You and the Rogues.”
I rack my brain trying to recall who on the team has kids, teenagers specifically, and what their names are. I can’t think of anyone with a teenager and the look on Higgison’s face tells me I won’t.
Higgison shakes his head. “No idea?—”
“Funny how the post was taken down moments later. And WhitHigg now seems to have switched their account to private.”
I can see the anger and fear in Higgison’s eyes, the greed and triumph stamped on Draper’s face, and as much as I’m clueless when it comes to reporting sports of any kind, never mind at a professional level, I’ve had a bit of an education in hockey the last few years thanks to my BFF and I’m a reporter. Questions are what I do, so I’m able to at least think up something to ask that will hopefully slow this speeding train down.
My phone is vibrating like crazy in my back pocket and, ignoring it because let’s be real, it can only be one of two people—or both of them—trying to reach me right now, I step forward.
Someone needs to stop this press conference from becoming a train wreck.
“Coach Alcott,” I call out, waving my hand to get everyone’s attention. “You must be pleased with how the team is shaping up. You’ve had your share of detractors since you took the job as head coach for the Rogues—do you feel vindicated now that your second outing proved the first wasn’t a fluke?”
Walker gives me a smile of relief before he answers. “The team played well tonight. The score reflects that, but there’s always room for improvement so we’ll be studying video footage, talking with coaches and players, before getting back on the ice to work on those areas. As for the detractors, everyone has an opinion—they’re entitled.”
I don’t miss the flick of his gaze to my right.
From the corner of my eye, I see a couple of security guardsflank Draper who’s still shouting questions and demanding answers from Higgison about WhitHigg.
And because everyone else in the room seems to be watching the action surrounding the reporter, I throw out another question in the hope of blocking out the drama unfolding because I’m pretty sure Draper just threw a punch which isn’t good, or is. That will definitely get him ejected from the room quicker.
“How are you finding the team off the ice, and by that, I mean the players, management, and the owner?”
There’s a flare of something hot in Walker’s gaze but he quickly masks it and smiles. “We’re a team from the ice to the front door. Everything is working like a well-oiled machine. Everyone here brings years of experience and the Rogues are benefiting from that. Our performance tonight demonstrated that with favorable results.”
I keep the questions rolling as the scuffle on my right increases. “Being a new franchise has to have put more pressure on you and your team. How are you dealing with that? On and off the ice?”
“We’re concentrating on what we do best. Hockey. Sure, there is an expectation that we’ll fail, but when you take it down to the bones, we’re all professionals and it’s our job to play hockey, coach it, maintain equipment, or run the administrative end of a professional hockey team, and that’s what we’re all dedicated to doing. It’s what we’ll continue to do, win or lose on the ice.”
“Coach!” A reporter closer to the front sticks his hand up, a mini recorder held out. “There are rumors of tension in the ranks, in particular surrounding the new owner, Oakley James, who somehow managed to get a franchise without any media attention or prior hockey experience. What do you say to those?”
