Page 32 of Home of the Brave

“We all want to win.” I finally answered. What other motivation was there? Pride was the only thing at stake. There was no money or Stanley Cup waiting for us, so this was just about bragging rights.

The corners of her lips turned down, but she quickly recovered. “Exactly.” She turned back to the camera and smiled for a moment before sucking in a breath and spinning around. “Thanks, guys.”

“Sure,” Hartman replied. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” He was moving to the camerawoman while Schultz hung back by me, staring me down.

“I’m Cambrie.” They shook hands, and he grinned.

“You guys have a fun set-up,” he told her before looking at Victoria. “See you both later.”

He walked off, leaving Schultz and me to follow as Micah and Dante took our place. Once we went down the hall toward the exit, he turned into an empty storage room and waved us in.

I felt myself tense as he shut the door and slowly turned to face me. “That’s the second time.”

Schultz crossed his arms and angled himself so he could also glare at me. “You’re making it really awkward.”

“I told you I’d bring this up with Abrams, but I waited to see if it was a fluke.” Hartman was using his captain’s voice, the strong and authoritative one that I rarely had directed at me. “It wasn’t.”

There was no getting out of this room without telling them, so I leaned back against the only table. “She wrote about me.”

“Well, she’s a journalist, so––” Schultz started, but I cut him off.

“My rookie year,” I continued, and he grimaced.

“That was a long time ago,” Hartman stated as if I’d forgotten.

“Some words can't be forgotten,” I rubbed my jaw. “She came for one practice and one game; I didn't even get to play. Between Olli and Derek, I barely even dressed out that season.”

I only moved up to backup when Olli got hurt, but still didn’t even play more than a few games.

“She was spotlighting a bunch of players from my draft year. I only got a paragraph compared to the pages she wrote for some of the other guys, but she crammed in as many insults as she could.” I really hated that I still got angry over this. “I’ve had bad things written about me before. We all have. But it felt personal. She interviewed me for like two hours, then turned around and said I’d never be a starter. That the league was in desperate need of goalies, and someone better would quickly replace me in the next year or two.”

“Dang,” Schultz shook his head. “That’s messed up.”

Hartman stayed quiet, so I continued to explain. “I’m not sure why it stayed with me when other journalists have said dumb things about me. Maybe because it felt like she actually took the time to get to know me as a person before deciding I was trash?”

“She must have been young then too. Just starting out.”

“She said it was her first big piece,” I admitted.

“So maybe she felt like she had something to prove too.”

I didn’t like his trying to defend her. “So cutting others down is the way to do it?”

“No, absolutely not, but you can’t tell me you never did something stupid or that you regret when you were twenty-two.”

“Sure, I made mistakes, but I never blasted someone else.” I was getting too worked up over something that didn’t really matter, but it was too late. “She has no idea that her words made me feel inferior and like an imposter for years. That it shook me to my core and left me second-guessing myself and whether I’d lose my spot on the team every time I missed a save.” I put my hand over my chest. “I had anxiety over being called into the GM’s office every single day, waiting for them to tell me they had found my replacement.”

“Henson,” Hartman started, but I shook my head.

“I know it was one stupid article. I know it didn’t mean anything, and she turned out to be wrong, but she pushed herself up in her career by stepping on guys like me.”

“Why didn't you say something to her?” Schultz asked quietly.

“Because she doesn’t even seem to remember!” I let out a humorless laugh. “I avoided her during the Olympics, and she didn’t notice. She interviewed everyone, players from other countries, but completely missed that she never once spoke to the starting goalie. Then here, she asked me a repetitive question that made me sound like an idiot, and she doesn’t even remember me. She haunted me for years! Messed with my head, and she doesn't remember.”

Hartman let out a long sigh, and Schultz moved to lean on the table beside me. “Wow.”

“That’s pretty messed up,” Hartman finally admitted.