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“So, I have decided to green-light this project. The filmmakers have asked for the men here to sit for in-depth interviews. While the film crew will have access to the team as a whole, there are obviously key people in this organization who are indispensable to our success. That is all of you sitting here.”
Gage clears his throat. “How long will this go on?”
“Good question,” Brienne says with an acknowledging nod. “They’re probably going to film at least up until a few weeks after our season ends, whenever that may be. Much of it will be filming the team, but they’re going to want individual interviews with you all.”
She looks around to see if there are any questions.
“None of you have to do this,” she says when it remains silent.
And then, it’s not silent.
One man stands from his chair and says, “I’m out.”
It’s Coen Highsmith, the team captain and one of the few not on the ill-fated plane. I feel the tension in the room as everyone watches him.
He doesn’t say anything else, though, merely walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Brienne is completely unflustered. “As I was saying… this is not required of you, and your position on this team will not be affected one way or the other. I would personally love to see each of you do this because I think you are all pivotal to this team. I want you to look back on this documentary one day and remember your role in all this. I’m going to let you think about it, and if you can give me an answer by week’s end, that would be great. They want to start filming sooner rather than later.
“For those who may not know, this is Jenna Holland, and she is going to be the liaison between the organization and the filmmakers.”
I wasn’t expecting the introduction, and I have to force myself not to adjust the scarf around my neck.
I have to force myself to smile and look around the room at everyone.
While I think most are smiling back, I can’t tell because I’m too afraid to focus on their features.
Afraid of what I might see.
It’s Gage who slides his leg over and bumps his knee against mine. I don’t acknowledge it with anything more than a rush of pent-up breath being let out, but I get his message. It says he knows I’m nervous, and he’s right beside me.
At least, that’s how I choose to interpret it. Otherwise, he’s playing a weird game of footsie with me under the table.
I hold up my hand in a brief wave. “Hi. I’ll shoot you all an email with my contact information since I’ll be helping coordinate schedules for your interviews.”
“And Jenna will be handling all media associated with this,” Brienne tacks on, “so if you or your agent is contacted about it, you should refer them directly to Jenna. She’ll send you releases to sign. You may wish to have your agents and/or lawyers look them over. Our legal team has, but I’m not going to let them offer you advice. Your participation in this film is on an individual basis, even though you’re representing the team.”
One of the men raises his hand, a handsome guy I recognize as the starting goalie, Jesper Keane. “Are we getting paid to be in this film?” He flashes a cheeky grin at Brienne.
She laughs and shakes her head. “I pay you enough as it is. If you want extra money, go hunt down some endorsement deals.”
The guys all laugh, and Jesper says, “I’m in. I don’t need time to think about it.”
The other men rumble their assent, and Gage’s eyes come to me briefly before he looks to Brienne. “I’m in as well.”
Baden also accepts, and Brienne adjourns the short meeting. I stand from my chair, as do Baden and Gage.
It’s Baden who reaches out, squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll have Sophie text you about the party, okay?”
“Um…”
“You’re going,” he says, actually orders, and I frown at him. He shoots me a grin. “Yes, I’m going to push you out of your comfort zone, so deal with it.”
He’s gone before I can retort or decline or in any way be offended by his heavy-handedness. I also recognize he’s doing exactly what Emory did for me when I was in Arizona.
Pushing me toward potential.
“Tell me you’re going to the party,” Gage says from behind me, and I whirl around. I forgot he was standing there.
“Um…”
He puts his hand behind his ear, miming that he’s waiting to hear an affirmative answer.
I laugh and the only thing I’ll commit to is, “It’s a high likelihood.”
“Good,” he says with a broad smile. Why does he make my legs weak with just a smile? Is it because he’s asking me to be at the party? Is that more of my vanity being stroked?
