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You’ve got this, Dani.
Leaning toward the microphone a tad, I say, “Good evening. And welcome to the Adam Norcross Charitable Foundation Kickoff Gala hosted by Brienne Norcross and”—my voice rises to a crescendo—“your very own Pittsburgh Titans hockey team!”
The ballroom erupts into thunderous applause and I wait several seconds for it to fade. I smile out at the shadowed audience and when it quiets again, I continue. “I know everyone is excited to be here, but some of you might be wondering who the heck I am. My name is Danica Brandt, and my husband Mitch was a Titan. I lost him when he went down with the plane on February 20 of last year.”
It’s so silent in the ballroom that it almost feels surreal. With the audience in the shadows and no noise whatsoever, it’s easy to believe I’m all alone.
But I’m not.
“I’m the director of the Adam Norcross Charitable Foundation because somehow, Brienne thought I’d be great for the job.” I twist my neck to look at Brienne offstage and she grins at me. Turning back to the crowd, I say, “It was a big leap of faith. I had no higher education and no work skills. I was a mom first and foremost, and Mitch was the breadwinner.” I take a breath and rather than look at the index cards, I push them to the side. “After Mitch died, I was utterly lost. Not only was I mourning, but I had a grief-stricken son to support, emotionally and financially. Sure… we received life insurance proceeds and the Titans generously fulfilled Mitch’s contract through the end of the year. We had some retirement accounts, but those were off-limits. And… we did what a lot of professional athletes who make good money do. We lived a grand lifestyle. But here I was with limited financial means that would dwindle fast, so I had to make quick, sharp decisions. The only problem was, I had no clue where to turn. I couldn’t even fathom what I needed to do.
“Now, I’m a lucky woman because Brienne—who I met in a support group for those of us who lost loved ones in the crash—stepped in and guided me all the way, not just in giving me a job but in helping me figure out how to survive on my own with a young son. She helped many of the widows in the same way. Throughout the months following the crash, Brienne realized there was a great need for a charitable organization to help widows and widowers who’ve lost the main income-earning person in their family. It was through these talks and meeting with other survivors that Brienne formed a vision, and here we are now.”
I glance around again knowing I can’t make eye contact with anybody because it’s too dark. I hope they all feel exactly how important Brienne is to me. “I wouldn’t be standing before you tonight if it weren’t for Brienne Norcross. She single-handedly brought this team back from extinction. She made it viable and provided this city with a new roster of players who have energized and invigorated the nation.
“But she’s so much more than that. I am lucky to call her my friend, my employer and one of the best people I know. If everyone will please join me in welcoming Brienne Norcross to the stage.”
I feel the wave of people as they get to their feet, their applause almost deafening. Brienne glides onstage waving out at the crowd as she moves toward me. She takes me by the shoulders and kisses my cheek, whispering, “That was fucking fantastic.”
Relief and giddiness wash through me as I realize my part is done and I can enjoy the evening. “Knock ’em dead.”
Brienne’s remarks are inspiring, and I wait for her offstage with Drake who appeared sometime when I was at the podium. When she exits, the lights come on and the servers file out with the salad course. There will be speakers throughout the evening while everyone eats, the goal for our guests to open their wallets and donate. We’re using a fundraiser app that donors can download at the tables to make their pledges. After the food, there will be music and dancing.
Drake puts his hand around the back of Brienne’s neck and pulls her in for a soft kiss. “You were amazing, Ms. Norcross.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. McGinn,” she says with a flirty bump of her hip against his.
Putting his arm around Brienne’s back, Drake says, “You were great, too, Danica. Very moving.”
“Thank you,” I reply, always a little in awe of the big goalie who looks like he eats nails for breakfast but is a total teddy bear with Brienne.
“Well, shall we eat?” Brienne asks. We say our goodbyes and head off in different directions to find our tables. As I wind my way through, I purposely glance over to where I know Camden has been seated, but he’s not there. Frowning, I look left and right, wondering if a mistake was made in the seating or even worse, maybe he didn’t come.
When I reach my table, I release a tiny huff of disappointment only to have my attention taken by someone standing there.
It’s Camden.
And oh my God, does he look incredible. It’s not just the tuxedo but he shaved and his hair is tamed, and while I don’t like that as much as scruffy Camden, the clean-cut version is very, very nice.
“What are you doing here?” I ask because this is most certainly not his table.
He shrugs and moves to pull out the chair next to me. “I go where I’m told and Brienne’s assistant said this was my seat.”
“Oh,” I murmur in confusion and settle into my chair. Camden helps me scoot it in and then takes his seat again. “Okay.”
I glance around the table and note no other players here. I don’t know a single person, although I met the older gentleman with snow-white hair sitting across from me earlier with Brienne.
We make introductions and everyone congratulates me on my position and my opening remarks. But the table is large and the room is loud with all the chatter, so one-on-one conversations are hard except with the people next to you.
I talk to a lovely lady to my left throughout the salad course. She’s a retired cardiac surgeon at UPMC and her late husband was good friends with Brienne’s father. While I’m talking to her, I’m happy to note the rest of the table engaged with one another. That includes Camden, who is talking to a very beautiful woman sitting on his other side. Granted, she’s in her mid- to late-forties, but she’s exquisite and that age gap truly doesn’t mean a thing. I push down the spark of jealousy, knowing he’s only being polite.
I think that’s all he’s being.
When the waitstaff comes to take away our bowls, Camden covers his mouth as if wiping it clean with his napkin and leans toward me. He says in a low voice that only I can hear, “You look amazing tonight.”
My face heats with the compliment, and I hate that it also reassures me, which means I had a moment of doubt. Maybe it’s natural for me to feel insecure. It’s been a long time since I’ve dated and I have a vague recollection of apprehension at the start with Mitch. Of course we were teenagers and pretty stupid, but I imagine some of it applies here.
The remainder of the dinner is a bit of a blur. The food is delightful and the conversation at the table waxes and wanes as we listen to various speakers. Two other Titans widows share their stories, and Brienne invited the widow of a US soccer player to speak as well. Her story is fascinating because she has a disability that prevents her from working and so an organization such as this can really give her a helping hand.
