Page 20 of Conrad

“Everybody has a bad day.”

“Try a bad month. Sheesh, if I were coach, I . . . well, I don’t want to jinx the ice, but . . .” Dropping his breezers, he stepped out of them, pulled off his jersey and pads, then headed for the showers, grabbing a towel on the way.

Ten minutes later, he emerged, towel at his hips, his clothes in their mesh bag, which he dropped into the hamper, still steamed at the game.

Although, the chilly shower had cut his anger into mere frustration.

Until he spotted Blade, the rookie, talking with a female reporter.

In their locker room.

He walked over, not caring that he might be in the shot. “You’re supposed to stay in the designated interview area.”

Justin looked at him, back at the reporter, flashed her a grin. “The old man is worried about you seeing all his saggy parts?—”

And that was it. Conrad put a hand over the camera, shoved it down and away, and looked at the woman. Couldn’t remember her name, although he’d seen her before.Wait.“Ava. You know better. Team rules—media stays in the media area—” He pointed to a space on the far side of the room, behind the showers.

She held up the mic. “Wanna respond to Blade’s stellar performance out there tonight? Or maybe your time in the penalty box?”

He turned his back to her, put a hand on Justin’s chest. “You know better too.”

Justin slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me, old man.”

Old. man?

He dropped his hand, took a step into Justin’s face, lowered his voice. “Listen, pup. Respect your team.”

Justin’s jaw tightened, and he shot a glance behind him, then took a breath and backed away.

Conrad rounded back to the reporter. But the movement, of course, jostled his towel, and he got a hand on it just before it unlatched.

Ava’s mouth twitched.

“Did you not hear me?”

She narrowed her eyes but gestured with her head for her cameraman to follow her.

Conrad stood, a hand on his towel, watching until they retreated.

He got a couple high fives as he returned to the locker area. Wyatt had also returned, his hair wet, wearing a pair of jeans, barefoot, bare chested.

“Thanks, man. That’s not the first time she’s pushed the edge. Apparently, she thinks rules don’t apply to her.”

Conrad pulled on pants, then reached for a T-shirt, his chest a little less tight.

Wyatt closed his locker, holding his jacket in one hand. “See you at Sammy’s?”

“Dunno. Maybe.” Although, maybe he needed to spend some time in the darkness of his home theater, rewatching the game.

Rewiring his reactions.

He sat, pulled on his boots, tied up his laces, and looked up to see a few of the guys now meeting with media in the designated area. His contract stated that he needed to stop in, offer himself up like a tasty morsel after every game. Even Wyatt stopped by, now cornered by a different female sportscaster, probably pinning him down on the two goals he’d let slip by, completely ignoring his twenty-plus shots-on-goal saves.

That’s how it was though. The reporters only wanted to talk about the worst. Or—and he spotted Justin, talking again with Ava—the best.

No, not the best. Justin had gotten lucky, taken advantage of his moment in the spotlight while Conrad had sat out with his line for a breather.

Whatever.He had his moment in the sun.

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