Page 57 of The Charlie Method

“What if I feed you the lines?”

A laugh flies out. “Are you serious?”

“Your father sent us some talking points, all right?” She looks as annoyed as I feel. “So just put on a solemn face and say this:As athletes, we know that a lot of young players and fans look up to us, and that’s something we take seriously—”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Just say it. And then say… How about…Hockey is a physical game, but it’s important to show young players that aggression should be kept within the rules and used in a controlled, respectful way.”

Through clenched teeth, I repeat her little speech back at her. And it’s ironic to pontificate about the need to rise above the violence when I’d like nothing more than to hit that camera out of that dude’s hands right now.

“Perfect. Thanks, William.”

“Will,” I mutter as she strides off.

Beckett, who’s been lurking nearby, joins me on the bench. His lips quirk at whatever he sees on my face.

“Save it for the ice,” he murmurs.

He knows me well.

I try to shut out the voices. Marjorie is now interviewing Austin Pope, a sophomore forward, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He keeps fidgeting with the microphone on his jersey until Marjorie finally snaps, “Stop that.”

The woman recovers fast, taking a calming breath before donning her professional journalist voice.

“So, Austin,” she says. “You played for Team USA in the World Juniors last year?”

“Yeah.”

“How did it feel to represent your country in such a prestigious event?”

Austin blinks. “I dunno. I, uh, I just, you know, played hockey.”

Someone snickers.

“That wasn’t the question, Pope,” someone else calls out.

“Sorry, what was the question?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t like interviews. Sorry. Can I just go now?” He glances at me with a silent plea for help.

I feel my patience reaching its breaking point. This is supposed to be our time to get in the zone, not to play nice for my father’s PR machine.

Marjorie gives up, unclipping Pope’s mic and walking over to Ryder, who looks like he wants to murder me.

She introduces herself and practically forces the mic on his collar.

“Any pregame rituals you swear by?” she asks him.

Ryder shrugs. “Started listening to whale sounds this season. My wife is really into that stuff.”

The whole room erupts in laughter, and even I have to bite back a grin. The sad thing is he’s not even messing with her. Gigi is obsessed with soundscapes and got Ryder into them. He claims it helps him focus and relax.

Coach returns a few minutes later. His gaze falls on the camera, and I swear I see the veins in his neck throbbing.

“Why are you still here?” he bites out. “Go away. I need to address my men before the game.”

Marjorie’s eyes light up, but her face doesn’t move. “A pep talk? Wonderful! I’d love to get it on film if—”

“Get out!” he roars. “Now.”

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