Page 94 of The Rebound Plan

Malik: I’m already at the arena having breakfast

Max: Also don’t forget that the press has more access today than usual

Jenson: Best behaviour for school photo day!

Ty: Stop trying to make fetch happen, Haler

Hayden: Don’t use twenty-five year old movie references, boomer

Ty: it’s not a… well, fuck you

I chuckle as I do a search for when Mean Girls was released. Then I drop a thumbs up response on every message except for Max’s, and head out the door.

Even though I know that the day I ran into her, Shannon was just visiting Ty’s empty penthouse upstairs—which remains empty for now—I still expect her to be on the elevator every time I call it.

In the same way she imprinted on my cottage, a single exchange of nothing more than names has seared her into my awareness here in my own fucking apartment, too.

Maybe it would be for the best if Tilman left for the new league.

Maybe I should call up the French billionaire and offer to blow him myself to make that happen.

The arena is attached to a mall that is attached to a convention centre, and the team photos are happening in both spaces, so there’s a parade of players going back and forth through the mall. Fans have turned out, and the team is managing that well, with posters and players signing for the public at posted times.

Despite Haler’s cute comparison to school photo day, there’s nothing quick about it. And it’s not just a single headshot, either.

They have a long list of still and video images they need for promotion throughout the season. Every time we score a goal, get a star of the game, pass a significant milestone, or anything along those same lines, a photo of us in this year’s uniform needs to be added to a graphic. The league also wants some photos.

It’s endless.

Some people get goofy with it, which is fun and fine. I tend to treat it as a straightforward task that is best accomplished as quickly as possible.

When I arrive at the arena, I head to the players’ lounge and find a few people have joined Zondi for breakfast, including Ty, who has brought Puck with him to work today.

“She likes to go on the ice,” he says with a grin.

I grab a banana. “That makes two of us.”

As I eat, I double check where I am on the schedule.

Signing in the mall first. Then back to the arena for the on the ice pictures and video. Then back to the convention centre for the green screen and isolated black backdrop stuff.

They could do it all at the arena, but by having us parade back and forth through the mall, it makes the day more interactive for fans. There’s no arguing that our PR team knows what they’re doing, so I just go where I’m told.

Fingers crossed, I’ll be finished by noon. Then I can get a workout in, and get home in time for a nap.

We’re only playing five pre-season games this year. Tomorrow is our third, and our final home game before the season opener. The last two games will be short day trips to Detroit and Buffalo, and almost certainly they’ll rest those of us who are going to be on the team coming opening day.

So tensions have eased, more or less, and the vibes are pretty good considering the shitty start we’ve had to the year.

I have a busier line than I expect at the signing table. A lot of BioPunk bottles. A few jerseys.

By the time I get to the convention centre for my last set of photos, I’m running on autopilot.

Sixteen years in, all of this start of the season stuff is pretty routine.

So I don’t hear the start of a whispered conversation about a Big Problem that has developed, but the second I hear Shannon’s name, I’m dialled in to the rest of it.

Apparently, Mabel is distressed that nobody knows where Max is and he's forgotten about an extra photo shoot—this one for the team foundation. Shannon's already there. The kids are already there, she says, and that's enough for me.

---