Page 14 of Total Shutdown

I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my drink as Coach answers a question from a female reporter.

Despite the room being packed with people and cameras, my attention drifts momentarily to Collins. I can’t lie and say she hasn’t been on my mind since that night a week ago, and the regret of only getting her last name and not her number has settled in my gut. That said, who am I kidding? I had to practically pry her identity from her, never mind getting her digits.

And what exactly would I message?

Hi there. Thanks for the one-time sex we shouldn’t be acknowledging. You told me it was adequate at best, but I can’t stop thinking about the way your mouth fell open when you came. I want to fuck you again sometime if that’s okay?

“Do you believe it’s achievable?”

I snap back to reality, registering only the last part of the reporter’s question.

“Sorry. Can you repeat that?” I ask with a headshake.

The reporter pauses and checks his notepad. “The playoffs—do you believe this loss will set you back in your pursuit to qualify, or do you believe it’s achievable?”

I fold my arms across my chest, throwing Coach a look.

“It’s not even November; we’re barely a month into the regular season. I’d argue it’s way too soon to start making calls on the playoffs.”

The reporter looks like he’s about to disagree, and I cut him off with a raised hand.

“There isn’t anything more to say. It was a ridiculous question thirty seconds ago, and it still is.” I run my gaze across the room. “Next question.”

All conversations fall silent as the reporters look between each other.

I take another sip of my drink, already done with this interview.

From the back, a red-haired male reporter raises his arm. I don’t recognize him as a regular in the mixed zone, and he looks kind of hesitant.

“My question is for Bryce.”

He clears his throat. I do not like the look on his face or where this is going.

“An hour ago, some photos surfaced on social media. You were pictured with a pink-haired woman we hadn’t seen before. You looked pretty cozy as you walked through Cobble Hill. Can you comment on these images, and is this woman a new love interest? I know you lost your wi?—”

“Are you being for real right now?” I growl.

I sense Coach shift in his seat next to me, but I couldn’t care less.

The reporter stares straight ahead, waiting for me to speak again.

“Why are you bringing personal questions into a professional interview?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and he knows it. But regardless of my rage, panic swells in my gut.

Where did those photos come from, and why are they only appearing now?

What happened was supposed to be private. We agreed to keep it between ourselves.

I bring my attention back to the room. Whatever it is that’s circulating, no doubt posted by some random person after their five minutes of fame, it needs to be squashed.

“I was making sure a woman got back to her place safely that night. We don’t know each other, and I don’t expect to see her again.” I push back my chair and stand, grabbing my drink bottle and hating the way it feels to deny any knowledge of Collins in my life.

Leaning down to the microphone set on the table, I add, “If you want to engage in press conferences with me in the future, I suggest you refrain from speculating on my personal life. That includes anything related to my late wife or other women you know fuck all about.”

CHAPTERSIX

COLLINS

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