Page 92 of Between the Blue
And Ben doesn’t even go for it.
Instead, he chooses to cross-check Zanders, sending him straight to the ground. And Ben follows right after him, dropping both his stick and gloves as his fist goes straight for Zanders’s face.
twenty-six
HER
“Bennett, I’m sorry, but we have to ask. What happened in the first seconds of that first period?”
I stand just inside the door to the locker room, watching as reporters surround Ben where he sits on a bench, now wearing only his pads and compression long sleeve shirt since he ripped his jersey off moments after stepping off the ice following the Storm’s narrow loss to Anaheim.
“Not sure what you mean,” Ben responds, monotone.
“We all know you’re prone to fighting,” one of the reporters speaks up, “but I’m not sure we’ve ever seen you in a fight that early in a game. One that wasn’t even in the Stanley Cup playoffs, that is. What got you so worked up?”
Even though I’ve avoided looking directly at him other than to take pictures since the game began, I find my head turning in Ben’s direction at the question.
“Just Zanders being Zanders,” he says. “It’s hockey. What happened happened. Now it’s over.”
“So you two are good now?” another reporter asks.
“Didn’t say that.”
All of the media personnel inch closer with their microphones and recorders, clearly thinking Ben’s about toelaborate on his statement. But, of course, he doesn’t. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence that Ben happily allows them all to sit in, one of the women journalists chimes in.
“Bennett, I’m just wondering. Are there any new factors in play here?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“It just seems that you’ve gotten off to a very aggressive start this season. Even more than usual. Which is great for your team in so many ways, but I’m just curious as to why that is. Has something changed for you this season? Something out of public view?”
Ben rolls his lips into his mouth, his eyes squinting as he seems to think about his answer. And then, out of nowhere, he turns his head and looks right at me.
He’s surrounded by reporters, so it’s easy to think he’s just shifting his attention to one of them. But I know. Because, right in the small gap between two of them, his gaze locks on mine with a heavy heat.
“I won’t lie to you,” he mutters into the recorder, his eyes staying on me. “Yeah. This season looks different.”
“In what ways?” she asks, her face lighting up at the fact that she’s actually successfully getting something out of Bennett James, no doubt.
“There have just been some…distractions,” he tells her, his jaw visibly clenching. “Behind the scenes.”
“And what is there to be done about this?”
“My game comes first. And my team.” Ben sits up tall, finally tearing his eyes from mine to look forward. “Distractions are dangerous. So I’m going to do what I always do.”
“And what’s that?” a different reporter asks.
“Get rid of them.”
I count to three when I no longer see anyone walking up and down the hallway, taking the opportunity to dart out of my workspace to try to successfully sneak out of the arena without any further interaction. I’m not sure I can take much more tonight. Ben has my head absolutely swimming.
I can’t keep up with him.
One minute, things seem like they’re getting better between us. The next minute, he’s at my throat once again. Then, he’s shooting hockey pucks at men and getting fighting penalties just because they looked in my direction. And now, he’s declaring in front of a room full of reporters that he’s going toget rid of me.
Whatever that means.
I’m not one to back down from a fight. But I just don’t want to do anymore of this tonight.
