Page 49 of Romancing the Grump
“Man, that’s some crowd,” Logan says. I fall into step beside him, and he looks over at me. “You okay? I’ve never seen your face on so many t-shirts.”
“It was a lot,” I say. “Too many.”
“At least you got a first kiss out of it,” Eli says. “A very convincing one, I might add.”
“Still feels weird,” I say. “Dishonest, somehow.”
We pause outside the press room door, and Logan gives me a serious look. “Don’t think of it that way. Some fans are always going to feel more entitled to information than they actually are. You kissed Summer, and kisses can mean a lot of different things. You don’t have to explain yourself. You aren’t obligated to tell the fans anything about your private life.”
I think about Logan’s words as we file into the press room and take our seats at the front table, the familiar click of camera shutters sounding over and over as we do. Alec, who is already seated next to Wyatt, lifts his head in acknowledgment.
I understand what he’s saying, and as a guy with experience in the NHL, he would know. But I still don’t like the idea of faking. Mostly because that kiss felt anything but fake.
The questions are still bouncing around in my head when the press conference starts, and it takes all my effort to focus on the questions, to shift my brain into hockey mode.
The first question for me is one I expect. Last time we played the Wolves, one of their wings, a guy named Maddox, got in Felix’s face, and I let Maddox know how I felt about that, bruising his shoulder and landing myself in the penalty box.
“Are you concerned about Maddox and whether he’ll try to antagonize you after what happened last time?” the reporter asks. “And what efforts are you making to control your temper?”
I lean forward and speak into the microphone. “Withall due respect, it wasn’t my temper that led to Maddox’s injury. My actions were intentional and a direct result of Maddox’s illegal hit on our goalie. I knew what the consequence would be, but it was more important to me that he understand he can’t play dirty with the Appies.”
“Were you not concerned about permanently injuring another player?”
“Not at all. I’ve been doing this a while. I know how to fight fair, and I don’t take players out of the game.”
As I finish my answer, Summer and Parker slip into the back of the room with Malik. Summer meets my gaze and gives me a small smile. It isn’t much, but my body reacts like it is, and I feel a sudden craving to be close to her.
The next few questions go to Logan, stuff about his NHL prospects and whether he has any thought about when he’ll return. He’s used to this one, and he answers it easily, deflecting, mentioning how much he’s enjoying his time with the Appies.
A guy in the back asks a question for Wyatt, and another for Alec, then the attention is right back on me.
“A personal question for Nathan, if I may,” a female reporter in the front row says. “You’ve been quite the topic of conversation on social media the past few weeks, particularly among the Appies’ female fans. But I’ve just gotten word that you might be officiallyoffthe market. Are you willing to confirm for the record?”
I make eye contact with Summer. She smiles and shrugs, like she has no idea how to help me. Almost like she thinks it’s funny I’m having to answer this question at all.
I clear my throat and lean toward the microphone. “I’d rather not talk about my personal life directly, but if you happen to observe something that makes you think I’m in arelationship, I’m happy to let my actions speak for themselves.”
Summer gives me two thumbs up, then pulls out her phone, sending me a text that shows up on my smartwatch.
Summer
Nice deflection. You didn’t say no, but you didn’t say yes either. I’m impressed.
The words send a bolt of heat to my heart, and I just barely keep myself from smiling.
Eli spends the next few minutes answering a question about his marriage, his smile wide to the point of almost looking goofy, then addressing the growing fame of the Appies and how we’re handling our travel now that we’re getting so much more fan and media attention.
After that, a guy who barely looks old enough to be out of high school, much less working as a full-time reporter, stands up.
“This one is for Nathan,” he says, and I give him my full attention. “I think we can all imagine what it must feel like to be the son of one of hockey’s greatest stars. Can you talk about the legacy your father left behind? And do you feel a lot of pressure to find the same kind of success?”
The question doesn’t surprise me. When I first signed to play pro, people constantly compared me to my father, so I answer now the same way I did back then. “My father was an incredible hockey player, and I have a lot of respect for what he accomplished on the ice. But I’m focused on doing my own thing. Building my own career on my own terms.”
The reporter seems momentarily disappointed, but then he presses on. “Do you think your brother feels pressure to measure up? Or was he more influenced by therougheryears of your father’s life? Those closer to his death?”
My eyebrows go up. This questiondoessurprise me. “I’m sorry. My brother?”
“Blake Sanders is considered one of the nation’s hottest potential recruits,” the reporter says, “but I have a source who tells me there’s been a recent arrest, and Blake has been notably absent from the past three games in his league. I’m just curious if you think the pressure of your father’s legacy may be getting to him.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Causing him to get into trouble.”
