Page 2 of In My Hockey Era
I’m seething now—practically seeing red and ready to go scorched earth all over this whole idea.
Decker hums.“I mean,I’djoin a book club if it meant seeing Wilder struggle through a spicy scene.”
Ethan grins.“Think he does the voices?”
Decker dissolves into laughter.
I scowl at both of them.“I hope he getsabsolutely wreckedin the next game.”
“He won’t,” Decker says.“It’s the Stampede against Philly on Friday.”
Which is exactly the problem.The Stampede need every win they can get right now, and instead of focusing onhockey, their star center is getting paid to play BookTok’s new favorite golden boy.
I roll my shoulders, still simmering.“It’s embarrassing.”
“You’re embarrassing,” Ethan says mildly.
I shove him.He barely stumbles, still grinning like he’s won something.
Decker finishes his drink, crushes the can, and lobs it into the trash.“Alright, let’s go.Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get a patient who also hates this PR stunt and we can all rant together.”
“Wishful thinking,” I mutter, but I follow them back to the rig, still fuming.
Ethan’s already pulling up social media.“Can’t wait to see the meltdowns on your timeline tonight.”
Oh, there will bemeltdowns.
And I plan to start them.
Because this?
This is war.
• • •
My laptop hums as I set up my mic, the familiar ritual of recording my podcast settles me like a pregame warm-up.I don’t have to work until two this afternoon, and I’m caffeinated, rested, and ready to dive in.I click record and the little red light blinks, signaling that we’re live, and I take a deep breath before diving in.
“Alright, Stampede fans, let’s talk about the absolute clown car our beloved team just rolled out of.”I lean closer to the mic, voice dripping with sarcasm.“Because apparently, instead of focusing on, oh, I don’t know, winning games, the Dallas Stampede has decided to launch a romance book club.”I let that hang for a beat.
I roll my eyes so hard it’s practically audible.“That’s right, folks.Our boys aren’t just hitting the ice—they’re hitting the books.Or at least, that’s what the PR team wants you to think.And leading this ridiculous charge?None other than Bennett Wilder.”I scoff.“Yes, the same Bennett Wilder whose idea of literature is probably reading the back of a protein bar.”
I mentally high-five myself for that delightful quip.
I’ve spent years proving myself in a male-dominated industry, and this feels like a massive step backward.I won’t take it lying down.
The chat on my live stream explodes with laughing emojis and comments agreeing with me.Good.At least I’m not alone in this.
“Look, I love this team.I’ve bled Stampede colors since I was a kid.I have been through every heartbreak, every gut-wrenching loss, the trades, and the politics of team management.And I will defend these guys to the grave.But this?”I shake my head.“This is embarrassing.It’s pandering at its worst.It’s like they think female hockey fans can’t possibly understand the game unless they wrap it up in some steamy, half-baked romance novel.It reduces female fans to groupies with Kindles.”
Gag.
I’m on a roll now.I sit up straighter and lean in.“I love the Stampede.But this is ridiculous.A book club?What the hell does this have to do with hockey?It’s a blatant PR stunt.AndBennett Wilder?”
I can’t really rein myself in, which is often the case when I’m passionate about something.But my podcast is my happy place—I don’t have to rein myself in.
As I talk, more notifications pop up.Some fans are with me.Others are calling me a hater.One says, “What if it gets more people into hockey?”
I sigh.
