What You Work For

“Ollie!” a loud voice called from down the hall.

At the moment, I was still on the ice, doing laps. I had stripped myself of my practice jersey, pads and helmet, leaving me in my leggings and Under Armour. I chose to ignore the voices that were getting louder as they neared me.

“Ollie!” a different voice boomed. That wasn’t Jordan or TK or even James. It was Dan’s voice.

I skidded to a halt on the opposite side of the rink and saw Dan, Ray, TK, and Jordan behind the bench. Skating over to them, I could see a camera crew crowding the hall to the locker rooms.

“Who is it today?” I asked nodding to the people them.

“ESPN,” Ray said simply.

My eyes went big and I felt my heart race. Speaking to the media with Dan and Mario was one thing, but taking them on my own was something else entirely.

“Breathe,” Jordan reminded me. “Just breathe, Ollie.”

“You’ll be fine,” TK smiled. “Just be yourself.”

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about,” Dan assured me. “I know preseason can be a touchy subject with everyone.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

Ray and Dan go back into the locker room first and Jordan and TK help me pick up a few spare sticks that were left out. I was only trying to buy myself time.

“You’ll okay,” Jordan said quietly patting my shoulder. “We all have the jitters before our first one-on-one interview.”

“But why couldn’t it be, like, Dan Potash or Cabbie?” I moan.

“Because they’re busy with the star players,” TK joked. “Like us.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Yeah, sure.” I look at the media that was now filtering into the locker room and would surely create a crowd around my stall. “I guess I should get in there, huh?”

Jordan nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. Want us to wait around and we can grab something to eat after?”

I shook my head. “No, you guys have things to do, I’m sure. We’ll talk tomorrow morning before practice.”

“Chin up, Ollie,” TK said. “You can do this.”

“Thanks, guys,” I waved to them as they walked in the opposite direction.

‘Here we go,’ I thought to myself.

*****

“I’m not sure when I’ll make my so-called debut,” I sighed for the millionth time. “I’m leaving it up to Dan and the coaching staff to decide. Until then, I’m going to work as hard as I can to prove I belong right where I am.”

The interview had started off just fine. They asked about my college career and my time at the Olympics. But by the sixth or seventh question, they were asking things I couldn’t answer.

Why wasn’t I scheduled to play the next night? Why was I on healthy reserves? What line would I eventually play on? I didn’t have the answers to any of these questions.

“How do you think you’ll handle the adversity? Do you think it’s something you’ll struggle with?”

My blood was boiling. “No, I think I’ll be just fine, thanks. I’ve dealt with people doubting me and my abilities all my life and just because it’s on a bigger stage now isn’t going to change anything. I know that I can handle what’s coming my way because I’ve been working my whole life to get to where I am right now and I’ve got nowhere to go but up.”

The interviewer gave me a look before turning to the camera crew.

“That’s a wrap.”

I watched them leave silently. Usually, an interviewer thanked us for talking with them, but this guy just up and left.

Leaning against my stall, I groaned. That didn’t go as well as I had hoped. I’m sure I’d be getting a talking-to from Patricia, Ray, and maybe even Mario tomorrow. But at that moment, I didn’t care. All I wanted was a hot shower.

*****

Emerging from the trainer’s room almost a half hour later clean and dressed, I expected to be alone. I wasn’t.

“You took forever,” a voice said.

I jumped and dropped the bundles of towels and my toiletries to the ground.

“Sorry,” a hand helped me pick up my things.

I looked up. James. “Thanks, Nealer.”

“No worries,” he said sitting down in TK’s stall as I packed my things up. “I thought you might want a friendly face after that shit.”

I stopped packed. That was… thoughtful. In my time with the team, James was the one I had bonded with the least.

“Thanks,” I blushed. Blushed? That was rare.

“You want to talk?” he asked carefully. He was trying not to pry, but I could tell he was a little too curious.

“Um, I think I’m okay,” I lied. “I feel bad though. I kinda went off at that guy.”

James brushed it off. “He had it coming. You did pretty good for your first big interview though, considering some of the stuff he was asking you about.”

“Thank you,” I couldn’t help but smile at the infectious grin James had plastered all over his face.

I returned to packing as James and I drifted into silence. It was nice knowing I didn’t have to face the internal aftermath alone, even though I had just turned down his offer to talk.

“What’s this?” James asked. I felt his hands brush against the exposed skin on my hip from where the hem of my shirt had ridden up.

I jumped again. “Nothing,” I pulled the fabric back down over my side.

“I think someone’s got some ink going on,” he smirked. “What is it? Let me see!”

“No!” I laughed and ran to the other side of the locker room and hopped up in Geno’s stall.

“Just let me see what it is!” James said trying to get me to turn around.

“I don’t think so, buddy boy!” I jumped down from Geno’s stall and ran into James’ own.

“You cannot use my own stall against me,” he frowned.

“Watch me,” I laughed as I flattened myself into the corner.

We spent the next few minutes in much the same fashion. I would be the first to admit that it was a little fun, but in the back of my head, there was a nagging voice.

‘You’re engaged!’ It was screaming over and over.

But the minutes James had me corned against a wall, I knew it wasn’t loud enough.

“Got you,” his breathing was heavy from the physical exertion we had spent the last 5 minutes doing.

We stared at each other for a moment, not moving. He had both his hands on either side of my head and I couldn’t help but notice how close his face was to mine. This was a very tricky situation.

James crouched down in front of me and lifted the hem of my shirt, forcing me to turn.

“Believe you can and you’re halfway there?” he read the cursive script tattooed across the front of my hip and onto my side.

“Theodore Roosevelt,” I said quietly.

He nodded and stood back up, this time a few steps away.

“You want to explain it?” James asked.

I grabbed my bags and moved towards the door. “You ever been to Huntz’s Tavern?”

“Huh?”

“That’s what I thought,” I nodded. “Follow me in your car.”