Page 48 of Pucked Together

There on the front page of the website is a running slideshow of photos—my photos—featuring each of our players. They look fierce. The bright orange of the team colors looks bold against the black background of the website.

"You used my photos," I say, my voice low in appreciation.

"Of course we did," Rina smiles. "Izzy, I have plans for you. Listen, tomorrow I have a meeting with all the department heads regarding how we'll work with the boys to get the best exposure. I want you to be there. If we're going to turn this team around, we need all our best people."

"I'll be there," I tell her. I'm honored she even cares to ask.

"They've had a rough run," she says. "They've been last in their division for the past three years, and it's not all on them. They've had toxic leadership. Mack's doing her best to weed out the bad apples on staff. Amongst other changes."

"That's good. I think it needs to happen."

"It does. And I'm happy with the direction things are going. But one thing that is unique to my job is making sure that the public sees the boys in a positive light. And they can't do that if they never show their faces."

Oh, boy. I think I know where this is going.

"Is this about Ryker?"

She gives me another soft smile. "I know you don't want to mix business with your personal life."

Too late, Rina. Way too late.

"But," she continues. "He's the only one on the roster who refuses to be public. I understand he might have personal reasons, but the goaltender on any professional team is a crowd favorite. Fans fight for their goalies. They can't fight for someone they don't know."

Yep, I get it. Ryker's the opposite of an open book. I myself constantly wonder who this man is and why he does the things he does.

"You want my help to get him more in the public eye? That's no easy task, Rina. What if he just refuses?"

"Look, I can't force anyone to do anything that's not explicitly set out in their contract. And lucky for him, that wasn't a part of his deal when he signed on. But he'll be negotiating a new deal soon, and that will be a big part of it. For the sake of the team as a whole."

What is she trying to say?

"Could he—Rina, is he at risk of losing his position here if he doesn't get on board?"

She pushes her seat back and sits on her desk facing me with her hands folded together in her lap. "All I'm saying is that Mack needs everyone on the team to pull their weight. Ryker can't hide in the shadows when, as a team, we're all working to stand out. Not just in our division but in the entire league. We're done being overlooked. Not taken seriously. Don't you want to be a part of something great, Izzy?"

"Of course I do. But forcing someone to do something they're not comfortable with shouldn't be a requirement either. Ryker's amazing. Maybe even one of the best. You saw him out there." I motion toward the arena.

"He is. And I'm not negating that," she's stern but loses her edge when she says, "We want the same thing here, Izzy. All I'm asking is to try. Negative press. Ornery players. It's not going to help us pack out this place. The fans need heroes."

She's not wrong about that. I still remember watching my dad play. He was in the minor league and might've even made it all the way if he hadn't passed. But he was someone worth looking up to.

"Ok," I say. "I'll work with him. But I can't make any promises," I point to her.

She holds up her hands, showing me her palms, "I don't expect any."

She slides off her desk and shuts her laptop. "In the meantime, I believe you have a celebration you need to be at."

I stand, feeling a little on edge about our talk.

If Ryker being in the public eye will help this team, I'll do everything I can to make it happen. Besides, it's not like he hasn't agreed to help me with my own personal things.

"I'll see you in the morning," I say, walking out of her office. "'Night, Rina."

She follows me out and locks the door, "Goodnight, Izzy."

I go to my tiny work area at the far end of the arena, and she heads in the opposite direction. My workspace is basically a closet where I can keep my lenses and personal effects.

Gathering my things, I lose my train of thought when the door handle twists. A head of freshly washed blonde hair pokes in, and I meet familiar hazel-green eyes.