Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 8. Chapter 8

Jackson

Media day always felt faintly ridiculous. Professional hockey players liked to imagine we were hardened competitors. Then somebody handed us matching polo shirts and asked us to smile while pretending to discuss insurance.

I stood in front of a green backdrop while three photographers debated whether my shoulders were too square.

"I think he looks fine."

"He looks intimidating."

"That's because he isn't smiling."

"I am smiling."

Three pairs of eyes turned towards me. One photographer tilted his head.

"...Can you do it again?"

I smiled. He sighed.

"Less like you've just informed someone their mortgage application was rejected."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means happier."

"I am happy."

He looked at the others. "We're going to need help."

---

The marketing department had apparently decided the blockbuster trade deserved special attention.

Emily appeared beside the cameras carrying two coffees and a clipboard.

"I'm... um... really sorry."

I accepted one of the coffees. "What happened?"

"They've changed the schedule."

"No problem."

"They want a few extra photographs."

"Sure."

She looked increasingly uncomfortable. "...Together."

"With who?"

Before she could answer, a familiar voice drifted across the studio. "Absolutely not."

I turned. Noah stood twenty feet away wearing the same purple Bobcats polo as the rest of us. He looked as though someone had just suggested he pose for a family Christmas card with a notorious serial killer

The photographer brightened. "Perfect!"

Noah looked around. "...Who's perfect?"

"You two." He pointed at us. "Over here."

Noah and I exchanged a glance, then walked over from opposite directions.

Emily gave us an apologetic smile. "I'm really sorry."

"You've apologised four times."

"I know."

"I'm keeping count."

"...I'm sorry."

"I'll add that to the tab."

---

The lead photographer clapped his hands. "Excellent." He pointed at a taped mark on the floor. "Jackson there." I stepped onto it. "Noah..." Another piece of tape. "...there."

Noah stopped beside me. Close enough that our shoulders almost touched. He immediately took half a step sideways.

The photographer frowned. "No, closer."

We both looked at him.

"A little closer."

Neither of us moved.

"A little."

Reluctantly, Noah shuffled back.

Our sleeves brushed.

"There."

The photographer beamed. "Fantastic."

Noah muttered under his breath, "This is ridiculous."

"I've done worse."

"You've done this before?"

"Media day?"

"No."

He gestured vaguely between us. "...This."

"I don't think so."

"Hm."

---

"Smile."

We did.

Click.

The photographer frowned. "No."

"What?"

"You both look like you're attending separate funerals."

"I thought I smiled."

"You did."

"So did I."

"You did."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I need something warmer."

Noah folded his arms. "This is warm."

"It's really not."

---

Another photographer wandered over. "I've got an idea."

Those words rarely improved anyone's afternoon.

"You two." He pointed. "Talk."

"About what?" Noah asked.

"I don't care."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

The cameras lifted again.

I looked at Noah.

"So..."

"So."

"How's your day?"

"You've been standing next to me for twenty minutes."

"True."

A pause.

"The coffee's good."

"It is."

"The purple shirts aren't bad."

"They're growing on me."

"I preferred Chicago's."

"I know."

Click.

Click.

Click.

The photographers suddenly became much more interested.

"That's good!"

Neither of us had moved.

---

"Okay."

The lead photographer grinned.

"Now look at each other."

Noah stared at him.

"...Why?"

"Because people enjoy seeing teammates interact."

"We interact."

"You've mostly been debating polo shirts."

"We're interacting now."

The photographer looked heavenward. "Just..." He waved both hands helplessly. "...look at each other."

We did.

Noah looked faintly suspicious. "You've got a piece of lint."

I glanced down. "Where?"

"Left shoulder."

I brushed it away. "Gone?"

"No."

I tried again. "Now?"

"...There."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The shutters erupted.

Click.

Click.

Click-click-click.

"What?" I asked.

The photographer lowered his camera with a look of deep satisfaction.

"Nothing."

Eventually, every photographer in the room had wandered over.

One whispers, "No, don't pose. Keep talking."

Another says, "Whatever they're doing, keep doing that."

---

By lunchtime we'd posed in jerseys, with sticks, without sticks, on stools, against lockers, beside the centre-ice logo, with the coach and without him.

Eventually someone suggested a photograph of Noah and me walking down the corridor together.

"We already do that," I pointed out.

"Exactly."

Noah sighed. "I've begun to understand why actors drink."

---

As we headed back towards the dressing room, Ben was waiting outside with Aleksander and Eddie. All three wore expressions of barely contained delight. Ben looked from me to Noah.

"So..."

"What?"

"You boys have checked your phones?"

"No."

"Why?"

Aleksander held up his own. "You should."

"I don't really use social media," I admitted.

"I know."

"So?"

He turned the screen around. The Bobcats had posted one of the photographs we'd taken less than fifteen minutes earlier.

Thousands of likes.

Already.

The comments were flying past too quickly to read.

Eddie leaned over Aleksander's shoulder.

"'They're going to be unstoppable.'"

Another refresh.

"'Why do they already look like they've been playing for ten years?"

Refresh.

"'This is the greatest trade in franchise history.'"

Refresh.

"'Enemies to lovers energy.'"

Noah frowned.

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"No idea," I said.

Ben looked at us both for a long moment.

Then slowly shook his head.

"They're going to be unstoppable by Christmas."

"Yep," Aleksander agreed.

Eddie sighed happily.

"This is going to be the longest season of my life."

I handed Ben his phone back.

"Fans like optimism."

"They certainly do," Ben said.

Noah shrugged.

"At least they liked the photos."

"They loved the photos," Eddie corrected.

"Huh."

Noah pushed open the locker-room door.

"Nice to give the fans something to be excited about."

"I suppose so."

We disappeared inside, leaving the other three standing in the corridor.