6. Aaron

6

AARON

On home game days, we players usually walk into the arena with a swagger to our steps.

And it’s not just because we’re wearing suits we know we look great in.

Hockey players tend to be a cocky bunch, and I chalk this up to us spending so much time playing for stadiums packed full of fans with our names on their backs.

Honestly, it’s a good thing. Overconfidence can do wonders for your game. Hockey is almost as much a mental sport as it is a physical one, and I know, from experience, that I need to work as consistently hard on my mental game as on my physical one.

So, no matter how I’m feeling on the inside—no matter how stressed I am that we lost to Baltimore last week when we should have won, and then barely tied with Toronto thanks to my fluke goal late in the third—I show up for a pre-game chat with the media like I own the place.

All thoughts about our shaky start to the season are banished far from my mind. I walk in like a winner. Play it up for the cameras. Answer questions from reporters about my stats, my team’s chances in today’s game, and my thoughts on how our offense is going to play to win.

Today is our annual Thanksgiving showdown against Vegas, and so I’m also expecting to answer a few questions centered around the holidays and my post-game plans.

But I’ve never had to deal with a line of questioning quite like this one.

“A… cockroach?” I ask, my brows drawing together. I must have misheard.

“Yes,” the reporter answers firmly before repeating her question. “Do you, Aaron Marino, feel that you resemble a cockroach in any way, physical or otherwise?”

I realize, quite stunningly, that I did indeed hear her correctly the first time.

“That depends on how handsome the cockroach is,” I joke, playing off the absolutely bizarre question with a charming smile.

“It was a regular American cockroach, according to my source.” The reporter doesn’t smile back. Her head is instead tilted in challenge. “Apparently, the options included cockroach, grasshopper, or small rodent, and she opted for cockroach.”

She opted for cockroach.

What in the hell is this woman talking about?

I stare at the reporter, wondering for a moment if she has lost her marbles since the last time she interviewed me.

“Well, I’m not sure what cockroaches—or small rodents, for that matter—have to do with this afternoon’s game.” I try to redirect her questioning onto what actually matters (hockey) and get the interview back on track while pushing down the rising flicker of anxiety in my belly. Falling back on old habits, I shoot the scowling reporter my best flirtatious grin. “Unless we’re talking about crushing them. Because this afternoon, we fully intend to crush Vegas. In fact, I’m predicting a shutout.”

Media training 101: When in doubt, deflect, deflect, deflect.

Media training 202: Follow that up with charm, charm, charm.

Which is something I’m usually pretty adept at.

Usually.

But the reporter—Sadie something-or-other, who has an evil glint in her eyes that would normally intrigue me because feisty women are my kryptonite—looks less than charmed. Instead, she presses her lips together smugly and I already know that her next question will have nothing to do with hockey.

“Is it true that the woman in question was a member of Aaron’s Army with whom you had some— ahem —extracurricular relations?”

The flicker of anxiety in my belly evolves into a prickle that climbs up the back of my neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I drop all attempts to be charming and opt for the simple truth. “But I think we should get back to talking about this afternoon’s game.”

“What are your thoughts on the cockroach being fed to an iguana?” Now, it’s a bespectacled man from TSN who’s been asking me questions about my stats for years. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Do you think this was a dig given that you’re playing against the Indianapolis Iguanas next week?”

Well. At least that question was somewhat hockey related.

I blink at the man, trying not to look too much like a deer in headlights. Well, a big, handsome, suit-clad buck in headlights, because details are important. Paying attention to details keeps you prepared for anything.

And right now, I’m a sitting duck— buck —because I have clearly missed some detail that’s resulted in me having no idea what on earth these reporters are referring to.

Unprepared and caught off guard. Two things a captain should never be.

I subtly curl my hand and run my fingers over the bracelet on my wrist, letting them move over the soft leather as my jaw tightens almost defiantly. “No idea. But I’d say we have a good chance of beating the Iguanas, especially with the way our defense is able to handle Talbot. He’s a great player, but he’s no match for Griz and Cooper.”

“Still,” Sadie presses, that glint in her eyes shining particularly evilly. “This isn’t a good look for you.”

“What isn’t?” I finally ask, my jaw tight.

“You know. The cockroach that was named after you being fed to an iguana earlier today. Doesn’t exactly sound like there’s tons of confidence in your future as captain.” She goes on to smirk. “Is it true that Coach Torres is considering naming Sebastian Slater interim captain until the heat dies down on this story?”

My nostrils flare, my cool expression slipping.

“No,” I respond firmly.

Next to me, Seb opens his mouth, but I give him a little shake of my head. Slater jumping in to confirm my response will just make it look like we’re denying something. Or worse, make me look incompetent.

When Mal retired a few months back, there was a standing ovation from the media at his post-game press conference. He was brilliant, both as a player and as a leader. Commanded the respect of his team and motivated them through every situation. Never had a single scandal or caused a single scene.

I want nothing more than to follow in his footsteps. Be respected as both a leader and a man, rather than being pegged as some loser playboy who can’t keep his personal life in check.

So whatever this cockroach story is all about—and whatever it might or might not have to do with someone from Aaron’s Army—I have to crush it. Right here and now.

“Hockey,” I repeat, locking eyes with Sadie Something-or-Other. “We are here to talk about this afternoon’s hockey game.”

Well, Seb and I are here to talk about the hockey game.

Everyone else has clearly lost their damned minds.