Loving Hockey
After they hung up, Emma scrolled through the day’s coverage, unable to resist despite knowing better. Most articles were speculative garbage, but a few raised legitimate questions about the appearance of impropriety -the optics of trading her ex–husband while dating another team executives,
She was about to put her phone away when a text arrived from a Seattle number she didn’t recognize “Thought you should see this. He’s already making waves here -V
Attached was a screenshot of Jack at what appeared to be a Seattle nightclub, surrounded by women, clearly not maintaining the sobriety he’d so earnestly promised to uphold.
Veronica Wells, Emma realized. Somehow the supermodel was still keeping tabs on Jack. The timestamp showed the photo was from last night–his first in Seattle, fresh off claiming unfair treatment by Boston management.
Emma didn’t respond to the text, but she saved the photo. Not for leverage or revenge, but as a reminder that Jack’s contrition had indeed been performance art.
Sleep eluded her that night as she wrestled with competing emotions–anger at Jack’s hypocrisy, concern about the team’s reputation, worry about how the scandal might affect Alek professionally. By dawn, she’d reached only one conclusion: playing through this particular pain would require a new strategy.
“I want to address this directly,” Emma announced at the emergency management meeting the following morning. “No more prepared statements or ‘sources close to the team‘ rebuttals.”
Lisa looked alarmed. “A press conference in the middle of controversy invites unpredictable questions.” “Exactly.” Emma’s voice was resolute. “Right now, Reynolds controls the narrative because he’s the only one speaking freely. That ends today.”
“What will you say?” asked Peterson, clearly nervous about potential marketing fallout.
“The truth.” Emma looked around the table, meeting each person’s eyes. “That all management decisions, including trades, are made collectively based on performance metrics and team needs. That personal relationships don’t dictate professional decisions. And that while we wish Jack well, his characterization of events is inaccurate.”
“And if they ask directly about your relationship with Alek?” Lisa pressed.
Emma glanced at Alek, seated professionally distant at the other end of the table. Then I’ll acknowledge that yes, we are in a relationship that began after my divorce was finalized, and that we’re both committed to maintaining highest ethical standards in all team matters.”
Alek’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes conveyed support. “I second this approach. Transpare our best defense.”
“The board should be consulted,” Peterson cautioned.
“I spoke with them this morning.” Emma replied. “They support addressing this head–on.”
In truth, the board conversation had been tense. Several members expressed concern about the optics, but
R
Franklin had ultimately swayed them with a simple observation: “My granddaughter hiding from baseless socusations only gives them credibility they don’t deserve?
The press conference was exdieduled for 3 PM–prime time for Evening news coverage. Emma spent the intervening hours preparing with Usa, anticipating the most difficult questions, practicing responses that were honest without being defensive.
12:30, she retreated to her office for a final moment of quiet before facing the media firestorm. A knock
interrupted her preparation.
“Come in the called, expecting Lisa with last–minute coaching
Instead, her grandfather entered, looking more frail than she’d seen him recently.
“Grandpe, you should be resting” Emma rose in concern. “The doctor said-”
“Doctors say lots of things” Franklin waved dismissively. “Most of it nonsense. I’m here because you need
me
“I be fine, Emma assured him.
“Of course you will. You’re a Mitchell: Franklin settled into a chair. “But even Mitchells need backup
sometimes
“You don’t have to attend the press conference-*
“Oh, but I do.” Franklin’s eyes gleamed with the same strategic intelligence that had built his empire. “Reynolds wants to paint you as an emotional woman making irrational decisions. Having the previous owner visibly supporting you changes that narrative.”
Emma smiled despite her stress. “Always thinking three moves ahead.”
“That’s how you win, Emmy” Franklin reached for her hand. “And make no mistake–you are going to win this
round.”
As they walked toward the press room together–Franklin leaning slightly on his cane but spine straight with pride–Emma felt a curious calm settle over her. Jack’s accusations had temporarily knocked her off balance, but he no longer had the power to define her story.
She spotted Alek waiting discreetly near the press room entrance. Their eyes met briefly, conveying more than words could. Whatever came next, they would face it together–not hiding, not apologizing, just moving forward with the integrity that had brought them together in the first place.
The camera flashes began as soon as she stepped to the podium, but Emma didn’t flinch. She had spent eight years in shadows–first as Jack Reynolds‘ supportive wife, then as Emma Carter, Franklin Mitchell’s anonymous assistant. Those days were over.
“Good afternoon,” she began, voice steady. “Tm here to address recent speculation about team mana decisions and to clarify a few important points…”
As she spoke, Emma felt the burden of Jack’s accusations lifting. Some pain you didn’t play through–you confronted it head–on, dealt with it honestly, and then left it behind where it belonged.
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