In Sequence | H.S.

16.

Harry.

"Why's there always rainbow feathers on the ground every time we come to New York?" I ask, kicking a few stray green feathers as we walk towards the front doors of UBS. There's all sorts of sizes and colors floating around as the arena's cleaning crew tries to sweep them up before tonight's game.

"They're ruining the planet." Mitch mumbles under his breath, narrow eyes shooting a dirty look at every feather he sees.

"How the fuck are feathers ruining the planet?" I hike my duffle bag up my shoulder, chuckling under my breath. Not much ever phases Mitch, but he sure has a fetish for keeping the environment clean. "If mother nature didn't want them here, she wouldn't have put them on all of the fucking birds."

He turns to look at me with a blank expression. His eyes scan my face like he's waiting for the punchline of some joke. "What?" I shake my head, a small smile curving the corners of my lips upward.

Mitch dips down and grabs a hot pink feather off of the ground then shoves it in my face. "What kind of bird did this come from?"

I pull my head back from the bird infested filth and smack his hand away. "I don't know, a fucking flamingo?" Never seen one of those pink fuckers in real life before, but I don't see the pigeons flying around here with pink feathers.

"It's fucking fake, Harry." Mitch scoffs, shoving the door to the arena open. "Sarah and I came by here last night and there was some concert going on and just about every person in line had a boa on, but nobody gave a fuck that they were littering." He throws the feather - well, I guess fake feather - into the trash. "These are going to kill the planet."

I nod slowly at his eco-friendly tangent, chewing on my lower lip so I don't lose my shit and cackle in his face. "They're just having fun, Mitchell. I think the turtles will be okay as long as you keep using your reusable straw." I pat him on the back as we enter the press room. Cameras start flashing immedately upon our entrance and I can't fucking wait to see the pictures of me laughing my ass off while he's pissed off about boa feathers.

Every major sports network has at least two representatives from their respective company - a cameraman and interviewer. Front and center is the top reporter from the National Hockey League, Avienne Medina, who will be moderating today's press conference. With an abundance of cue cards in hand, she demands the attention of the room simply by being present.

I haven't come face-to-face with her since last season when she was demanding attention in my bedroom. Never sent the courtesy follow-up text to make sure the condom didn't break, but judging by her fit appearance, the only thing I have to worry about is if there are any hard feelings left over. The last thing I need today is her dishing me all of the shitty questions.

I don't know how the hell I'm even sitting here after the bullshit I went through with Coach. The cleanup was fairly easy, except I had to tell the lawyer I was with Mads and the reason I confronted the pap was because he grabbed at her. I'm not looking forward to telling Mads that I had to come clean about us being together, but it was all in innocent fun. We were grabbing breakfast, not parading around a sex shop.

I hope she understands that.

Part of me wonders if she's already mad at me for something else. She blew me off before the press conference. I sent her half a dozen texts to see where she was at. I even sent a picture and asked her what color tie I should wear to this thing. Girls like that sort of thing, I think.

No response though. I hope I didn't send her running for the hills today. Fuck, I don't know why I care so much, but I do, and it's fucking torture.

I've scanned every face in this room ten times now, and she's still not here. If my ass wasn't already on the line, I'd dip out of here to go look for her, but I'm already knee deep in community service hours now since I can't work shit out on the ice because of my knee. That means if an elementary school calls and wants a hockey player to come to PE class or if our event planner is short staffed with set up, I'm first on the roster.