Chapter 5 First Press Conference

MIA

The cream dress itched at the collar, and I hated that it fit.

"Smile like you mean it." Derek tapped his phone and scribbled on a clipboard.

"I'm smiling."

"You're baring your teeth."

I tried again. Derek winced, then pointed us toward the double doors at the end of the hallway.

Behind them, a hundred voices rose and fell like surf.

Caleb stood beside me in a navy suit that probably cost more than my Honda. He hadn't spoken since the apartment. His jaw was tight. His hands were buried in his pockets.

"You're quiet."

"Nervous."

"You're never nervous."

"Everybody's nervous in a room full of cameras."

"You've been in front of cameras since you were twelve."

He finally glanced at me. His eyes were very blue under the hallway lights. "That's why I'm nervous."

I didn't have an answer for that.

Derek straightened his tie. "Handholding on the way in. He takes the personal questions. You take the team ones. If it goes sideways, look at each other and laugh."

"Laugh at what?"

"Anything. Be creative."

"I'm not good at creative."

"Then be sarcastic. Same muscle."

The doors swung open.

Light hit me like a slap. Flashes, dozens of them, white and stinging, popping so fast the room turned to strobe. Reporters packed the folding chairs. Cameras lined the back wall. A banner hung behind the podium with the Wolves logo and the words Hamilton Wolves: Stronger Together.

My palms went wet.

Caleb leaned in close to my ear. "I'm about to touch you."

"With a verb."

"I'm about to hold your hand."

I let out a breath. "Okay."

His fingers slid between mine. Warm. Rough from tape and sticks. He squeezed once, so quick I almost missed it.

We walked.

Every step felt a mile long. Somebody shouted my name. Somebody shouted his. The flashes kept coming, and I fixed my eyes on the podium and prayed my knees would hold.

Derek took the microphone first. Family values. Community. The importance of a strong captain. The words slid right past me. I was counting. Eleven steps to the table. Four chairs. Two microphones. Seven seconds since Caleb's thumb had moved against my knuckle.

I wasn't supposed to be counting that.

Questions started a minute later.

"Caleb! How long have you two been together?"

"Since September." No hesitation. He didn't look at me.

My stomach flipped. September. He delivered the word like a lie he had memorized.

"Mia! What's it like dating the captain?"

I leaned toward the microphone. "Loud. His snoring could wake the dead."

The room laughed. Caleb grinned, crooked and real, the first one I had seen all day.

"I do not snore."

"Like a chainsaw."

"You've never even slept next to me."

"I don't need to. The bus tells me everything."

More laughter. More flashes. Someone in the second row clapped. The tension in my shoulders dropped an inch.

Then a silver-haired man in a rumpled blazer raised his pen in the front row.

"Miss Lin. A question for you." He smiled like a knife. "Your family's well known around the hospital fundraisers. Do you think you can afford to be seen with someone like Caleb?"

The room went quiet. Even the cameras seemed to pause.

Caleb's hand went rigid around mine.

I kept my face blank. I counted to three, the way my mom taught me. When the cold in my chest turned into something sharper, I leaned back into the microphone.

"Sorry. Is that a pricing question?"

A few nervous laughs.

"Because if it is, I should warn you, I'm very expensive. I eat his snacks. I steal his hoodies. I once made him drive ninety minutes for a particular kind of coffee."

More laughs. The reporter's smile slipped.

"But if you're asking whether I have anything to be ashamed of, no. I work three jobs. I pay my own way. I've never needed anyone's money to know who I am."

Silence.

Then someone started to clap. Another person joined. By the time I finished the thought in my head, half the room was applauding.

My heart was a hammer. My hands shook. I looked at Caleb.

He was staring at me like I had just walked on water.

His voice dropped to almost nothing. "I'm about to touch you again."

"Fine."

His palm settled at the small of my back. Light. Steady. He didn't pull me closer. He just let it rest there, a warm line of weight that promised I've got you without a word.

I should have shrugged it off. I should have stepped away.

I leaned into it instead.

Derek caught my eye from the side of the stage. Thumbs-up. Then he tapped his watch and dragged a finger across his throat. Time.

The reporters surged. Microphones thrust forward. Flashes strobed again. Caleb steered me toward the side exit with his hand still on my back, and security closed around us like a wall.

The corridor outside was quiet and cool. I pressed my shoulders against the wall and breathed.

"You were incredible."

"I almost threw up on the podium."

"Nobody could tell."

"I could."

He laughed. Actually laughed, and I realized I had never heard it unguarded before.

Someone cleared their throat behind us.

A man stood at the end of the hallway. Gray Wolves cap pulled low, hands in his jacket pockets. He didn't look like press. He didn't look like staff. He looked like he had been waiting.

Derek's voice called Caleb from around the corner. Caleb turned toward it. His back was to the stranger for two seconds.

That was all it took.

The man stepped forward, fast and quiet, and leaned in until his breath brushed my ear.

"Ask him what happened to the last girl."

By the time I turned, he was already gone.