Chapter 18

"Mattie, stop fidgeting." Brenna reached over and fiddled with his tie.

They were seated on a couch in what the young man who'd come to fetch them in the reception are told them was the guest lounge.

Matt pushed her hand away. "I can dress myself. I'm not a jerky kid any more."

She laughed. "I'm not so sure about that." Then she sobered. "I just want you to look good for the television people. The nice woman who brought us in here said the sports guy would be along in a few."

"You might not believe this," he told her with a wry grin, "but I've actually been interviewed for television before."

"I know, I know." She shifted in her chair. "Maybe I'm the one who's nervous." She ran the tip of one finger around the edge of The Cup. "I want you to know how proud we all are of your part in this, Mattie."

"Thanks. But could I ask a favor? Could you not call me Mattie in front of other people? It makes me sound eight years old."

"Sure." She grinned. "Would you prefer Matthew?"

"I'd prefer to get this interview over with so I can see if Lizzie is bowled over or running for the hills or maybe after me with a shotgun."

"Wow, Matt. Nervous much?"

"Damn straight. I just wish I knew - "

Before he could finish the sentence the door to the lounge where they were sitting opened and Rod Terrier, director of sports himself, walked in.

"Hey, Matt." He held out his hand. "Rod Terrier. It's an honor to meet you. Thanks for coming down to the station today."

Matt shook the man's hand. "Thanks for inviting me. I appreciate it."

"Hey. You're a hometown hero. Scoring the winning goal? That's big."

Matt just nodded. Scoring that goal had been the high point of his career. Too bad it also ended that night.

"Thanks."

"Yes, well, we can't always choose what happens to us, right?"

"And I'm guessing this gorgeous woman with you is not the one you have a surprise for, right?"

"It's actually my sister, Brenna."

"Well! Thanks for coming along with your brother. You brighten up the place."

"Thank you. I'm kind of helping him with his project today."

Rod looked around. "Didn't they offer you coffee? Water? Soft drinks?" he chuckled. "Cookies? Candy?"

"We're okay," Matt assured him. "Besides, I think I've had enough coffee today to sink a battleship."

"Okay, but if you want anything, just let me know." Rod studied The Cup. "I have to say that's a magnificent piece of metalwork." He ran his finger over the rim of the bowl that served as the crown, then smoothed his palm over all the engraving. "A lot of history here. Some of the greatest teams in professional ice hockey history."

"It's a symbol of what we all work for. Kind of the Holy Grail of hockey, I guess."

And why did he feel so uncomfortable calling it that? Hadn't it been his Holy Grail and the quest for it that had blinded him to other things in his life?

Rod gestured toward the trophy. "I'm sure your agent mentioned to you we'd like to get some photos with The Cup, right? Nearly everyone here asked for it." He cocked his head. "That okay with you?"

"Ah, sure." That's what I signed up for. "Whatever you guys want."

"Great." Rod gave him a big grin. "Just hold on a sec while I gather everyone in here. This is a better spot than out in the studio. Be right back."

"Don't forget to smile like this is the best thing you've ever done," Brenna remanded him. "These people are your fans. I'll bet these shots turn up everywhere on social media."

"Great," he grumbled.

"None of that. These people are giving you a chance to plead your case to Liz. Be real nice to them."

He cracked a small grin. "Yes, Mom."

"And when you're on, please, please, please remember to call her Liz."

"She just doesn't seem like Liz," he protested. "More like Lizzie."

"Because that's who you remember," Brenna pointed out. "She's not that young girl any more, Mattie. She's grown into a wonderful, beautiful woman. Liza."

He sighed. She sure has." He looked at Brenna. "Okay. Then you can kill the Mattie."

She grimaced. "Touché. I'll do my best."

The door to the lounge opened again and Rod walked in with a photographer. Behind him a group of people crowded into the space, all of them talking and trying to shake his hand at the same time. He looked at Brenna, who just grinned and winked.

"Okay, everyone." Rod went about organizing them, moving them into some semblance of order. "Let's not maul the guy. One at a time. And I think we'll do it over here."

On one wall of the lounge was a cutout sign of the station's call letters. The photographer moved Matt to where he wanted him. Then, as Rod introduced each person, they stepped up beside him, shook his hand, thanked him so much for doing this, and they both smiled for the camera.

Matt pasted on his public smile and shook everyone's hand as they stepped up for their turn in front of the camera. The last person was a man he guessed to be in his fifties, well-dressed in a grey pinstripe suit with a darker grey shirt and an unexpected bright purple tie.

"My wife's ideas of dressing down," he told Matt with a self-deprecating smile. "Sam Forteza. Station Manager." He took Matt's hand in a heart shake. "Thanks for coming down her today. We're very honored to host you. I understand you have a little something special going today."

Matt looked at him, stunned.

"Oh, no problem." Forteza grinned. "Rod had to clear it with me. When people want something a little extra special we have to make sure we won't get sued."

Matt hadn't thought about that. "Oh. Well, thank you so much for signing off on it."

"Just be sure to let us know how it comes out. We all enjoy a good love story."

So did Matt, especially if it was his. And even more if this worked out."

"I will. And thanks again."