Page 42 of Cross Check

A round of applause greets me when I take the stage. With my favorite pair of black heels and the lucky red blazer that’s never let me down, I wave to the crowd.

“Good afternoon,” I say into the microphone. “My name is Amelia Green, and I’m honored to be here with you all.”

I go through my credentials and a quick history of the career that led me to Denver. I mention some of my role models, starting with Pat Summit in NCAA women’s basketball. I talk about the hope I have for more women in positions like mine, how young girls need someone to look up to so they know it’s possible.

“A frustrating part about having notoriety is the wrong things that are said about me. It’s hard to know that if I correct someone, I run the risk of coming across as an emotional wreck.” I stride across the stage so I can address the other side of the room. “In those moments of falsehood, I remind myself that they don’t know my character. I’ve worked hard for the opportunities that have been presented to me—probably harder than my male counterparts. I know that I’ve failed many times—something the media likes to bring up every chance they get—but I’ve won more times than I’ve come up short. I know I’m not some man hater who thinks the entire gender sucks, despite what I might think after a bad Tinder date,” I say, and everyone laughs. “When you’re a woman existing in a space where there’s very little room for you, more often than not it’s the men, the good men who will speak up and have your back when you aren’t in the room.”

I pause for a breath, wishing I had a glass of water to get rid of the frog in my throat, but I lift my chin. I look out to the bright lights and continue.

“Don’t get me wrong; professional sports can be a toxic place. Athletes are handed down less severe penalties for crimes they might commit, but we have to hope that there are men out there who truly want to see the sports world change. Without that hope, going to work every day, simply existing is too bleak. Within that, we have to uplift each other too. I know it’s cliché,” I tell the room, “but if we’re not supporting our peers, if we’re not recognizing that more women in these fields is a good thing and not a competition, we’re going to be in trouble. So, I’ll end with this: there’s room for all of us at the table, and I will always keep a place set for you. If there’s anything I can ever do to help, I will. And I hope to see many of you out there one day.”

There’s more applause. I blush, flattered by the crowd’s enthusiasm, and offer them a wave before handing over my microphone so the next guest can speak.

My nerves finally settle by the time I make it offstage where Emmy is waiting for me with a wide grin.

“That was fantastic,” she says. “So inspiring.”

“And not a single Freudian slip.” I laugh. “Thanks for asking me to participate, Emmy. I feel reinvigorated in a way. I’m excited to get back to work.”

“As long as you don’t let Denver kick our ass too severely when we play you this season.” She smirks. “Do you have any plans the rest of the day? I’m doing dinner at my place with Piper, who I mentioned before, and Lexi, the Stars’ athletic trainer. We’d love it if you joined us.”

“Oh.” I tug on my sleeve, surprised by the invitation. “I don’t want to overstep.”

“Please. It’s food and wine. There’s nothing to overstep.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be there. Thanks.”

“I’ll text you my address. Come by around five. And feel free to hang out here as long as you want.” She motions to the curtain hiding us from the large crowd. “They’re going to break into smaller groups and meet some women who work for the Sea Crabs and the baseball team in town.”

“Maybe I’ll do some networking. Or steal a muffin from the breakfast display you showed me.”

“God. I love carbs.” Emmy taps her phone, checking the time with a groan. “I have to run. I’ll see you later?”

“Sounds good,” I say with a smile, and I mean it.

Nerves rattle in my chest when I stand outside Emmy’s apartment later that night. I clutch the wine I picked up on the way over tight in my hand.

Being here is a step outside my comfort zone. New people, a place I’m not familiar with. This isn’t part of my normal routine. Hockey is my safe space, the thing I default to in most conversations. With Sienna and Lainey in my life, I’ve gone years without having to do the questions you ask someone in the early stages of friendship.

Around them, I can be opinionated. Loud about my beliefs and stubborn in not wanting to change my ways. It takes me a minute—or five business days—to feel comfortable with someone before I can open up to them. My hesitation often gets mislabeled as too harsh, and I hope that doesn’t happen tonight. I do my best to quiet the anxious thoughts rumbling through my head when I knock.

The door swings open. Emmy smiles at me, looking more casual than she did a couple of hours ago. She’s traded her heels and slacks for a messy bun, black sweatpants, and an oversized sweater, and I’m instantly more relaxed. She motions me inside and shuts the door behind me.

“Hi,” she says. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” A laugh races out of me. “The sweat on my forehead?”

“More like the thirty minutes we’ve spent together. I’m pretty sure we’re cut from the same cloth. Protective of who we let close? Operating under the assumption that everyone who interacts with us has an ulterior motive?” She hums. “Feel free to tell me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re painfully right, and I should probably see myself out.” My grin is self-deprecating. “But I did bring wine.”

“You’re going to fit right in. Lexi and Piper are two of the good ones.” Emmy turns, leading me down the hall to the kitchen where a pretty blonde woman sits at the island, her phone in her hands. Next to her is a beautiful brunette, and I recognize her as the one talking to Grant after a game. “This is Amelia Green, Denver’s assistant coach,” she says, and two sets of eyes bounce over to me.

“Hi!” The blonde waves, smiling my way. “I’m Piper Mitchell, rinkside reporter for the DC Stars.”

“Lexi Armstrong,” the other woman says, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m still mad Grant didn’t introduce us when we were in the same vicinity, what? A season or two ago?”

“It’s nice to meet you now.” I shift on my feet. “Both of you.”