Page 16 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

I chuckle, despite myself. “They did have me cornered. Just had to find the tiniest gap and exploit it.”

Ryan leans back, stretching his arms. “You make it sound so easy. Wish I could say the same for my defense tonight. Almost let one slip past me in the second period.”

“But you didn’t,” I point out. “You were a wall out there.”

Liam shifts, looking a bit sheepish. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something, Ethan. During the second period, I made that pass that got intercepted. What should I have done differently?”

I take a moment to think, replaying it in my mind. “You telegraphed the pass, and their defense saw it coming. Next time, try to fake them out. Look one way but pass the other. The key’s to keep them guessing.”

Liam nods, soaking in the advice. “Got it. Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

Ryan chimes in, “Yeah, don’t be so hard on yourself, Liam. You’re doing great for a newbie. Just keep learning and improving. We’ve all been there.”

I can see the admiration in Liam’s eyes, and it reminds me of when I was starting out, looking up to the older players. It’s a good feeling, knowing I can pass on some of what I’ve learned.

We’re still discussing the finer points of the game when Coach Andrew steps forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Ethan, Ryan, a word.”

I already know what’s coming and groan inwardly. “Coach, if this is about the reporters?—”

“It is,” Coach Andrew cuts me off. “They’ve been trying to get an interview with you for weeks now. It’s part of your job, Ethan. You can’t keep avoiding it.”

I scowl, my irritation bubbling to the surface. “I just play hockey. I don’t see why I need to do the showbiz part.”

Coach Andrew crosses his arms, his expression stern. “Because it’s not just about playing. It’s about representing the team, connecting with the fans. You’re the player of the game, and it’s not normal for someone in your position to keep missing interviews. It’s been years, Ethan.”

I want to argue, to refuse outright, but Ryan pats my arm, a reassuring look in his eyes. “I’ll be there with you, man. We’ll get through it together.”

I let out a heavy sigh, knowing I’m cornered. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The locker room falls quiet as we make our way out, the buzz of conversation tapering off as the team watches us leave. The hallway is lined with reporters, their eyes lighting up as they see us approach. Cameras flash, and the cacophony of questions begins.

Ryan takes the lead, his natural charm and ease with the media apparent. “Great game tonight, huh?” he says, smiling at the crowd. “Ethan’s got a lot to say about it.”

I grit my teeth and step forward, forcing myself to engage. “Yeah, it was a tough match. The team worked hard, and it paid off.”

The questions come fast, each one more intrusive than the last. “Ethan, how does it feel to score the winning goal?” “What’s your secret to staying so consistent?” “Can you talk about your relationship with the team?”

I answer them as best as I can, keeping my responses short and to the point. It’s exhausting, but Ryan’s presence beside me is a steadying influence.

One reporter pushes through, a sharp-eyed woman with a microphone thrust forward. “Ethan, there are rumors that you avoid the media because of personal issues. Care to comment?”

My jaw tightens, and I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. Ryan steps in smoothly. “Ethan’s focus has always been on the game and the team. He’s here now, isn’t he?”

The reporter isn’t satisfied, but she backs off, and the questions shift back to safer topics. Eventually, Coach Andrew signals that the session is over, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“See?” Ryan says as we walk back to the locker room. “That wasn’t so bad.”

I grunt in response, still irritated but relieved it’s done. “Thanks for having my back.”

He nods. “There’s a second string over at that corner and then we’re done.”

Ryan and I head to the conference corner where the second string of reporters are waiting. The air is thick with anticipation and the smell of sweat and cologne. I’ve just managed to get through the first wave of media without losing my cool, but I’m not out of the woods yet.

As we approach, I see him—Raymond Blue. The silver-blonde vindictive reporter who wrote an article about David’s death, blaming it on me.

My chest tightens, and for a moment, I freeze.

I’ll lose my shit right in front of the whole world if I have to face that bastard. I can’t hold back where he’s concerned. He’ll know it as well, and I’m sure as hell that he’ll poke and try to get a reaction out of me.

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