Page 14 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

His angry eyes move over my face before he seethes, "Kick rocks, Barnacle."

My mouth drops wide open. I can't believe he just said that on camera. I turn around to my cameraman, giving him a look to ask if he can tell me that he’s not live on air. In the blip of time I looked away, Elliot stalked off to his seat at the interview table.

Unbelievable. I guess this is how the rest of the afternoon is going to go. Elliot will continue to be a giant man-child but that's fine. I will get my interview. I wait outside the locker room, my foot tapping impatiently against the polished floor. Every second feels like an eternity as I steel myself for the inevitable confrontation. The rest of the team has already filtered out, but I am lasered on Elliot. Finally, he emerges. His face is grim. He was already raked over the coals. And I’m not about to make it any easier. Without giving him a chance to slip away, I pounce, shoving my microphone toward him.

"Elliot, a quick word about tonight's game," I say, my voice sharp. His eyes flash with irritation, barely concealing his contempt, but I press on, following him toward the exit. This one-on-one interview is going to happen regardless of whether either of us want it, even if it means following him all the way up to his seat at the postgame interview.

I can barely keep up with Elliot as he storms down the hallway, his face set in a scowl. My heart pounds, but I’m unable to let this opportunity slip. "Can you tell us what went wrong out there tonight?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. He barely glances at me, his jaw clenched.

"I don't have time for this, Ziggy," he snaps, his tone dripping with disdain.

I quicken my pace to keep up with him. "The fans deserve to know. You had a strong start, and then it all fell apart. What went wrong?"

He stops abruptly, turning to face me with a glare that could freeze hell over. "What went wrong?!?! You! You are the problem, showing up and distracting me. That's what went wrong. You're like a damned curse." The venom in his voice stings, but I refuse to back down.

"So, you're saying it’s my fault?" I shoot back, matching his tone.

"Yes, I am," he snaps. "You're always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I bite back a retort, knowing it will only escalate the situation. His one-word responses and clipped answers are only pissing me off. I get it. He doesn't like me, and guess what 'buddy,' I don't like you either. Turnabout is fair play, I think to myself. "Do you think your performance tonight is a sign of you losing your touch? Some might say you're past your prime."

He scoffs at me. "Losing my touch? That's rich coming from someone who can't even conduct a proper interview. Stick to gossip, Ziggy, it's clearly your strength."

I shake my head; he thinks calling me a gossiper will unsettle me. He needs to keep trying. I keep with my line of questioning, "Your team seemed frustrated with your performance. Do you feel like you're letting them down?"

Elliot glowers at me, his face getting more and more red with every passing moment. "What a stupid question. Of course, I know I let them down. I might be a lot of terrible things, but Ihave never once misunderstood the importance of being on this team. I care about the burden my brothers face. Clearly, that is not something that you are used to."

Damn, he really knows how to hit me where it hurts, but I will win this. "The fans are disappointed with tonight's loss. Do you have anything to say to them, or are you just going to keep making excuses?"

Elliot gapes at me like I’m some sort of alien. It brings back mental flashes of that horrible night. "Disappointed? They should be used to it by now. And as for excuses, the only excuse here is your pathetic attempt at journalism." Elliot retorts.

"Some are questioning if you still have the mental toughness to compete at this level. Any comment on that?" I shoot him a questioning glance, and if looks could kill, I would be six feet under. I can feel Elliot's anger burrowing itself under my skin.

"Mental toughness? Coming from someone who bumbled her way through the world's worst interview I've ever experienced."

I bristle at him. Sure, I had a rough start, but he is just a dick for the sake of being a dick. I have nothing to do with this. "Do you regret not preparing better for tonight's game, or do you just rely on your past reputation to carry you?"

"Regret? The only regret I have is helping you and letting you get into my brain and ruin my performance tonight." Elliot seethes at me.

His words take me by surprise. How on earth am I affecting his game? All he is doing now is making excuses. "I'm just doing my job, Elliot. Maybe if you could focus on yoursinstead of blaming others, you'd be breaking records instead of losing games."

His eyes narrow. Stepping closer, he towers over me. "My job? You don't know the first thing about what it takes to be out there. You're too busy stirring up trouble to notice anything else."

Anger flares inside me, my humiliation turning to fury. "Maybe if you could handle a little pressure, you wouldn't need to blame me for your failures. Grow up, St. Germain."

His face twists with rage, and for a moment, I think he might actually explode. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Stay out of my way, Ziggy. I don't need a know-it-all reporter making my life harder."

I stand my ground, my heart racing. "And I don't need a washed-up goalie ruining my career. Maybe if you took some responsibility, you'd be worth interviewing."

The tension is electric, crackling between us. Elliot's eyes burn with fury, and I can feel the heat of my own anger flushing my cheeks. As he turns and storms off, the echoes of our confrontation linger in the air. Elliot St. Germain will never get the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. I keep my head held high, even as my insides twist with anxiety. This is far from over, and I have a sinking feeling things are only going to get worse. If I haven’t already tanked my entire career, why stop now?

Chapter 14

The press room is a storm of tension. Or maybe I’m just projecting. I try to focus on just making it through the night, but I’m vibrating with anger. My mind keeps replaying the latest encounter with Ziggy. At least we moved past the vomit covered experience. I don't know how she does it, but she has a way of getting under my skin like no one else. I take a deep breath and head straight to my seat, already dreading the inevitable showdown.

My heart races, thumping loudly in my chest as the flashes of cameras ignite the room. Each burst of light pierces through the air, temporarily blinding me and leaving spots dancing in my vision. The intensity of how I'm feeling makes my palms clammy and my forehead beads with sweat. The eyes of the room, a sea of curious onlookers, seem to bore into me, intensifying the aggression that rises within me. I can feel their gaze, their anticipation, their expectations, all focused on my every move. It's as if their collective energy is suffocating, pressing down on my shoulders and causing my breath to grow shallow.

As I try to steady myself, I realize the immense power that lies in the eyes of others. They have the ability to shape perceptions to build or break reputations with a simple glance. Sitting here, trapped under their watchful gaze, I wonder, do I even have what it takes to withstand their scrutiny and emerge unscathed? The reason I willingly step into this spotlight, exposing myself to the world's scrutiny, is what drives me. It is the fire within me that drives me forward, urging me to embrace the challenges that come with being in the limelight. This time, it doesn't quite feel like enough.

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