Page 30 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

Even as we travel from city to city, the pattern remains. Every win, every celebration, every practice—all of it leads back to those moments with Ziggy. Our arrangement is working. We have an understanding: no strings, no complications, just pure, unadulterated physicality.

One particularly memorable night, after a grueling game in Pittsburgh, we meet in a dimly lit hotel room. The city’s skyline glitters outside the window as we move together, our bodies a perfect blend of aggression and tenderness. She bites my shoulder, and I growl, flipping us over and pinning her wrists above her head. Our eyes lock, and for a second, I see something beyond the lust and opposition—a flicker of vulnerability that matches my own.

But we both know the rules. This is physical, nothing more. As I lie beside her, the sound of our breathing the only noise in the room, I remind myself of that fact. We are just twopeople driven by ambition and a need to prove ourselves, finding a strange sort of comfort in each other’s arms.

The season is far from over, and the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But for now, I find a balance between my relentless drive on the ice and the fiery connection with Ziggy. It’s a delicate balance, one that could easily tip into chaos, but it is something I’m willing to hold on to for as long as it lasts.

Chapter 25

Now, in addition to the emotional distance, there is a new physical distance between Elliot and me. My assignments pull me further away from the Red Wolves, game after game, embedding me deeper with other teams. It’s the nature of my job, bouncing from each city, capturing the games, trying to turn them into headlines. But lately, every new assignment takes me farther away from the intense, tumultuous connection I am starting to crave.

The media frenzy surrounding Elliot isn’t helping. He is on every sports show, his face plastered across social media. TheHit Behind the Netpodcast that he is starting is taking off, giving his fans a candid look into the real him. Constantly seeing him all over the news has worn down to my last nerve. It pisses me off watching him navigate the spotlight with such ease while I continue to struggle to keep up with my own demanding schedule.

I’m killing time before heading to the rink to cover the game by sitting at a table in a small cafe in Detroit. Most trips, no matter where, I'm only there in that particular city for forty-eight hours or so. Most days are filled with a lot of takeout and eating on the go, so sometimes it's nice to just set up at a table somewhere. I have made it my goal to try new or popular restaurants whenever I can.

Scrolling through my phone, every other post is about Elliot—his latest save, his recent interview, sound bites of him on the podcast. He is everywhere. It’s like the universe is taunting me, reminding me of what I’m missing, and even worse, what I want but can't get my hands on right now.

I toss my phone aside, trying to focus on my notes for Detroit's game against Charlotte this afternoon. But my thoughts keep drifting back to the unmentionable. I don't know what haunts me more, how much I’ve thought about my time with Elliot or how I’m counting down until we are in the same place again. The residual effect of our connection lingers in my mind like a ghost that refuses to be exorcized. I can still feel his touch, hear his voice, and see that damn smirk that makes me want to both kiss and punch him at the same time.

And the worst part about the world suddenly being obsessed with him is that cameras are everywhere. We were photographed together, but luckily for both of us, my face wasn't visible, and I've remained unidentifiable. The constant scrutiny has made this stretch of distance necessary. The days of having any resemblance of privacy are behind us. Any time Elliot spends in public is reduced to a spectacle for the masses. I hate it. I’m not going to get caught up in the media frenzy that is now following him around. From here on out, my time with Elliot willbe behind closed doors only. I can't allow my professional life to be overshadowed by this personal entanglement.

It’s absurd to think otherwise. I am a professional, dammit. I’ve worked hard to get what I’ve gotten, and yet here I am, threatened to be defined by a connection to a cocky hockey player. A part of me can’t resist, pulled in by the power and passion I only seem to experience with Elliot. There’s this feeling deep down in my gut that only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

The long-distance aspect is starting to wear me down. Every time I travel to cover a new team, the ache of missing Elliot grows stronger. It’s infuriating to feel this pull toward him while trying to hold onto my independence. Deep down, I want to see him more, to share more than just fleeting, fiery moments in hotel rooms. The physical connection with Elliot has become something I crave, a need I can't shake. There is nothing harder to forget than hot, rough sex, especially when getting it good and often.

But the constant thoughts of him invading my mind are irritating. It isn't just about the sex anymore; it's the way he lingers in my thoughts, distracting me when I should be focusing. The worst part is knowing I can never let him find out how much he affects me. I refuse to give him that power, even though every encounter leaves me wanting more. Admitting that I miss him feels like losing, and in this tangled mess of competition and desire, losing isn't an option.

From Detroit, I fly straight to Chicago to cover the Cyclones game. After a really taxing day of interviews and reports, I have nothing left to give. I go back to my hotel room and order room service. Once again, I’m left alone and staring at the ceiling. The city buzzes outside; the energy reverberatingthrough the thick glass windows. But all I can think about is Elliot. I pick up my phone, my thumb hovering over his number. I want to hear his voice, to feel some semblance of connection. But I stop myself. I’m not needy or desperate.

"Fuck it," I mutter, tossing the phone aside and grabbing a bottle of wine from the minibar. I pour myself a glass and take a long sip, hoping to drown out the frustration. I keep repeating my new mantra:I’m not needy or desperate.

The next day, on the flight back to Atlanta, I have a brief moment of calm before landing. Getting right back into the swing of work. Of course, Elliot's latest interview clips are everywhere online. It’s hard to avoid. He is over the top, stumbling over his thoughts, rambling on about details that make no sense to me, but there’s still something so charming. He effortlessly draws in the audience with his wit and charisma. The interviewer asks about his podcast, and he launches into a detailed explanation of how it came together and all the big plans the group has in mind for its long-term success. I clench my jaw, feeling a surge of anger. How is he managing to thrive with all of this attention while I feel like I’m drowning while just trying to maintain my life?

That evening, over dinner with Rachel, we chat about how things are going in the office. About how my life on the road is going, and of course the conversation inevitably turns to Elliot's newfound success. Rachel is effusive, praising his skills and the incredible season he is having. "Can you believe Elliot St. Germain’s season? He's absolutely on fire! Did you see that last game? Incredible saves," she says.

"Yeah, I guess so. Why are you following the Red Wolves so closely?” I ask, trying to keep my annoyance light.

Rachel’s face falter’s a bit, her mouth opening and closing quickly. “No, not the Red Wolves, just St. Germain and his attempt at a record-breaking season.”

Curious reaction but lucky for her this is a topic I don’t want to talk about either. Forcing a smile, I reply, “He's definitely stepped up. It's like he's a whole different player."

"I mean, the media can't get enough of him. His podcast is skyrocketing, too. It's like everything he touches turns to gold." Rachel continues on.

I sigh, "He's really making a name for himself. Good for him." I take a sip of my drink to hide my irritation.

Rachel gives me an odd look. "I thought you'd be more excited about his success. After all, you've been covering his games a lot lately."

I shrug. "I'm happy for him. It's just... Well, it's a lot, you know? He's everywhere."

Rachel's words echo in my mind as I force a smile, my frustration simmering just below the surface. "True, but isn't it great to see someone you know doing so well? I heard he's got some big interviews lined up. The fans adore him," she says, her enthusiasm unrelenting.

Clenching my jaw, I reply, "Yeah, I've noticed. It's just... sometimes it feels like he's overshadowing everything else."

Rachel, ever the optimist, brushes it off. "Oh, come on, Zig. You've been doing amazing work, too. Your reporting is top-notch. Don't let his success get to you."

Forcing another smile, I nod. "Thanks, Rachel. I appreciate it. Just trying to stay focused on my own work, you know?"

"Absolutely. But hey, if you ever need to vent or anything, I'm here. We all have those moments," she says, giving me a warm smile.

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