Page 55 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

Summoning the energy from another plane, I sit up. "No, we can't do that. We have to talk about this."

Elliot leans back, putting his arm under his head. "I know, but it's easier to just ignore it all and push everything out of my way."

I think about my next words carefully, the silence heavy between us. "Elliot, you can't keep acting like this. It's affecting everyone, not just you."

He looks away, his jaw clenched. "I know, Zig. It's just... everything is piling up. The pressure, the media, the team... us."

The mention of "us" makes my chest ache. "I get it, but you have to find a way to handle it better. We're all trying to support you. I'm here to support you however I can, but you need to meet us halfway."

Elliot nods slowly, his eyes finally meeting mine. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being a jackass. I don't mean to be an asshole. It's just... hard."

I reach out, taking his hand. "I know it is. But you can't push everyone away. Especially not me."

For a moment, the walls between us crumble, and he squeezes my hand, his eyes filling with regret. "It won't happen again."

As I lay back down in his arms, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to navigate thiscomplicated mess together. But I know it won't be easy. The media scrutiny, the pressure of the playoffs, and our own issues are a tangled web of obstacles we have to overcome, but for now, we need to sleep, because Elliot needs a clear head for Game Two tomorrow.

Chapter 41

The piercing blast of the horn signals the start of Game Two of the Conference Finals, and I can feel the charged atmosphere penetrate every corner of the arena. The Red Wolves are facing off against the formidable Montreal Saints again and there is some animosity that hangs heavy over the rink. This is Elliot’s former team. Just last year he was wearing their colors. Now everything has changed for both teams. Armed with my microphone, I am rink-side, ready to capture every moment of the drama.

The game kicks off with intense energy, both teams displaying a fierce determination to dominate the ice. As the Red Wolves' offense surges forward with surprising vigor, it becomes clear they are not going to make it easy for their rivals. They are skating hard, the puck seemingly glued to their sticks as they maneuver around the Saints’ defense.

As the final buzzer echoes through the arena, signaling the end of Game Two, the scoreboard displays an undeniable victory for the Red Wolves: 8-2. It's an exhilarating showcase of hockey prowess, with Arizona capitalizing on every conceivable shot on goal. The Saints, impressive as they are, have simply been outplayed this evening. The energy from the crowd is crazy, their cheers almost deafening as they celebrate each goal. Standing rink-side, I can feel the intense satisfaction emanating from the players as they acknowledge their fans and each other for the brilliant plays. Each line performed exceptionally, turning potential shots into points on the board. As a reporter, capturing this moment can show another side to the sport; the personal side to it all. Sure, the sheer dominance displayed by the Red Wolves tonight is not just a game won—it is a statement made, but there is more to it than that.

As the team jets off to Montreal for games three and four, I am stuck traveling separately from the team due to last minute media additions that my boss added to my schedule. The absence of my usual in-flight banter with the players, specifically a star goalie, leaves a large void. So, I turn to my phone, seeking connection through texts.

Elliot and I message back and forth while I wait for my flight, our conversation a mix of playful musings and nonsense about the upcoming games. Each vibration of my phone brings a little jolt of excitement. It is oddly comforting to be able to just talk with him so freely. At this point, all of the nerves that were building before, the concerns to distance myself—they all feel pointless. So, I embrace the now and just go with it, something I am very much not used to.

Ziggy:Just boarded.

This plane's got

nothing on the team jet.

Missing my favorite

seatmate.

:Guess you’ll have

to settle for imagining my

charming commentary.

Let me guess…

hogging the armrest,

right

Ziggy:Guilty as charged.

How’d you know?

:It’s called goalie

intuition. Comes with the

---