Page 58 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

As he returns to his seat, the team is silent, each player lost in thought, internalizing the weight of his words, ready to transform them into action once they hit the ice for Game Five. The apprehension from earlier is replaced with a sense ofrejuvenation to the team's attitude, to their stamina. Just from the time that I have spent with the team I know they all want to win but, on this plane, I can feel how important this is to every single player.

Waking up alone in the large, empty hotel bed is a stark contrast to the mornings spent beside Elliot. The room feels colder, quieter, without his steady breath and warmth. Today is Game Five, a critical one, and the coach had decreed a team-only night to sharpen focus—a decision that left us separated. Pushing the lack of Elliot’s presence aside, I decide to embrace the morning on my own terms.

Phoenix welcomes me with its warm embrace and the allure of its unique culinary scene. I discover a delightful breakfast spot and tuck myself into a cozy corner with a view of the sun-drenched street. I order a hearty serving of chilaquiles with a perfectly cooked sunny-side-up egg on top, because why not? The meal is a delicious diversion, providing me a moment of solitude to collect my thoughts and brace for the excitement of the day ahead.

With breakfast lingering pleasantly in my stomach, I take a leisurely walk back to my hotel, the warmth of the city wrapping itself around my wandering thoughts. By mid-morning, I meet up with the cameramen, ready to dive into the whirlwind of pregame preparations. We head to the rink together, the familiar buzz of game time tingling in my veins. I'm starting to get the feeling that I might miss covering hockey when the time comes.

The buzzer sounds, heralding the end of a high-octane, goal-rich Game Five that seals the Red Wolves' victory and propels them into the Stanley Cup Finals. It is a display of sheer prowess and teamwork, with the team capitalizing on every power play opportunity that came their way. Elliot was a monumental figure in goal, his saves nothing short of spectacular, each one drawing roars from the crowd and affirming his status as a linchpin in the team's success.

The arena erupts into a frenzy of celebration. The ice is a blur of black and purple jerseys, sticks held high, as the Red Wolves embrace each other in contagious joy. Even from my vantage point in the press box, I can still feel how happy they all are, a proud smile spreading across my face.

The postgame press conference begins soon and I am ready. I wait for those participating to file in. Catching Elliot’s eye as he takes his seat, I give him a big wink—a silent message of congratulations. His answering grin is all the reassurance I need that tonight is not just a victory for the team, but a personal triumph.

I may have strategically situated myself to be the first in line to ask a question. And I know exactly what needs to be asked. I catch Elliot’s eye again, giving him a nod that blends the lines of our personal feelings and my professional role.

“Elliot,” I begin, my voice clear over the murmur of my colleagues, “congratulations on a phenomenal win tonight. Can you share with us what this victory means to you and the team as you head into the finals?”

Elliot leans into the microphone, his face wearing the residue of the game's intensity covered by a satisfied victorygrin. “Thanks, Ziggy,” he starts, acknowledging our familiar rapport with a quick smile before turning serious.

“This win is huge for us, but it’s just another step toward our ultimate goal. This was a group effort—every line, every shift counted tonight. Our team showed great resilience and determination. We’re not just happy to be heading to the finals; we’re ready. We’ve got the momentum, the skill, and the teamwork to take us all the way. We’ll take tonight to celebrate, then it’s back to work. We want to bring the Cup home.”

His answer resonates through the room, an attestation to his leadership and the collective spirit of the team. The pride in his voice, the commitment to his team—it is all the narrative needs to capture the heart of this playoff season. As questions begin to fly and cameras click, my heart is light, buoyed by the promise of what is yet to come in the finals.

Chapter 42

Coach Wilder wraps up our pregame meeting. The entire team is jacked up about making it to the Stanley Cup Finals. Not a single one of us in the room for that meeting kept our cool. We are hosting the New Jersey Reapers for the first two games of the Final Series, and everyone knows they will be a tough team to beat. Our strategy is laid out. Now, it’s up to us to execute. The culmination of months of hard work, grueling practices, and relentless games has led us here. The stakes are the highest possible, and I can feel the intensity radiating off my teammates as we prepare for the next battle. As I look around the room, I see the determination in my teammates’ eyes. We’ve worked too hard to let this slip away. We have to channel every bit of grit, skill, and heart to win this. It’s time to show the Reapers what the Red Wolves are made of.

This morning, before practice, we have a press conference. It’s the usual media circus—reporters jostling for positions, cameras flashing, and questions being thrown at us from everydirection. I've been in the spotlight more than I care to admit, but today feels different. The pressure isn't just on the team; it's on me. As the goalie, my performance tonight can make or break the team. Every save, every move, everything I do will be scrutinized.

As I take my seat at the front, the questions start pouring in. Coach addresses the media, giving his usual measured responses about the team’s preparation and respect for our opponents. I sit next to him, listening but also lost in my own thoughts about the upcoming games. Their questions are typical ones about our strategy, our mindset, and how we are preparing for the Reapers. I answer them with the standard responses, trying to keep my cool and maintain the team’s focus. But then, one reporter asks a question that makes me pause.

“Elliot, how do you see the upcoming series against The Reapers unfolding?”

I lean forward, the competitive fire burning in my eyes. “The Reapers are going to get hosed,” I say, my voice firm and confident. The room is silent for a moment before erupting in a flurry of activity. Cameras flash, and reporters scramble to get their follow-up questions in. Nolan shoots me a quick cautionary look. I stand by my statement, knowing it will fuel the rivalry and set the tone for the series.

“We’ve prepared hard, and we’re ready to show what we’re made of,” I add, doubling down. “Our fans deserve to see us give it everything we’ve got.”

Questions keep coming, so I keep my responses brief, the adrenaline of the impending games coursing through me. The press conference is just the beginning; the real battle is waiting for us on the ice.

After the press conference, the weight of my words settles in. The pressure is immense, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I thrive on this, the high stakes, the do-or-die moments. It’s what makes me the player I am.

Back in the locker room, the guys are ready. My statement lit a fire under everyone, and I can just sense it as everyone gets ready for the game. We are ready to give it everything we have. As I start my pregame routine, my phone buzzes.

Ziggy:I heard about

your comment.

Ziggy:Bold Move.

:Had to set

the tone, you know?

Hearing from her makes me smile. She somehow manages to give me exactly what I need in every moment, a reminder of the personal support that fuels me. I put my phone away, focusing on the game ahead, but her words linger in my mind, giving me an extra boost of confidence.

The team moves through the tunnel toward the ice. My nerves are on edge, but deep down, I know we have what it takes. We are ready to face the Reapers head-on. I plan to lead my team to victory tonight. The puck drops, and the game begins. The Final Series is our chance to prove ourselves, and I’m not going to let anything stand in our way.

The final buzzer sounds, and we collapse against each other on the ice. Barely able to catch our breath, but that does not stop any of us from celebrating. We just endured three exhausting periods, battling the Reapers tooth and nail. Every shift was a war, every puck battle a fight to the death. But we did it. We won by one in the end, the scoreboard reading 3-2 in our favor. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but all I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the cheers of my teammates as we celebrate on the ice. We set the tone, just as promised, and the victory feels all the sweeter because of it. Winning the first game makes the path to the championship clearer than ever. The locker room is as buck wild as it has ever been, but I know we can’t let our guard down. There are still more games to play and more battles to fight.

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