Page 2 of They All Puck Me

I take the pass, feeling its weight in my hand—a tangible reminder of the responsibility ahead. “I won’t let you down Hartgrove.”

“I know you won’t,” he replies, giving me a rare smile.

I race out of his office, before he has a chance to change his mind. But I am fully prepared to get on my knees and beg if would so happen to do so.

Back at my desk, I gather my things quickly—a notepad, voice recorder, and my trusty camera. The newsroom buzzes around me, but I’m in my own world now.

“Hey Olivia!” Jenna yells from across the room. “Heard you got the Wolves gig! Congrats!”

“Thanks!” I wave back, grinning like an idiot.

I race home, practically tripping over my own feet in my excitement. I burst through the door of my tiny apartment, and Oscar greets me with his usual enthusiasm. He’s a scrappy little terrier mix I found in a garbage can a few years back, hence the name.

“Hey, buddy!” I drop my bag on the floor and crouch down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. “Guess what? Your mom’s got a big gig tonight.”

Oscar wags his tail furiously, looking at me with those big brown eyes like he understands every word.

I stand up and head for the bathroom, Oscar trotting along behind me. “Alright, shower time. No distractions,” I tell him, mostly talking to myself.

The hot water hits my skin, and I let out a sigh of relief. It’s like the steam is melting away the day’s stress. I think about tonight, about getting to be right there in the thick of it with the Northstar Wolves. This is huge. My first major assignment and it’s with one of the top teams in the league. The team that could make or break my career.

“Fuck, I can’t wait,” I say aloud, the words bouncing off the tiles.

Rinsing off quickly, I step out of the shower and grab a towel. “No time to dawdle,” I mutter to myself.

I rummage through my closet for something appropriate—professional but cute and comfortable enough for a hockey game. I decide on a pair of skinny jeans that make my ass rival Kim K's. Okay, maybe that's a little farfetched, and a fitted sweater. Not too fancy but still presentable.

I pull on my clothes and glance at myself in the mirror. Long auburn hair still damp from the shower, bright green eyes practically glowing with excitement.

“Alright, Olivia,” I tell my reflection, “let’s go make some history.”

I grab my gear and stuff them into my bag. Oscar gives me a questioning look as I head for the door.

“Sorry, bud,” I say, giving him one last pat on the head. "Only stuffed dogs allowed in the arena.”

He tilts his head as if to say “Your loss.”

With one final glance around my apartment to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything crucial—like pants—I head out into the cool Minneapolis evening.

The ride to Howl Center is a blur of thoughts and traffic lights. By the time I arrive, the sun is setting behind the towering arena, casting long shadows across the pavement.

The arena buzzes with energy, a tangible hum of excitement as fans stream through the gates. My press pass swings from my neck, occasionally getting caught on my earrings as I weave through the crowd. The scent of popcorn and the distant roar of the crowd hit me like a wave.

Once inside the press box, I find an empty spot and start setting up. The view is perfect—center ice with a clear line of sight to both goals. I double-check my recorder and flip open my notebook, scribbling down some initial observations.

The arena fills quickly, fans decked out in ice blue and silver chanting team slogans. The anticipation is electric, a live wire ready to spark.

"First time covering a Wolves game?" A voice to my left startles me.

I turn to see a man about my age, wearing a media badge as well. His dark hair falls into his eyes as he adjusts his camera.

"Yeah," I admit. "Olivia, Minneapolis Star Tribune."

He nods appreciatively. "Bryan, Chicago Sun-Times."

Ew. The enemy. But I school my features and grant him a forced smile.

"Big game tonight, eh?" he asks.

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