Page 3 of They All Puck Me

"Tell me about it," I reply, tapping my pen against the notebook. "First game since Ethan Reynolds trade. I heard from a reliable source that he wasn't going to be in attendance tonight."

Bryan's eyes widen, almost as if he didn't expect me to be up to date with sports news.

"I heard the same," he adds. "Not a way to get on the fans good side if you ask me."

I've come to realize that most male journalists think that because you have a vagina, you should know more about makeup and fad diets than hockey. Not this gal. Not when you spent every Sunday morning with your dad watching highlights over breakfast.

I’m lost in thoughts about the first big game, when my phone buzzes. Glancing at the screen, I see a name I haven’t thought about in months: Matt.

My stomach churns.

Matt: Hey Liv, can we talk? I miss you.

I delete the message instantly, but that doesn't stop the memories from pouring in. Six months ago, I stood in our apartment, heart pounding as Matt stammered through his confession. Bailey—my best friend—had become something more to him than just our usual lunch companion. The betrayal sliced through me like a hot knife.

“Olivia, it wasn’t supposed to happen,” he’d said, eyes pleading.

“Save it,” I’d snapped, stuffing clothes into a suitcase. “You’ve made your choice.”

“Liv, please.” His voice had cracked, but I didn’t care. I grabbed my keys and walked out without looking back.

The memory hits me like a freight train. My hands shake as I grip my phone tighter. Deep breaths, Olivia. Focus on the now.

The lights dim, the intro music starts, the perfect distraction to get me in the zone.

"Let's go Wolves." I mutter to myself. "Give me something to keep my mind off shit."

The game is a whirlwind. My eyes scanning every direction, capturing every moment. Liam, “The Wall,” lives up to his name, blocking shot after shot with an intensity that has the crowd roaring.

“Liam’s on fire tonight,” I mutter, into my voice recorder. “Unstoppable defense keeps Wolves in the game.”

Beside me, Bryan glances over. “Makar’s always been a beast. But did you catch Noah’s last breakaway?”

I nod, watching as Noah weaves through Chicago’s defense with the grace of a dancer. “Lightning fast. He’s like a ghost on the ice.”

Noah snags the puck and bolts down the rink, dodging opponents with ease. The crowd holds its breath as he takes the shot—goal! The arena erupts in cheers.

“Noah Kane strikes again!” I type into the newspapers live feed. “Blistering speed and precision give Wolves the lead.”

The energy in Howl Center is next level, each cheer vibrating through my bones.

The game is tight; Chicago isn’t backing down either. Their captain, known for his ruthless playstyle, slams into Liam but gets nothing but solid muscle for his effort.

“Chicago retaliates but can’t break ‘The Wall,’” I say quickly, eyes flicking between my screen and the action below.

Coach Bergman stands behind the bench, barking orders like a general leading troops into battle. His gruff voice carries over the noise as he yells at the players to keep pushing forward.

“Bergman looks ready to jump on the ice himself,” I say to Bryan.

“He might if they don’t pull ahead soon,” Bryan jokes.

The final minutes of the game are nail-bitingly tense. Both teams fight tooth and nail for control of the puck. The crowd’s roar crescendos as Noah makes another breakaway attempt, only to be thwarted by Chicago's goalie in an impressive save.

“Noah’s speed unmatched but denied by Chicago’s goalie,” I note down hurriedly.

My fingers ache from pressing record and typing so fast, but there’s no stopping now. The Wolves need this win to climb to first place in their division and secure home-ice advantage for the playoffs.

“Come on, guys,” I mutter under my breath as Liam intercepts another pass and sends it hurtling back towards Chicago's zone.

---