Page 4 of The Players Next Door

I’m finally starting to feel settled here. It’s been a few days since I moved into Sawyer’s old place and I really feel like I’m getting the hang of things. But tonight has me on edge. It’s my first game on the air while the Grizzlies are on the ice.

Please let this go well.

Stepping into the broadcast booth feels like stepping onto fresh ice—slippery and unfamiliar. Colton's already there, headset on, flipping through his own notes. He looks up when he sees me, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Hey, Holly, ready to make some magic?" he asks, his voice steady and warm.

"Sure," I say, but my hands tremble like rookie legs on the rink. If I stepped out onto the ice right now, I’d be a total bender. I set my notes down next to his, a neat stack of stats and player bios. I can pull most of the info up on my laptop, but I like having physical copies of the important stuff.

"First times are always rough," Colton says, leaning back in his chair. "But you know your stuff. Just follow my lead, and we'll have them eating out of our hands."

I nod, trying to believe him. My eyes dart over the notes, each line a potential trip-up. What if I choke? What if I can't find the words?

"Take deep breaths," Colton advises, noticing my nerves. "And remember, it's just hockey. You grew up with this game."

"Right. Just hockey," I repeat, like a mantra. Maybe if I say it enough, it'll be true.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. I fish it out and Sawyer's name lights up the screen. The text reads, “Knock 'em dead, Hol. I'll be listening.”

A smile tugs at my lips. That's Sawyer, always there for me even when he's miles away on another team. I type back a quick “Thanks, big bro,” and then silence the phone. Can't have distractions now, not when every second counts.

"Who's that?" Colton asks, nodding at my phone.

"My brother," I reply, slipping the device back into my pocket. "Sending luck from the enemy camp."

"Ah, family rivalries," Colton chuckles. "Adds spice to the game."

"Something like that." I glance at the clock. Showtime is closing in, fast and fierce.

"Let's do this," I say, more to myself than to Colton. But he nods, as if I've just said the magic words.

"Let's," he agrees, and suddenly, I'm not feeling quite as alone on this fresh ice. Maybe, just maybe, I can glide after all.

The buzzer sounds, and the players spill onto the ice. My heart's racing, but not with nerves anymore. It's excitement now, pure and electric.

"Looks like the Grizzlies are hungry for a win tonight," I say, my voice steady and clear in my own ears.

"Absolutely, Holly," Colson replies, his baritone a smooth contrast to my lighter tones. "But don't count the Sharks out just yet."

"I would never do that," I shoot back, grinning as the puck slides across the slick surface. The crowd roars, a wave of sound that crashes over us, but I'm riding it, not drowning.

"Smith passes to Kowalski," I narrate, eyes on the game, mind sharp. "He's been a force all season."

"Force is right," Colton says. "But the Grizzlies' defense isn't giving an inch, and Cam Porter has been strong in the goal tonight."

"Talk about an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force." I'm getting into this, the words coming as fast as the action on the ice.

"Classic physics," Colton quips.

"Only more bruising," I add, and we both laugh, the sound natural, easy.

Something warm blossoms inside me. Pride? Confidence? Both? As the third period ends, I lean back, surprised by how fast it's gone, by how right this feels.

"Great job, Holly," Colton says, and I beam at him.

"Thanks, Colton. You're not too shabby yourself."

"Years of practice," he admits with a wink.

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