Page 64 of Cold Comeback
Every instinct screamed at me to tell him the real story—that it wasn't reckless indulgence but desperate loneliness when my team abandoned me. I was trying to prove I existed to anyone who would listen. Instead, I gave him the media-trained response I'd perfected.
"It was a wake-up call. Made me realize I needed to make changes."
"And now you're here in Richmond, learning humility from Captain Sawyer."
"Gideon's a great leader. The whole team has been supportive."
Blake nodded like I'd delivered the perfect soundbite he needed.
Gideon's interview was worse. They positioned him behind the captain's stall, framed to look authoritative and distant.
"How do you handle difficult personalities?" Rachel asked.
I watched from across the room as Gideon's enthusiasm shut down. "Every player brings different strengths and challenges. My job is to help them succeed."
"Thatcher Drake had quite a reputation when he arrived. Has he been a challenge to manage?"
"Thatcher's a professional. He works hard and supports his teammates."
Professional. Not passionate or talented. Professional.
We were both performing again, feeding the cameras safe, sanitized versions of ourselves that avoided messy reality.
The next day, it was time for practice footage. Blake and his cameraman positioned themselves around the rink like snipers, hunting for moments that fit their predetermined narrative.
"Can you skate that drill again?" Blake called out during a water break. "But this time, Gideon, can you look more stern when Thatcher makes the pass?"
"More stern?" Gideon's voice lacked emotion. "Why?"
"You know, like you're evaluating him. Judging whether he's worthy of the team."
Gideon clenched his teeth. "That's not what's happening in that drill."
Blake's smile never wavered. "But it's what the audience needs to see. The tension and your authority. You're the captain assessing whether he belongs."
"He does belong."
"Of course, of course," Rachel jumped in smoothly. "We're not changing the reality, only highlighting the drama already there. The mentorship and growth."
I watched Gideon glance around the rink—at Coach waiting impatiently and the rest of the team standing around while the cameras held everything hostage. His shoulders sagged slightly, and I saw the precise moment he calculated the cost of resistance versus the cost of compliance.
"Fine. Once."
I watched something die in Gideon's eyes as he skated back into position. The natural chemistry we'd built on the ice—instinctive trust and communication that made us dangerous together—was repackaged as conflict for dramatic effect.
We reran the drill. This time, instead of the quick nod of acknowledgment he'd given me naturally, Gideon delivered a calculating stare that made my skin crawl. The cameras loved it.
"Perfect!" Blake shouted. "That's the tension we need."
Around us, the rest of the team watched with growing discomfort. Pluto kept glancing at the cameras like they were weapons trained on him. Knox's usual running commentary dried up completely. Even Bricks, who'd been excited about the whole thing, looked confused by the artificial drama manufactured around us.
"This is fucked," Linc muttered during another break.
"Language," Rachel called out. "We're recording everything."
That was precisely the problem.
***
