Page 86 of Cold Comeback
Iarrived at the practice facility forty minutes early, hoping for a pocket of silence before the final day of filming. Instead, the conference room had been swallowed by chaos—floodlights blazing against the walls, cords snaking across the floor, the air humming with static. Blake hunched over a monitor in a coffee-stained shirt, hair sticking up as if he'd been fighting with it all night, muttering curses at the screen.
"No, no, no," he grumbled. "The audio's fucked on the B-roll. How am I supposed to—" He looked up and spotted me. "Gideon! Thank God. We need to talk."
Rachel paced behind him, phone pressed to her ear, her professional composure cracking. "No, we can't push the deadline again. I understand the Christmas slot is crucial, but—" She caught my eye and held up one finger, mouthing "sorry."
Blake rubbed his face with both hands. "My kid's Christmas recital is tonight," he said quietly, more to himself than to me. "This better wrap clean."
The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard. I'd seen him as the enemy for days—the guy trying to package our livesfor consumption. Standing there in his wrinkled shirt, exhausted and desperate, he looked like any other working parent trying to balance impossible demands.
"Rough night?" I asked.
"Rough month." He gestured at the monitor. "The network's breathing down our necks. Last three documentaries tanked in the ratings. If this one doesn't hit their demo targets..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but I heard what he wasn't saying. People's jobs were on the line. Mortgages. Kids' college funds. The pressure to turn our story into something marketable. It was also about creative vision and survival.
Rachel ended her call and immediately grabbed another coffee, her hands shaking slightly. "Network wants the final cut by New Year's Eve," she announced. "That means we need our money shot today."
"Money shot?" I asked.
Blake straightened, his desperation temporarily masked by professional enthusiasm. "The climactic moment. Thatcher's redemption speech. His reconciliation with his father. The emotional payoff that makes the whole journey worthwhile."
I sighed. "You're going to ambush him."
"Not ambush," Rachel said quickly. "Guide. Help him find the words to express his growth."
Around us, the crew finished their setup. Exhaustion dragged at their movements. They glanced at Blake and Rachel with concern. This wasn't an ordinary day at the office for any of them.
The team started filtering in for practice, and I watched their reactions to the elaborate setup. Knox took one look at the lighting rigs and muttered something about Hollywood bullshit. Pluto immediately started calculating whether the equipment was worth more than our team bus. Bricks hovered near the door, looking for an escape route.
Thatcher appeared last, and I watched him pause in the doorway.
"Showtime," he said under his breath.
Practice was artificial. Thatcher forced every play, trying too hard to create highlight-reel moments for the cameras. I found myself overcompensating, too, barking orders that sounded fake.
During a water break, I heard Blake talking to his camera operator. "Ensure you get good coverage of the interaction between Sawyer and Drake. We'll need those shots for the mentorship montage."
Mentorship montage. Fuck.
After practice, Blake cornered Thatcher in the equipment room. I was heading to the shower when I heard voices—Blake's pleading tone carrying through the thin walls.
"Please, Thatcher, I need this to work."
I stopped, pretending to check my phone while I listened.
"The network's breathing down our necks. Three documentaries. Three failures. My mortgage depends on this. Rachel's daughter's college fund..." He cleared his throat. "But this is your chance to show them who you really are. Your father's watching this. The league office. This is your moment."
Thatcher's voice was tight when he replied. "That's not what this is about."
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't come to Richmond to prove anything to my father or the league office. I came here because I had nowhere else to go."
Rachel's voice joined the conversation. "That's perfect. That vulnerability. The rock bottom that leads to redemption. Tell us about earning respect. About the man you've become."
I wanted to barge in and end it, but something held me back. Maybe it was seeing Blake's exhaustion and Rachel'sdesperation. They weren't evil. They were trapped in a system that demanded performance. I understood.
Still, that didn't make it right.
