15. Liv
15
LIV
“ I can’t believe this. Less than a minute left and it’s still a shutout. The Black Diamonds are doing everything they can but the Blades just aren’t having it today. Almost every play the Black Diamonds are throwing at them has been shut down.”
“They are in rare form today, Red. Between you and me, I think they’re showing off for somebody special.” Anger burns just below the surface at Travis’ words.
Don’t punch him on live TV. It’ll just add fuel to the fire.
“You just might be right. Governor Chavez and his family took some of the team out to dinner after the last game. I think the players are trying to prove their hockey skills are better than their table manners.” I laugh.
Thankfully Travis runs with it. “You know, I think I can see their box from here. Yep. There’s the Governor with his Black Diamond’s jersey and, uh oh, what’s this? The First Lady and First Daughter of Nevada are decked out in head-to-toe Blades gear. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that room.”
“You and me both.”
“I wonder if?—”
“Hold that thought. Keller is making a beeline into Blades territory. He’s shaken his cover. He’s gotten around O’Brian, but here comes Volkov. Ouch! That check has to have Keller seeing double.”
“The race to the Black Diamond’s goal is on,” Travis says, jumping in. “Volkov gets a clean pass to Winters. Winters to O’Brian. Nice evasion there. O’Brian back to Winters. Flawless pass. Getting close now. It’s back to O’Brian but Granger is hot on his heels. It’ll be too risky to try but looks like he's going for it anyway. No! It was a ploy! Unbelievable! Aiden’s in the clear and… yes! GOAL!”
The buzzer blares, signaling the end of the game.
“Ladies and gentlemen, what a game!” Travis says. “The Blades win three to nothing. And if you liked our breakdown in the booth, be sure to catch me on the postgame show.”
“And… we’re off the air,” says the cameraman.
“Nice work, Jimmy.” I smile. “It was lovely to work with you.”
“Kiss my ass,” Travis mutters.
“What was that?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I don’t have the energy to deal with both his passive aggressive comments and the press today, so I decide to save my energy and leave. As soon as I step out the door, Brent’s there with the numbers I need.
“The game overview statement and the stats from today’s game are the top two pages. Underneath that is an overview of the entire season so far. And below that is the data you asked me to include from the past three games and,” a flush creeps over his face, “I know you didn’t ask for it, but I added an extra page with my take on things. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but there were some things that jumped out at me that I thought you’d want to know about.”
“That’s some real initiative, Brent. I’ll be sure to look at it. Let’s plan a meeting to discuss what you noticed more in depth once we get back on our own turf.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” I clap him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t be able to get through the press conference without this.”
As I walk to the other side of the arena for the press conference, I flip through the packet of papers he handed me.
When I get close enough to hear the chattering of the press, I feel my hands getting clammy, and I’m shaking like I did at my first ever conference. I hate how afraid they’ve made me.
You can do this. You’re about to have your first press conference since everything kicked off, no pressure.
No pressure, my ass. I wipe my hands on my pantsuit and try not to think of all the ways this could go wrong for me.
At least I’m first in the lineup tonight. I can get it over with and head back to my hotel room before that mob of vultures can get to me. Even with that reassurance, I still feel a prickle of nausea when I get the signal to walk out to the podium.
The second they see me, the chatter rises to a cacophonous roar of questions. I assume they’re asking me to comment on the drama their stories stirred up, but it’s so loud I can’t really make out anything they’re saying.
Just ignore the noise. Keep walking like you own the place.
They’re still shouting at me when I settle myself behind the podium. In fact, they somehow manage to get even louder.
My father once taught me that in a negotiation, the first person to speak loses, and I’ve had enough of them winning. So I wait silently for them to start behaving like professionals.
It doesn’t take long for them to catch on.
“I recognize many of you but I do see quite a few new faces here, as well, so let me introduce myself. My name is Olivia Winters. I’m the senior analyst for the Boston Blades. Per usual, I will be giving you a brief overview of today’s statistics before taking a few questions.”
There must be some special kind of crazy in my eyes because they stay quiet for the entirety of my statistics update.
“Thank you for your professionalism. I will now be taking your questions one at a time, starting with you,” I say, pointing at a woman wearing a turquoise trench coat.
“Tattle Teen here. What’s your relationship status?”
I’m so tempted to respond with, “Why? Are you planning to ask me out?” but that would only make things worse.
“How many of you are only here to ask me about my personal life?”
About a third of the room raises their hands.
“My job is to give you statistics about the game and answer your questions.”
“Don’t forget the fun facts,” someone yells out, causing snickers from the crowd.
“Of course not.” I smile. “My job does involve giving you some fun facts about our players, because that’s where the focus should be.”
The crowd starts grumbling.
Don’t lose the room. Stick to the plan.
“However, I know several of you won’t let me do my job until I clear up some rumors. Rumors that you all perpetuated. Let me be perfectly clear. This is the one and only time I will be talking about this. I suggest you listen carefully, because if there are any further questions after I address this, I will end my segment immediately and leave.”
You could hear a pin drop.
Damn, I feel powerful.
“To answer your question, Tattle Teen, I’m single. I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband and I would never be anyone’s mistress. Max is my twin brother. That is the only thing you got right. Throughout our lives, we’ve been best friends and mortal enemies, usually both at the same time. I’ll do just about anything for him, but the minute he tries to steal fries off my plate, he’s losing a finger.”
A few of the reporters chuckle.
“I would imagine several of you also have siblings. So I want you to think for a moment if you could ever see them as anything more than that, and you how you would feel if somebody suggested that you did.”
I see heads shaking in the crowd.
“If it’s who I think it is, the anonymous source for Spotlight Secrets deliberately took an extremely sarcastic comment out of context with the intent to cause further drama or harm.” I hold up a hand to stop the burst of questions. “No, I will not be sharing their name because one, I can’t prove it, and two, even if I could, they deserve privacy, regardless of whether or not they think I deserve the same.”
Do I actually feel that way?
Hell no.
Would it be career suicide to say anything else?
Yes.
Plus, it has the added bonus of making me look better than him because I am.
“This is something I never thought I’d have to say, but I am not, nor would I ever, have an affair with my brother. Which actually brings me to my first fun fact of the night. Max—who by the way has an average of 0.77 assists per game—knew he wanted to play hockey from an early age. He was so passionate about it, that he even named his favorite childhood teddy bear Gretzky. It’s been in his blood since day one. Alright, what other questions do you have for me?”
The rest of the conference goes surprisingly well. All of the questions are related to the overview of the data I gave at the beginning, and the fun facts I sprinkle throughout are well received.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wrap it up signal coming from the director so I start to wind things down.
“Last question. How about you?”
“Lewis Stevens, The Chronicle . Since this is the final question and you’re about to leave anyway… I know you aren’t now but would you ever date a hockey player?”
True to my word, I turn on my heel and exit the podium.
What an ass. I bet he’s one of those reporters that gets off on sneaking onto people’s property and pressing his camera up to their windows. He certainly looks slimy enough to do it.
I know it was unrealistic to expect that no one would try to broach the subject again, but things had been going so well I allowed myself to hope. Still, the fact that it went that well for nearly the entire press conference is a positive sign.
Maybe now that I’ve set the record straight, they’ll get bored and move on, especially after Max says his piece at the players’ press conference.
By the time I get back to my hotel room, all the adrenaline from facing the press has vacated my body. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the stress-sweat in various areas of my body. My feet are super sore and I’m starving.
Did I eat today?
I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t think straight enough to problem solve. I find myself standing in the center of my room completely paralyzed.
Okay, it’s time for some yoga breathing.
I sift through my mental list of techniques I’ve learned from the few classes I’ve gone to. Just going through the list by itself takes some of the edge off.
I settle on Bhramari, the humming breath . That should work.
Once my mind is clear, I’ll be better equipped to start fixing my issues. I think of my immediate smallest problem, the one that is easiest to fix.
Taking off my shoes. I nearly cry in relief when my bare feet touch the carpet.
Next decision, bath or food?
I smell like a stadium but I’m so hungry that even the little decorative soaps look like an appealing snack.
Food it is.
I’m glad I saved the bath for last because there’s no way I would be able to appreciate it as much on an empty stomach.
The tub is glorious. It’s wide enough to fit quite a few people and deep enough that I might even be able to float in it.
That’s not all though. It’s Vegas, so there’s always that extra bit of razzle dazzle. In this case it’s color-changing LED lights and water jets, which may end up being used for a different type of relaxing once I feel clean.
I’m so close to paradise but as usual, the universe decides to punish me because the second my fingers brush the faucet knob, someone knocks on my door.