Chapter 4 #2
“We need to focus on staying compact,” she said. “Keep our lanes tight, support our defensive players, and make sure our forecheck doesn’t get stretched out.”
I scribbled a note as I fed the next question to the camera. “You seemed to find another gear late in that period. Where did that push come from?”
“Every shift matters,” she noted. “You don’t always have your best stuff, but you give what you’ve got every time you’re out there.”
I nodded. “What’s the key to maintaining that for a full sixty?”
“We’re just trying to stay focused,” she said, her expression deceptively sincere. “But it can be hard when there’s so many … distractions.”
A warning bell went off in my head.
My next words caught in my throat. “What kind of distractions?”
“Oh, you know.” She gestured vaguely, her lips curving into a smirk. “The crowd. The energy. Certain reporters.”
My stomach dropped. I’d run through this first interview a hundred times in my mind. I’d pictured how it might go—awkward pauses, nerves, maybe a fumbled word or two—but I hadn’t anticipated this.
I grinned through my horror and threw the broadcast to commercial before Sam’s camera mercifully clicked off.
I spun on Dani the second we were off-air. “What the hell was that?”
She blinked, feigning innocence. “What do you mean? I thought it was a perfectly good interview.”
I rose up on my tiptoes. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.”
Her smile faltered, just a fraction. “Relax, Reese.”
“This is my job, Dani,” I snapped, keeping my voice low but sharp. “Not a game.”
She studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “Got it,” she said finally. “It won’t happen again.”
I turned away before I could decide whether I believed her. My hands clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
Sam and I fell into step, moving back toward our positions by the home bench to prepare for the start of the second period.
My thoughts buzzed faster than my feet could carry me. Everyone had seen that—my new colleagues and the tens of thousands of viewers at home. Every. Single. Person. And the thought made my stomach twist in that dangerous cocktail of embarrassment and anger.
“For what it’s worth,” Sam said, his tone casual. “You handled that.”
I swallowed, tasting the lingering adrenaline and tension. “Thanks,” I murmured.
He didn’t ask me to explain how I ended up on a first-name basis with Boston’s team captain. I let out a silent, grateful breath, almost wishing I could tuck the memory into a locker and lock it away.
Mara’s voice came through my IFB: “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, settling my shoulders. “Let’s keep going.”
I forced my energy on my next on-air piece, rather than dwell on the lingering burn of exposure and humiliation. Because that was the job. And I wasn’t here to let anyone—no matter who they used to be to me—take it away.
I told myself viewers wouldn’t notice. I told myself they wouldn’t read subtext into a thirty-second clip sandwiched between highlights and a commercial break.
I told myself I was being paranoid because this was Boston and because it was her.
But by the time I got home, my jaw hurt from clenching it.
I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my shoes, and stood in the middle of my apartment for a long moment, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city outside my window.
I retrieved my phone from my bag and stabbed my finger against the FaceTime app.
Raven answered on the third ring.
“There she is,” my friend said, already smiling. “How are you?”
I opened my mouth to answer automatically—good, fine, busy—and instead let out a long breath.
“I just got home,” I said.
Raven’s smile softened immediately. “From your first reporting gig.”
“Yeah.”
“And,” she said carefully, “that sigh tells me you think it didn’t go well.”
I sank down onto my couch and leaned my head back. “I don’t know if it didn’t go well. I just—”
“You’re doing that thing,” Raven interrupted gently.
“What thing?”
“Where you assume that if something didn’t feel perfect, it must have been bad,” she said. “You’re your own worst critic, Reese. You always have been.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I know. I know that. It’s just …” I hesitated, “This one rattled me more than I expected.”
Raven adjusted the phone, settling in. August hopped up beside her and promptly turned his back to the camera like he was offended by my existence.
“Okay,” she said. “Talk to me. What happened?”
I stared at the ceiling for a moment.
“The captain of Boston’s hockey team,” I said slowly, “is my ex-girlfriend.”
Raven let out a low whistle. “Oh.”
I winced. “Yeah.”
“That’s … juicy,” she said, eyes widening. “And messy. And very unlike you.”
I huffed out a laugh despite myself. “I didn’t plan it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Raven said. “But wow. Okay. Hold on.”
She shifted again, excitement creeping into her voice. “I thought you didn’t date athletes.”
“I don’t,” I said quickly.
“You really don’t,” she corrected. “I distinctly remember a very cute basketball girl you turned down in Phoenix because of your ‘no-dating-athletes’ rule.”
I closed my eyes. “That rule exists because of this.”
“Ah.”
I hesitated. “Her name is Dani Callahan.”
Raven’s eyebrows shot up. “Woah. Are you serious?”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“I don’t know anything about hockey,” Raven qualified, “and even I’ve heard of Dani Callahan.”
Her words made something twist in my stomach. “Yeah. She’s kind of a big deal.”
“Kind of?” Raven repeated. “Reese, she’s everywhere. Commercials. Billboards. I’m pretty sure my dentist has an opinion about her.”
I groaned and dragged a hand down my face. “This was a terrible idea.”
“It is bad,” she agreed. “But also extremely compelling television.”
I shot her a look across the time zones. “Not helping.”
“Sorry,” she quickly apologized. “Okay. What happened in the interview?”
I hesitated, replaying the brief interaction in my head. “She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t inappropriate. She just … knew me.”
Raven hummed.
“She was flirty,” I added, a little quieter. “Not overtly, but enough that I could feel it. And I’m pretty sure other people could, too.”
Raven’s expression shifted, more serious now. “And you think you made a mistake coming back.”
“Yes,” I said immediately. Too quickly.
“There’s too much history here,” I went on. “I thought I was past this. I thought I could be professional and detached and—”
“And now you’ve discovered that you’re human,” Raven finished.
I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be the story.”
“You’re not,” Raven said firmly. “Not unless you let yourself be.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. Dani and I—”
“—dated, broke up, and went your separate ways,” Raven ticked off. “That’s not a scandal.”
“It feels bigger than that,” I weakly protested.
Raven studied me for a moment. August flicked his tail, as if sensing the shift in the room.
“Selfishly,” Raven said finally, “I want you back in Phoenix. But,” she continued, “I’m not going to let you tuck tail and come back just because something got complicated on day one.”
I sighed. “Raven—”
“You wanted this job,” she said firmly. “You wanted to come home. You wanted to cover women’s sports in a city that actually cares.”
“I know,” I sighed.
“So give it an earnest effort,” she said. “A real one. Not two weeks and a spiral.”
I stared at the ceiling again, but eventually conceded. “Okay.”
“Okay?” she pressed.
“Okay,” I said, firmer this time. “I’ll stay. I’ll try.”
Raven smiled, looking satisfied with herself. “Good. And if it all goes to hell, I’ll still have a job waiting for you.”
“Deal.”
August finally turned back toward the camera and blinked slowly at me.
“Tell August I miss him,” I said.
“He knows,” Raven quipped. “He just doesn’t care.”
Conversation turned to something lighter, something mindless. Eventually we said our goodbyes, and my phone’s screen went dark.
I sat on my couch for a long moment, the apartment quiet around me. I’d come back for a reason. Now I just had to remember that.