Chapter 13
I barely have time to drop my bags in my Atlanta apartment before I’m packing them again for Miami. Mortification seems to be my new home, a constant companion since my drunken, disastrous night with Elliot. Knowing I'll have to face him again is like a dark cloud hanging over my head. Every thought is tainted with the memory of our last encounter, and the prospect of interviewing him again makes my stomach churn. Of course, I know this is inevitable. Dealing with prima donna athletes is part of the job. If only they could all handle pressure as well as I can handle a microphone. But Elliot? He has a special talent for turning professional courtesy into my personal hell.
Miami is electric with its usual energy, but I can't enjoy it. I feel like the storm inside me is just going to ruin the vibrancy of a town like this. I bury myself in work, determined to redeem myself from my first broadcast fiasco. At the rink, I do everything I can to avoid Elliot. I stick to the shadows, interviewing other players and Coach Wilder, anything to delay the inevitable. My attention is laser-sharp, asking insightful questions and nailing every segment, all while keeping a wary eye out for Elliot. My workaholic drive is the only thing holding my anxiety at bay, and I cling to it desperately.
Two periods in and I am still hiding in plain sight, blending in with the crowd of media personnel. I don't plan to say anything to Elliot. I hope he'll be too caught up in the game to notice me. But fate seems determined to make my life difficult. Just as I'm about to slip away, he spots me. His eyes, filled with cold anger and resentment, lock onto mine with a look that sends a shiver down my spine. A knot tightens in my stomach as he walks over, his expression dark and hostile. My plan to avoid him has failed, and now I have no choice but to face whatever venom he is about to unleash. My own anger, simmering beneath the surface, is ready to boil over at any moment.
My anger takes over before I even realize it, as I shoot Elliot death glares from across the room. The humiliation and mortification from our last encounter has festered, transforming into a burning resentment. It's a fire I can't control, consuming my thoughts and actions. I don't even realize the intensity of my glare until the sound of his voice yanks me back to reality.
"What's your problem?" he asks, his tone dripping with disdain. His words snap me out of my furious haze, and I blink, suddenly aware of the hostile expression on my face. My fists clench at my sides and I struggle to keep my mood in check as I formulate a response, the anger still simmering just below the surface.
How do I get the world to open up and swallow me whole? I’d do just about anything to avoid having to speak to this man ever again. My shame and his anger do not make a good combination. That equals extreme attitude on my part. My mouth just says words. I can’t be stopped. Thankfully, Coach Wilder calls the team back out to the rink, so I have a little bit of time to settle myself before I have another segment.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Elliot let Florida score on them. This isn't even the same goalie. What the hell is wrong with him? The game is tied now. Please, please don't lose. I cannot handle interviewing another losing version of Elliot St. Germain. Shit. The Sharks scored again. This is the end.
What is happening now? Is the coach pulling him to put the backup in now? There are only 3 minutes left. No, that's another forward. What the actual hell is happening here? A reminder to myself later is to look up the rules for this because this did not come up in my research. The buzzer sounds. The Phoenix Red Wolves lose. Elliot has lost his streak, and he looks absolutely murderous.
After the game, the weight of the loss fills the hallway. I can’t get the look on Elliot's face after that final buzzer went off out of my head. Can I just quit my job? Sell feet pictures? Maybe OnlyFans...anything to avoid interviewing Elliot again. I’m not that lucky, and my producer has already been on my ass about today being perfect. I approach Elliot carefully; he isn’t a professional, but I sure as hell am.
"Excuse me, Elliot. Can I ask you a few questions?"
His angry eyes move over my face before he seethes, "Kick rocks, Barnacle."
My mouth drops wide open. I can't believe he just said that on camera. I turn around to my cameraman, giving him a look to ask if he can tell me that he’s not live on air. In the blip of time I looked away, Elliot stalked off to his seat at the interview table.
Unbelievable. I guess this is how the rest of the afternoon is going to go. Elliot will continue to be a giant man-child but that's fine. I will get my interview. I wait outside the locker room, my foot tapping impatiently against the polished floor. Every second feels like an eternity as I steel myself for the inevitable confrontation. The rest of the team has already filtered out, but I am lasered on Elliot. Finally, he emerges. His face is grim. He was already raked over the coals. And I’m not about to make it any easier. Without giving him a chance to slip away, I pounce, shoving my microphone toward him.
"Elliot, a quick word about tonight's game," I say, my voice sharp. His eyes flash with irritation, barely concealing his contempt, but I press on, following him toward the exit. This one-on-one interview is going to happen regardless of whether either of us want it, even if it means following him all the way up to his seat at the postgame interview.
I can barely keep up with Elliot as he storms down the hallway, his face set in a scowl. My heart pounds, but I’m unable to let this opportunity slip. "Can you tell us what went wrong out there tonight?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. He barely glances at me, his jaw clenched.
"I don't have time for this, Ziggy," he snaps, his tone dripping with disdain.
I quicken my pace to keep up with him. "The fans deserve to know. You had a strong start, and then it all fell apart. What went wrong?"
He stops abruptly, turning to face me with a glare that could freeze hell over. "What went wrong?!?! You! You are the problem, showing up and distracting me. That's what went wrong. You're like a damned curse." The venom in his voice stings, but I refuse to back down.
"So, you're saying it’s my fault?" I shoot back, matching his tone.
"Yes, I am," he snaps. "You're always in the wrong place at the wrong time."
I bite back a retort, knowing it will only escalate the situation. His one-word responses and clipped answers are only pissing me off. I get it. He doesn't like me, and guess what 'buddy,' I don't like you either. Turnabout is fair play, I think to myself. "Do you think your performance tonight is a sign of you losing your touch? Some might say you're past your prime."
He scoffs at me. "Losing my touch? That's rich coming from someone who can't even conduct a proper interview. Stick to gossip, Ziggy, it's clearly your strength."
I shake my head; he thinks calling me a gossiper will unsettle me. He needs to keep trying. I keep with my line of questioning, "Your team seemed frustrated with your performance. Do you feel like you're letting them down?"
Elliot glowers at me, his face getting more and more red with every passing moment. "What a stupid question. Of course, I know I let them down. I might be a lot of terrible things, but I have never once misunderstood the importance of being on this team. I care about the burden my brothers face. Clearly, that is not something that you are used to."
Damn, he really knows how to hit me where it hurts, but I will win this. "The fans are disappointed with tonight's loss. Do you have anything to say to them, or are you just going to keep making excuses?"
Elliot gapes at me like I’m some sort of alien. It brings back mental flashes of that horrible night. "Disappointed? They should be used to it by now. And as for excuses, the only excuse here is your pathetic attempt at journalism." Elliot retorts.
"Some are questioning if you still have the mental toughness to compete at this level. Any comment on that?" I shoot him a questioning glance, and if looks could kill, I would be six feet under. I can feel Elliot's anger burrowing itself under my skin.
"Mental toughness? Coming from someone who bumbled her way through the world's worst interview I've ever experienced."
I bristle at him. Sure, I had a rough start, but he is just a dick for the sake of being a dick. I have nothing to do with this. "Do you regret not preparing better for tonight's game, or do you just rely on your past reputation to carry you?"
"Regret? The only regret I have is helping you and letting you get into my brain and ruin my performance tonight." Elliot seethes at me.
His words take me by surprise. How on earth am I affecting his game? All he is doing now is making excuses. "I'm just doing my job, Elliot. Maybe if you could focus on yours instead of blaming others, you'd be breaking records instead of losing games."
His eyes narrow. Stepping closer, he towers over me. "My job? You don't know the first thing about what it takes to be out there. You're too busy stirring up trouble to notice anything else."
Anger flares inside me, my humiliation turning to fury. "Maybe if you could handle a little pressure, you wouldn't need to blame me for your failures. Grow up, St. Germain."
His face twists with rage, and for a moment, I think he might actually explode. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Stay out of my way, Ziggy. I don't need a know-it-all reporter making my life harder."
I stand my ground, my heart racing. "And I don't need a washed-up goalie ruining my career. Maybe if you took some responsibility, you'd be worth interviewing."
The tension is electric, crackling between us. Elliot's eyes burn with fury, and I can feel the heat of my own anger flushing my cheeks. As he turns and storms off, the echoes of our confrontation linger in the air. Elliot St. Germain will never get the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. I keep my head held high, even as my insides twist with anxiety. This is far from over, and I have a sinking feeling things are only going to get worse. If I haven’t already tanked my entire career, why stop now?