Chapter 34
We are on a crazy hot streak. The Red Wolves have been winning games left and right. My performance on the ice has never been better. And it's causing more media attention, which is already intense, to grow exponentially. Every game seems to bring more reporters, more interviews, and more eyes on me. This newfound attention has its pros and cons. Due to the situation, there is a lot of publicity for my new podcast. The downside is that balancing all of it is a challenge—practices, games, recording, and the constant pressure to keep performing at such a high level. I'm juggling to keep everything together, and it's starting to take a toll.
Thankfully, I have Ziggy. She has become my rock, even if she doesn't realize it. Whenever the pressure mounts, and I feel like I'm about to crack, I lean on her. Our relationship is still undefined and secretive. In reality, it’s the ultimate secret and it works for us. At least, it works for me, for now. The sex is incredible, sure, but it’s more than that. She has a way of grounding me, of cutting through the noise and reminding me what really matters.
After our win tonight, I am floating on cloud nine. The locker room is on fire. Everyone is hyped up from the victory. I stand by my locker, towel around my neck, as the media swarms in. It’s always the same routine—questions about the game, about our strategy, about how I feel being at the center of this incredible streak.
"Do you think you can keep up this pace, Elliot?" one reporter asks, thrusting a microphone in my face.
I force a smile, the one I've perfected over these past few weeks. "We're taking it one game at a time. The team's been great, and we're just focused on maintaining our momentum."
As the questions keep coming, my mind migrates toward Ziggy. Wishing she was the reporter in here annoying the shit out of me. I can’t wait to see her, to answer her questions. To be able to unwind with her. She has a way of making everything else fade into the background. Even when I am peppered with questions and demands from all sides, she is the one thing that remains constant.
"You have New Orleans next week, are you at all concerned about their high-powered offense?" The reporter continues on.
"No, they are going to get smoked," I say with the same fake smile.
Her response is immediate, "Interesting. The New Orleans Gators are having a really great season."
Her reaction elicits a genuine laugh from me. "We are on a heater. Just wait."
Later that night, after the reporters finally leave and I finish my postgame shower, I pull out my phone and send Ziggy a quick text.
: Why are you not
here annoying the shit out
of me with your questions?
Ziggy: Because as much as
annoying you is one
of my favorite activities,
I don't work for you,
just the network.
: What are your other
favorite activities with me?
: Describe them in detail.
Ziggy: Stop.
Some of us are
trying to work.
Ziggy: Don't even finish
whatever thought is
in your head, including,
"But you could work me."
:
Our exchanges always bring a smile to my face. It's our thing, the way we keep things light and fun despite how insane what we’re doing is. But beneath the playful jabs, a deeper bond is forming. I was so confident that when we started this arrangement, it would be easy and fun. There was no concern for anyone getting hurt, but I am not so sure anymore. Each day, it feels like I am getting closer and closer to the one who ends up getting hurt.
The next morning, I wake up to a flood of notifications on my phone. The Hit Behind the Net episode we recorded last week has dropped, and the response is overwhelming. The podcast is something I look forward to outside of hockey. It's an outlet, a way to connect with fans and share a different side of myself. But it’s also incredibly taxing, especially during the season. I have so many things going on right now and am unwilling to give any of them up, but juggling everything is exhausting. And I am starting to feel the strain.
"Elliot, how are you handling the pressure of both the game and your growing media presence?" a reporter asked me yesterday.
I had laughed it off, saying something about taking it one step at a time, but the truth is, it is tough. I’m getting it from all sides, and there are moments when I wonder how much longer I can keep this up.
That evening, I pick up Ziggy from the airport. She is in town for our next game. On the way back into town, before I drop her off, I suggest a pit stop for dinner. I take her to a small, out-of-the-way place I like to go. Somewhere we can just be ourselves without worrying about prying eyes.
"You're quiet tonight," she says, looking at me over her glass of wine.
I shrug, trying to shake off the fatigue. "Just a lot on my mind. The pod, the games, the media. It's all a bit overwhelming."
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "You're doing great, Elliot. Everyone can see it. Just don't forget to take care of yourself too."
Her words mean more to me than she knows. As the night goes on, we talk about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing easily between us. By the time we leave the restaurant, I feel lighter, more centered. A feeling that is more and more common when I am around her.
I step up to the car and open the door for her. I wait for her to get in before shutting it back behind her and walking around to the driver's seat. I sit down, deep in thought. With a particular thought front and center in mind, I go for it.
"What about just coming back to my apartment instead of checking into your hotel?" I ask, feeling very vulnerable.
"Um…" she says in contemplation, "I don't want work to find out and think that I'm not doing my job.”
Feeling deflated internally but keeping my cool, I respond "Gotcha."
"I could just check in and not stay there?" she says, her tone a question.
I smile back at her, "Sure."
Once she is checked in, we make our way back to my apartment. We fall into bed. The familiar feeling of our bodies melding together brings a sense of comfort to my anxieties and insecurities. As we lie tangled in my sheets, I am compelled to confess things I haven't told anyone else.
"I'm getting my ass handed to me over here," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "It's just so much, all the time. Sometimes it makes me feel like I'm drowning, and like I'm going to fuck it all up."
She turns to look at me, her expression serious. "You won't! And you don't have to do it all alone, you know. Lean on me. I'm here when you need me in any way I can help." Her words are a balm to my frayed nerves. For the first time in weeks, I feel the weight of a full breath in my lungs.
The next morning, I am up early for practice. The team is still riding high on our winning streak, but we all know we can't get complacent. Coach Wilder drills us hard, pushing us to maintain our edge. As I skate over to my domain, the goal behind me, my focus is on the game and the next win. Everything else has to take a backseat. Until the season is over, I have to push the negative thoughts to the back of my mind. We have a big game coming up, and I need to be at my best. If we beat New Orleans tomorrow, we will be a series away from the playoffs. We have come too far for any of us, especially for me, to lose focus now. By the time practice is over, I am exhausted but satisfied with my performance. We are ready for the next game.
After our team meeting, we're all dismissed until we’re supposed to show up to the rink for the game tomorrow. While I know I have a very strict ‘night before a game’ ritual that I have to adhere to for my success, I am just glad that Ziggy is now a part of that routine.
: Head home when
you get done with work.
I’m cooking dinner.
Oh hell…Qu'est-ce que je dis? Head OVER. Head over, not home. Fuck, maybe we can just move past this without it getting weird. Oh no, she is typing.
Ziggy: Okay.
Okay…. That’s it? That’s not good. Suspect at best. It's weird. I've made it weird. I start typing a long message about how I really just meant to come over, but before I finish, I get another message.
Ziggy: What’s for dinner?
Do I need to bring anything?
Thank fuck, we are going to ignore. I delete my unfinished text.
: Do you even
need to ask? And no,
just bring yourself.
The rest of my afternoon is spent dicking around the house. Watching TV, taking a nap, and ordering groceries. I try to give my body time to rest before tomorrow's game. Once Ziggy texts that she is on her way, I get up and start cooking. Steak stir fry with rice and vegetables is always my go-to meal the night before a game. When we travel, it's easier said than done, but I can usually make it happen.
By the time Ziggy gets here, I'm finishing up the meal and starting to plate us both. I set the table for us and set the mood with some candles. I have to will my eager cock to calm down around candles now. After my last experience with Ziggy and candles, my mind goes to a very dirty place. We sit for our meal and talk about our days and how work is going. She asks me about some interview prep ideas. Everything between us feels a little too perfect.
The concept of needing her in my life is so strong that it consumes my every thought. As we finish dinner, I put our plates in the sink, deciding the dishes can wait. I grab Ziggy's hand from the chair, pulling her gently toward the couch.
"Let's take it easy tonight," I suggest, a lazy smile spreading across my face as I envision a quiet evening just lounging before the madness resumes.
As we settle into the comfort of the couch, I flick through the channels, zeroing in on a classic. I put The Big Lebowski on and make myself comfortable. Ziggy snuggles closer, her head resting against my shoulder, her presence doing more to calm my nervous pregame jitters. These types of moments are good reminders that there is more to life than hockey. We whisper bullshit about the movie back and forth, we laugh, and my hands roam, but I keep it very innocent. My pregame sex ritual with Ziggy doesn't feel overly important at the moment.
After the movie, I get back to my pregame ritual. The familiar motions center me. I check my bag for the game one more time and I organize my suit, making sure everything is set exactly right for quick access tomorrow. The silence of the night presses in as I sit down to review game footage, trying to predict the opponent's moves, memorizing patterns. My mind should be sharp, locked in, but my thoughts keep drifting, softening the edges of my usual game day prep intensity. I stretch, the pull of muscles grounding me back to the moment, but a small sliver of unease lingers. Tomorrow's game looms large, and despite my preparations, I feel oddly detached, caught between the demands of the ice and the pull of something deeper, something personal.
Ziggy has been asleep for at least an hour at this point. I quietly climb into bed, giving her forehead a chaste kiss goodnight. I don’t know why. Knowing damn well it's for my benefit, not hers, and that is a dangerous train of thought to let myself go down.
There is so much longing left over in me each time we lie here together. Sometimes, the feelings are so overwhelming I don't know what to do with them. All I know is that I don't want to lose her. Despite the challenges and the uncertainty, she is the one thing that keeps me grounded, the one person I can rely on. I try to calm the storm in my mind with deep, measured breaths, hoping for restorative sleep. Instead, I’m left in a weird headspace, lying beside her, afraid that I'll blink and she will disappear. The intensity of my need for her leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Full of a feeling that we are teetering on the edge of something, that the fragile balance we've struck is about to tip.