Chapter 38
My boss kept his promise, assigning me to cover every move, every game, and every victory of the Red Wolves. The energy that surrounds the team as they gear up for the playoffs is remarkable. I can't be more thrilled to be involved. From a professional standpoint, this is an amazing opportunity for me. Covering a team in the fight for the Stanley Cup gets me more national screen time than ever before. I am one step closer to my goal of being back in New York, covering national news. Personally speaking, being this close to Elliot is both great and confusing. But the confusion has to be pushed to the side for now–for my own sanity. My personal issues will continue to be ignored until they disappear entirely.
The last two weeks of my life has been an exhilarating roller coaster of the high-stakes drama of the playoffs. The first series was against the Los Angeles Gladiators, a team notorious for their aggressive play, and specifically for how they chase the crease. The flight to LA was quick but long enough for a buzzing sense of anticipation to build among the players. When we first arrived, the city greeted us with its typical sunshine and beaches. The team practiced endlessly, fine-tuning their play and honing their skills. I spent my days capturing every moment, from their intense training sessions to any relaxed downtime the players were willing to share.
So far, Oren has been the only one willing to spend his downtime with me on the record. The guy loves the spotlight. During my interview with Oren, I really get a glimpse into who he is as a person. The man is wild and out all the time and lives as freely as he plays hockey.
"So, Oren, tell us what you're like off the ice. We know the player, but who is the man behind the defense?" I ask, intrigued by his life.
"Well, Ziggy, off the ice, I'm a lot less aggressive, I promise. A little more wild maybe." Oren laughs, his voice saturated with a warmth that his rough on-ice persona rarely shows. "I like to have a good time, but not the kind that ends in a fight, if that’s what you’re wondering. More like the kind where you wake up and wonder how you ended up with three new friends and a bar tab that would make anyone blush."
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the glimpse of this other side of him. "Sounds like you know how to live it up, but I’m guessing there’s more to you than just wild nights and random bar tabs. What do you do when you're not out causing a scene?"
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk on his face. "I guess, I’m still trying to find that balance between being the guy who leaves it all out there in the game and the guy who goes buck wild any free chance he’s got."
"Sure," I say with a nod, smiling back at him. "I would recommend finding somewhere in the middle, might be safer."
He chuckles. "Yeah, well, right now I keep life interesting."
"Do you think you will ever settle down, any plans in that area?" I probe, knowing his reputation as the biggest player on the team.
He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Settle down? Let’s hope to hell that never happens. I love my freedom too much. Plus, I need to live a true, unattached vibe to really come alive."
I pause for a moment, then ask, “Okay, serious question—what’s your favorite thing to do to unwind? Family-friendly answer only!”
Oren laughs, and it’s one of those deep belly laughs, like I’ve just caught him completely off guard. "Family-friendly?” He leans in closer, a grin still spread across his face. "Cooking."
I blink in surprise. "Cooking? You’re telling the world you’re a chef now?"
"I mean, I’m terrible at breakfast. Like, I can’t make scrambled eggs or french toast to save my life, but give me a five-course French cuisine dinner? Easy. I can do it with my eyes closed."
I raise an eyebrow, trying to imagine this towering, very intimidating defenseman in the kitchen, whipping up soufflés or coq au vin. "So you’re telling me you can put together a gourmet dinner, but you’d burn toast and ruin pancakes?"
"Exactly.” He nods, laughing.
I shake my head, still trying to wrap my mind around this unexpected side of Oren. "Okay, that officially blows my mind. I’ve got to see this for myself."
"You’re invited anytime," Oren says with a wink and a genuine smile.
The complexity of the man in front of me is evident as I wrap up the interview. It’s strange seeing this side of Oren—a mix of his rough edges and neck tattoo charm and this unexpected refinement. There's more to him than just his aggressive play on the ice, and in that moment, I realize he is unapologetic about living a life that might not make sense to other people. It's an admirable quality that a lot of people could probably use more of.
Unlike Oren, Elliot did one ‘personal’ interview with me where he kept evading my questions and told the world the only way they were getting a glimpse of his downtime is by listening to his podcast. That was the last time I wasted my time trying to interview him. The rest of the coverage I got of him was on the ice. Watching him on the ice during practices is mesmerizing. His dedication and skill are unparalleled, and now, because of the time we have spent together, I understand the sport on a deeper level. I can not only document his moves but recall them by name. I can understand the way he communicates with his teammates, and feel the intensity that radiates from him.
The games against the Los Angeles Gladiators were electric. Each game I watched from the sidelines, my heart pounding with every pass and shot. Elliot was a force to be reckoned with, making save after save with unwavering focus. Every time he blocked a shot, a weight lifted off my shoulders, making my spirit more carefree. If I got this feeling from just watching, I can’t imagine how the players felt. Game Two was a nail-biter, but in the end, the Red Wolves emerged victorious with a narrow win. The minute I walked into the locker room I could feel the relief of the win and excitement for what was to come rippling through the space. I kept my distance, maintaining professionalism, but my eyes always found Elliot. His smile was infectious, and despite the exhaustion, the fire in his eyes was unmistakable.
Watching the Red Wolves battle against the Los Angeles Gladiators was a rollercoaster of emotions. Game Three was a tough loss, with the Gladiators edging out a win that left the team and fans alike feeling deflated. But the Red Wolves rallied, showing incredible resilience and determination. By the time Game Five rolled around, we were back in LA and the team was unstoppable. Every goal and every save brought the Red Wolves’ fans that traveled with them to LA to their feet. When the final buzzer sounded, the Red Wolves emerged victorious, clinching the series. The joy and relief on Elliot’s face as he skated off the ice was a sight I will never forget.
The team had a brief respite before heading to Florida for the next series. The flight was filled with a mix of celebration and planning for the upcoming games. The Miami Sharks are known for their speed and precision, making them formidable opponents. The team had several rough encounters with them over the course of the season. The Red Wolves, however, were ready for the challenge. As the intensity of playoffs ramped up, I found myself slipping into workaholic mode, juggling my reporting duties with an obsessive need to understand every detail of the game. Watching Elliot work in synchrony with the team only fueled my own drive to excel. The stakes were high, and I was determined to match the team’s commitment with my own.
The first game against the Sharks went by in a blur. The pace was relentless, and every second was crucial. Elliot was in his element, his movements almost poetic in their precision. The Red Wolves secured a decisive victory, much to the detriment of the Miami fans in the stands.
The second game was a true test of endurance. The Sharks fought back with everything they had, and the game was a brutal back-and-forth. Miami players ran the guys ragged on the ice. Elliot was nothing short of spectacular though, making incredible saves that left the crowd in awe, even the Sharks fans. An assist by Oren managed to pull the Red Wolves ahead in the final minutes. The victory was sweet, the atmosphere almost euphoric, but instead of celebrating like I’ve seen them do countless times, they kept their heads down and their focus dialed in.
The Sharks won games three and four, and the tension was thick as the series went to a deciding Game Seven. This was the first time that I really started to worry that the team was heading to the end of their playoff’s road. Luckily, the Red Wolves pulled off an incredible victory in Game Seven, securing their place in the Final Four. After that seventh game win against the Miami Sharks, the team made up for all the celebrating they didn’t indulge in during the rest of the series.
And that brings me to the present, my workaholic tendencies have taken over every aspect of my life, leaving little room for anything else. I bury my head in stats, interviews, and analysis. My attention and concern for Elliot was pushed to the back burner during the first series. I know he felt the pressure of winning the Cup. I can't be the person that stands in the way of that, even if by accident. So, I keep my focus on capturing every moment of the series for my reports. Every night I spend wide awake, barely sleeping, my mind obsessing over my next set of interview questions, the next broadcast. It isn't until the final buzzer sounds on the last game of the second round and the Red Wolves have officially clinched their ticket to the Conference Finals that I start to relax.
I can take a step back and watch the team celebrate their win and allow myself to feel a surge of relief and pride, both for the team and for Elliot. Coach Wilder is throwing the team one hell of an after party before everyone heads back home. They’re able to let loose, but not too much. Because as Nolan Wilder not so eloquently puts it, “You can’t win the Stanley Cup if you assholes are still drunk a week from now.”
I would put good money on whether at least one of them, if not more, is still drunk come time for the Conference Finals to start. We are at one of the sought after clubs in Miami, LIV Nightclub . There is no telling how the coach pulled this, but he did. The team and whoever they want to spend time with fill the VIP area to max capacity. Everyone is so caught up in their own good time that no one notices as I pull Elliot to the bar with me for a moment alone. I'm exhausted and relieved, looking forward to the break we get before the start of the Conference Finals. There was a necessary space between Elliot and I over the last few weeks. One that I had not created with specific intention but now feel like I created it as a way to make the inevitable separation between us easier.
“I’m thinking about heading back to Atlanta for a few days to relax,” I say, leaning against the bar.
Elliot shakes his head, a determined look in his eyes. “No can do, Ziggy. You should come to Arizona with me. It’ll be good for you to unwind somewhere different, like a vacation.”
I frown, crossing my arms. “Elliot, I need to go home. I have things to take care of, and I need to catch up on some sleep in my own bed.”
He steps closer, his voice softening. “I get that, but you can relax just as well in Arizona. My bed is more comfortable than yours, you know. Besides, I really want to spend the few off days I have together. Please?”
I hesitate, torn between the need to put space between us and the undeniable pull of being with him. “Elliot, I don’t know. It feels like a bad idea, this arrangement...whatever this is, works exactly how we have it. We shouldn’t make it worse.”
“Ziggy,” he says, taking my hand, “It’ll be fine. We’ll keep it low-key. Just a few days, no pressure. Everything will be fine.”
His earnest expression is hard to resist. I genuinely know that he means every word of what he is saying. Against my better judgment, I find myself nodding slowly. “Alright, fine. I’ll come to Arizona.”
A broad smile spreads across his face. “You won’t regret it, Ziggy. I promise.”
As we rejoin the team back in the VIP section, I start to wonder if I am making the right decision. But something about Elliot’s conviction makes me feel like this break might be exactly what I need. Instead of packing up my suitcase the next morning to go to Atlanta, I make my way to the airport for the first flight to Arizona.
As I sit by the window on the plane ride back, watching the clouds drift by, I feel more anxiety about seeing Elliot than I did in the beginning. Back when we hated each other. The anxiety now is different, lighter but still equally terrifying. This break could be a chance to catch my breath, relax, maybe find my zen or something. I don’t know. I’m not sure what ‘my zen’ would look like. Maybe my zen is finding out where things might lead with Elliot.
This is a dangerous thought to let myself focus on, but I do it anyway. Despite my reservations, I am curious about spending time with him away from my job, away from hockey. Sure, he would still have practices, but I would just be free to do whatever I wanted. The Conference Finals loom ahead, promising more intensity than ever before and even greater stakes. But for now, I allow myself to live in fantasyland. Leaning back in my seat, a small smile plays on my lips as the plane carries us toward a brief, much-needed respite cohabitating with Elliot in Arizona.