Tonight, they’d gotten off to a better start against the Phoenix Pythons. The Speed went up by two goals in the first period, but lost that lead in the second, heading into the final intermission tied at two. With ten minutes remaining in the third period, the Speed scored, but within thirty seconds, the Pythons pulled even.
The clock was winding down, signaling that overtime was imminent with twenty seconds left to play in regulation. The puck was in the Python’s zone, and they were cycling it amongst their players. The way they were passing, it seemed like they were as content as us to head to overtime. But at the last second, they sent a shot careening toward Goose in net. He raised his glove hand but only caught a piece of the puck. It shot sky-high, landing behind him and across the goal line as the buzzer sounded.
The ref signaled a goal, but it was close. Too close. The Pythons celebrated, but the Speed players weren’t confident the game was over. Maddox’s refusal to leave the bench to head to the locker room was a sure sign that they wanted a second look at whether the puck had beaten the buzzer.
My eyes turned to the TV inside the press booth, where replays were already rolling. Close-ups of the goal line were shown with a clock beside them, the video playing with freeze-frame slowness, and my heart sank. The puck crossed with zero point one seconds remaining. It would count for the Pythons and would mean another heartbreaking loss for the Speed.
The refs went to review the play, but it didn’t take long before they announced to the crowd that it was a good goal, and the game was over.
The defeated expressions on the players visible on the big screen above center ice were one thing, but I flinched when I caught Maddox slamming a tablet to the ground, fragments of the shattered glass screen shooting up from his feet.
Yeah, this post-game interview was going to be fun.
I couldn’t help but notice the defensive pair on the ice during the game-winning goal for the Pythons. It was Banks and Booker, whom I’d suggested breaking up and instead, partnering one with Logan Ford. You couldn’t argue with stats, and Ford made them better and they gave up fewer goals.
It was all I could think about when Maddox stormed out of the locker room, looking like he was headed to the gallows as he approached the press pack eager to pepper him with questions about the last-second loss.
He grumbled canned responses to most of their questions, and when my turn came to ask one, the thought nagging at the back of my brain was begging to be set free.
His green eyes pleaded with me to be gentle, to let him off the hook, but pride demanded I put my personal feelings aside to do my job. I could only pray he saw the clear line between our professional relationship and our private one.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Do you think inexperience behind the bench plays a factor in the current skid? That perhaps you’re too close to the players, making it difficult to take a step back and view the team objectively?”
“Do you think your inexperience as a sports reporter is a factor in you asking bullshit questions aboutmyteam?“ Maddox shot back, his voice raised, venom dripping from every word.
I reared back like I’d been struck. The hot burn of hurt at his harsh tone settled deep within my chest as every one of my colleagues gasped in unison. They all turned to me, gauging my response, but I stood therestunned, embarrassed, and above all, pissed that he would dare to lash out at me when I was only trying to do my job. I wasn’t an ordinary reporter; I was his girlfriend, and everyone there knew it, making this situation even worse. I’d never asked for special favors or used inside information to get an edge on my peers, so I couldn’t go soft on him, even in his darkest hour. He had to know that.
Apparently, I’d misjudged him.
We stared each other down for what seemed like hours before his gaze dropped, and he muttered, “The players are available to the press in the locker room,” before stalking off.
I swallowed, watching him walk away as the press pack hustled into the locker room to poke at the players’ fresh wounds as I had done to their coach. Alyssa grazed my arm, a question in her eyes, but I told her I was okay and to go ahead without me. She nodded in understanding and slipped through the double doors.
The minute she was out of sight, I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, propelled by anger as I chased down the man I loved to give him a piece of my mind.
Turning the corner to the bank of elevators designated for the executive floor access, I found him, a hand pressed against the wall, head hanging down. His posture screamed defeat, but I didn’t give a shit. I was rearing for a fight.
“Hey!” My sharp tone caused his back to go ramrod straight and his head to whip up. “I get losing is tough and you’re frustrated about it, but what happened back there isnotokay. You don’t get to take it out on me!”
Damn, girl, where was this backbone when you were with Nix?
Nix made me weak; Maddox makes me stronger. So that’s the version ofme he gets. Like it or not.
“You embarrassed me back there.” The heat of that embarrassment finally caught up with me, and my face flamed, my breath coming in angry pants.
Maddox shoved off the wall, nostrils flaring as he closed the gap between us until his chest was pressed against mine.
Unlike my raised voice, his was low, bordering on deadly. “And you think taking a dig at my job performance wasn’t embarrassing? You’ve made it crystal clear that you want there to be a separation between our work life and home life. But then you go and throw it in my face when I don’t take your advice about how to runmyteam.”
I threw my hands up. “I’m just doing my job!”
“By tearing down mine!” he shouted back.
Shaking my head, I stepped back, turned away, and mumbled under my breath, “This is why I didn’t want to get involved. Even if you’re not a player anymore, you’re too close to the game.”
“Fine,” Maddox scoffed. “Leave, then. Write me off as a washed-up player, like everyone else.”
I spun around so fast that I almost stumbled. “Are you fucking serious right now? A losing streak where you have to answer tough questions, and you’re ready to throw away what we have?” Anger and hurt swirled in my chest, and I said, “It’s just a game, Maddox.”
