Page 51 of Puck Fest
It’s the truth.
No. It’s what you tell yourself so you don’t have to deal with what you’re feeling.
I drop my phone on the desk without responding.
But he’s right. That’s exactly what I’m doing.
On Saturday morning, I show up at the practice facility at 9:30 for the third youth clinic. Kids swarm the place and their excitement is high.
Masterson shows up at 9:45. Early, like always.
He sees me, and a shadow eclipses his expression.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning.” I keep my voice professional. “We’re going to use the same structure as last time. Defensive positioning, teamwork fundamentals.”
“Got it.”
He pulls on his skates and heads onto the ice. I stay against the boards with my clipboard, documenting everything like I’m supposed to.
Like nothing happened. Like I didn’t kiss him two nights ago. Like I can’t still feel his hands in my hair.
The clinic’s about halfway through when I feel someone’seyes on me. I glance up and scan the entrance. That’s when I see him.
Fucking Alex. Standing in the shadows near the doorway, arms crossed, observing what’s happening on the ice. He’s got a press badge hanging around his neck, but he shouldn’t be here. Not on a Saturday. Not at a youth clinic.
My stomach drops.
I put down my clipboard down and walk over. He sees me coming, straightens up, his fake, easy smile sliding into place.
“Noah.” He nods toward the ice. “Looks like a fun time out there.”
“What are you doing here, Alex?”
“I'm working a profile piece. Bigger than thePuck Festincident. The whole arc - assault, rehabilitation, redemption story.” Alex gestures toward the ice. “TheTribune'sbeen chasing the redemption-narrative angle in pro sports for a year now. My editor wants five-thousand words and a feature placement. This guy's the centerpiece. I need to understand him.”
He gestures toward the ice where Masterson’s demonstrating a drill. “He’s good with kids. I wouldn’t have guessed that from thePuck Festincident.”
“You have no reason to be here.”
“I’m covering Friday’s game and thought I’d do some background research first. I like to get a feel for the players in their natural environments. It makes my articles feel more authentic.”
I roll my eyes, not buying his bullshit for a second. “This isn’t a natural environment. It’s court-ordered community service.”
He shrugs. “Still. It tells you something about a person, doesn’t it? How they handle obligations they don’t particularly want.” Alex watches Masterson. “He’s an interesting guy. He’s got protective instincts, loyalty to his teammates, and a quick temper when people he cares about are threatened. Makes for a compelling profile.”
“You’re not writing a profile on him.”
“Why not? It’s a great human interest piece. Reckless playerlearns restraint and gives back to the community. People love redemption stories.”
“There’s no story here, Alex. And you need to leave.”
He points at the badge. “This is a public facility. I have credentials.”
“For game coverage. Not for stalking players during community service events.”
Alex’s smile sharpens. “Stalking. That’s a strong word. I’m just observing. You know, the way you’ve been observing him for the past month. Very closely, from what I can tell.”
