Caufield's girl

Chapter Six

I walk through the doors of Bell Centre, and there is no way back. It's time to be brave, so I rather take a deep breath. But I don't even have the chance to count to three, and I'm already greeted by my reporter supervisor. We've been in contact in the last couple of days, but we haven't met in person until now. She greets me with a smile and hands me the special tag for reporters with my name and the name of my university. After I hang it around my neck, she leads me directly to the depths of the arena, which is already in great anticipation for the match between the Habs and New York Islanders. I can smell the excitement in the air.

On the way, she's giving me further instructions and tips related to my upcoming interview with one of the Canadiens' players. When we finally reach the most common spot for interviews, she shows me the rest of the arena as well, but thankfully except the locker rooms. At this point, I wouldn't be able to look at him. After I become so-called familiar with the arena, she leads me to our seats right at the edge of the front row, so I can have the perfect view of the whole match and take notes.

During the first period, the Canadiens didn't score at all, and the only goal in this period was scored by one of the Islanders' players, Matthew Barzal. That meant that during the first intermission, he'd be interviewed by my supervisor. However, this time, I was only observing my supervisor's interview from a distance and taking notes as preparation for my own, which is bound to happen during the second intermission. I am already shitting my pants. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit, but I still have respect when it comes to broadcasting an NHL game before cameras and thousands of viewers, but that isn't my biggest fear.

The second period was coming to an end, and I was only praying that Cole Caufield didn't score, but star constellations weren't in my favor tonight. Shit. He scored. I shut my eyes in discomfort and took a sharp breath. He's the only player who scored for the Canadiens, and I already know what that means. I'm fucked. I'm so fucked. I'm living in my worst nightmare. My palms start to sweat and my mind is a mess, but at this point I'm bound to complete and formulate all of my questions for the interview, and I can't let my supervisor know what's on my mind. So I take a sip of my water and play it cool, like nothing happened and like I'm so delighted to be here.

It's the second intermission, and I'm already standing at the main interview spot, waiting till "Mr. Businessman" appears. But it doesn't take long until I hear panting and loud steps from a distance. He isn't paying attention to his surroundings, and when he finally notices my presence, his eyes widen. "What the fu..." he almost chokes at his own words as he sees me right in front of him with a microphone in my hand, but he doesn't even have a chance to finish his sentence when my supervisor interrupts him. "You have 15 seconds until we're live." She says this to both of us as she takes a few steps back and lets the cameraman point the camera directly at me and my favorable companion.

I look back at her, but she only gives me a reassuring smile and shows me a thumbs up as a gesture of encouragement. "So suddenly you're following me, huh?" he scoffs, in order to tease me. "Just shut up and do your part. I'd rather be blind than choose to see you voluntarily; believe me, businessman." I say the last part of my sentence with such emphasis that he only manages to roll his eyes. Thankfully, we were already live, and it was time for a professional and much more pleasant interview.

"During the second period, Montreal was able to score for the first time today and tie the game. So, Mr. Caufield, describe your feelings after scoring the 100th goal of your career." I ask with an ice-cold and professional expression, without the slightest indication of compassion nor excitement. "Well, obviously, it feels great; it's terrific, but I'm just glad I could help the team overall." He says it in an attempt to sound humble.

"Despite scoring the tying goal in the second period, you also lost the puck, which resulted in a breakaway goal by your opponent. How did you see this situation back on the ice?" I ask, but this time it was me who was teasing him, and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. "It's one of those things that just happens from time to time. I was trying to pass the puck to Nick, but I wasn't fast enough, unfortunately." His eyes pierce through my soul, but he manages to stay calm.

"During the match, we could observe a lot of icings and penalties from Montreal. Tell me, How are you going to improve your effectiveness and team performance in order to win this match?" I shoot another question at him before he has a chance to take a breath, and at this point, I know I'm getting on his nerves, which is exactly my aim. He glares at me with his hazel eyes as he looks me up and down before his eyes lock with mine, and from now on, we were doing a staring competition. "We obviously have to eliminate the penalties, skate faster, and shoot at any chance. And I believe if we give it our best, we have a chance of winning tonight for sure."

"Thank you and good luck." I give him a fake smile in an attempt to imitate the majority of reporters. "Thanks." he replies politely, playing his part as well. "Showtime's over." I mumble as soon as the camera's off, and I take a step back, but he leans towards me as he whispers. "I guess I'm not the only one with secrets, Sophia." he pauses before adding the last word to his sentence. "What? How the hell do you know my name?!" I ask in pure confusion, but he only shakes his head as he's already on his way to the locker rooms. That's when it hits me, and I take a glance at my reporter tag hanging around my neck. "Fuck." I say, but I almost pass out from the shock as my supervisor lightly taps my back from behind and judging from her expression, I think I made a good impression. On the reporter, of course.

"You did amazing, love. I'm so proud of you, almost like a pro. Good job!" She gives me a genuine smile and caresses me on my back. "Thanks." I reply politely. "And well, since you did such a good job, I decided that you could also go to the press conference after the match." She blurts out of the blue, and I only manage to give her my startled look. "Really? Do you think that's a good idea? Because I'm not sure if..." I say it hesitantly, but she interrupts me. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. And it's a big opportunity for you, so go and take it; you deserve it!" She reassures me in the belief that only stress took over me, not aware of the real reason behind my hesitance. "Thank you; I really don't know what to say. I...I appreciate it." I blurted out the first thing that struck my mind in order to sound thankful and polite, even though in reality I was cussing in my mind.

The final period is over, and the Habs take the victory 2-1 after overtime. In the meantime, I've had a chance to prepare additional questions for the press conference. Oh Christ, how wonderful! I really can't imagine a better way to spend the rest of my evening. I'm just hoping it'll be over as soon as possible so I can already be snuggled up in my bed with a bottle of wine, watching another episode of Criminal Minds. "C'mon, it's time." I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the voice of my supervisor, so I gather my things and follow her lead into the depths of Bell Centre, praying that I will make it out alive by the end of this night.