Caufield's girl

Chapter Seven

We're already seated in the conference room, and all I can hear is the chatter of my fellow reporters, who are most accurately excited for the arrival of the players and the head coach. I can proudly say I'm not one of them. Especially when there's a chance, he's going to be there. Businessman, fucking businessman. I still can't believe it, Jesus. Why can't people just be honest?! I let the frustration take over me once again, but I'm interrupted by the screeching door and loud footsteps in the distance.

I lift my head up, and a wave of relief washes over me when I see that it's Nick Suzuki who's coming in. Honestly, I thank God for the fact that he makes this evening a little more bearable. Nick sits casually behind the lond blue table, stretching throughout pretty much the whole room. When he's finally settled, the conference begins.

At first, the more known and far more familiar reporters fight for the opportunity to ask their questions, but after a slight pause in the process, I sense my opportunity, so I gather my courage and shoot my shot. "During today's game, there was a slight change to your line, which seemed to be beneficial overall. How do you personally evaluate substituting Anderson for Slafkovský during the third period?" I say it loud enough for him to hear.

"Well, the coach tried mixing up the players, trying to figure out the best possible option, and I guess that this change seemed effective in the end. But I have to say that both guys are incredible players, and we get along both on and off the ice." He gives me a pretty extensive answer, which indicates the accuracy of my question. Nick answers a couple of more questions until he's substituted by the head coach of the Canadiens, Martin St. Louis. This time I don't hesitate like the first time, and I immediately fire the first question at him.

"Mr. St. Louis, after the second period, were there any specific words said in the locker rooms that resulted in much better play by the team and an overall victory against the Islanders?" I ask confidently once again. "Yeah, pretty much, we discussed the importance of avoiding penalties and skating faster, but playing for one another as a team in the first place. I think that this is the key to success." He responds professionally, and he moves on to another question until the end of the conference.

The head coach is already out of the door, and that's when my supervisor taps me on the shoulder to get my attention. "Hey, good job, but there's one more thing. There are some additional interviews in the locker rooms, and I think you should participate as well. I think you really got into it tonight, and it would be a pity to waste another opportunity that you have." I gave her a surprised look as she caught me off guard once again. "Oh, okay, sure." I say... But in fact, I don't have any more mental capacity for talking to hockey players today; at this point, I'm too tired for that, but I have to push through.

When we step inside the locker room, I'm taken aback by the number of people squeezed in such a tiny place. There are multiple groups of people centered around a few different players, and loud chatter fills the locker room. When we fight our way approximately to the middle of the room, I am almost knocked out by someone passing by.

"Ouch!" I whimper at the shooting pain in my arm as somebody pushes me over, and I find myself eye-to-eye with the one and only Cole Caufield. At this point, there's no chance of getting away, as I was trapped between the mass of reporters and the devil himself. I have no other option than to play it on my professional card once again. I lift the microphone and pretend that I'm enjoying this, which I am absolutely not, if anyone is still wondering. But not a single soul gives a shit about that, so I pull myself together and put on a slight smile.

After a few minutes, almost every reporter around me had already asked some sort of question, so instead of standing there in silence, I decided to take action. "After scoring the 100th goal in your career, are you planning any special celebration tonight?" I ask confidently with the only intention of impressing my supervisor. He stares right back at me, and he gives me a smirk in return, as if he isn't even surprised anymore that he sees me again. "I... honestly, I've got no idea. I haven't really thought about it yet, but I can let you know right after I come up with something." He says it in an attempt to sound funny, and by the giggling of everyone around me, I could see they all fell for it. I only managed to roll my eyes as I waited in great anticipation for the end of this horrific interview.

After the last question is asked, I immediately turn my back on him, so I don't have to keep looking at him anymore. I feel the first sign of relief, but due to the mass of reporters, I can't find my way back to the exit. I was determined to leave as soon as possible, but I couldn't. At this point, the temperature in the locker room is so high that I feel like I'll pass out any minute, or maybe it's just another wave of anger that washes over me once again. Thankfully, the crowd is becoming smaller and smaller gradually, and my supervisor was able to reach me.

"Hey, listen, you were amazing tonight. Don't forget to write your report tomorrow. And, I guess, see you on Thursday again. We'll be in touch." She says it kindly, taking the microphone out of my hand. "Yeah, absolutely. Thanks for everything, I..." I tried to thank her politely, but I could feel someone's hand on my shoulder. I turn my head, and I feel my blood boil. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but can I steal her for a minute?" he asks as my supervisor answers in slight shock. "Yeah, of course. I'll leave you to it." She gives me a surprised look as she slowly walks away.

"What the hell do you want from me?" I glare back at him. "Look, I know I messed up. But can't we start over again?" he says.  "No, thanks. Not interested. If that's all, can I go now?" I say, trying to walk away, but his fierce hand grabs my arm, forcing me to face him once again. "So, you're just going to pretend like nothing ever happened between us?" he asked in confusion. "You lied about who you are. Isn't that a good reason enough for me to not want to talk to you?" I defend myself. "I'm sorry, I... That day I was just trying to forget who I am, and I thought that night didn't mean anything." He blurts out. "Yeah, with that, I have to agree with you, and now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go."

I finally slip out of his grasp, and I'm already headed to the exit, shaking my head in pure disbelief. The only thing I can hear is the distant chatter of the remaining reporters and him shouting something at me, but I don't give a damn anymore. It's been a long night, and I'm ready for it to be over. Thank God he doesn't start chasing me, because otherwise I would seriously consider getting run over by the closest vehicle I spot on the street.