Page 7 of Hearts on Ice
Later, in my office, I stared at the blank strip of space along my monitor frame. Marsha’s voice came back:Try to make one small ritual for yourself. Something you can do once a week to honor what you’ve lost.
I pulled a sticky note from the pad, uncapped my pen.
Wednesdays—cook dinner. No takeout.
I pressed it to the screen and sat back. It wasn’t grand. It wouldn’t fix the hollow places. But it was something—a promise to start.
Chapter 5
Miguel
The media room always hummed a little before we went live—low equipment buzz, a faint whir from the air vents, the red glow of standby lights waiting to flare. I’d been here plenty of times, paired with different teammates and once with Coach JB.
This morning, PR changed the lineup. Jester had a family emergency and couldn’t make it, so it was me and Coach Mack behind the mics instead.
I felt my nerves tingling. Not out of fear. It was the same quickening I got before stepping up to a mic with my guitar—the restless beat in my chest that smoothed out once the first note landed.
I settled into the chair across from him, tugging the headset into place. Posters of past seasons lined the walls, the Grizzlies’ logo staring down at us from every angle. Mack sat solid, shoulders squared, voice low as he tested the mic: “Check, one, two.” He’d done this before. No stiffness, no fumbling. Just the same controlled presence he carried on the bench.
The PR manager gave us the signal, and I leaned toward the mic.
The red light steadied. We were live.
“Welcome back toRoaring Success,your behind-the-scenes look at the L.A. Grizzlies,” I said, keeping my tone steady but warm. “I’m Miguel ‘Maestro’ Rodriguez, and today I’m joined by someone you all know—head coach Drew Mackenzie.”
Mack’s mouth tipped in something that was almost a smile. “Appreciate the invite. Though I’ll warn you, I’m better with lineups than microphones.”
“Guess we’ll test that theory.”
The first few minutes were the usual rundown—preseason updates, camp impressions—but it took a minute for our rhythm to find itself. I could hear my own heartbeat in the headphones, every word sounding louder than it should. Then he made a dry comment about our defenseman forgetting which side was left, and I laughed. Just like that, the tension cracked.
We talked about the first week of the regular season which was fast approaching, although we had to get through our preseason game first. “We’ll play against St. Louis,” I said, fingers resting against the table’s edge. “Physical team. They like to grind you down in the corners.”
Mack nodded. “That’s where discipline matters. You win shifts by details—body positioning, stick control. Let it slip, they’ll run you over.”
“Edmonton after that,” I added. “Cold bus rides and colder fans.”
Something softened in his eyes, the faintest amusement. “If the goalie survives Edmonton, the rest of the team figures they can too.”
I let the smile flicker before steering into Calgary talk—young roster, fast breakouts, the kind of opponent that tested reflexes. The rhythm between us held: his voice clipped, practical; mine layering in the textures of what it felt like on the ice.
The next segment was a fan favorite—locker-room questions. I shuffled through the cards and found one that made me grin. “Okay, this one’s good. Any superstitions on the team?”
“Plenty,” I said before he could answer. “Tank swears he scores more if he’s the last one off the ice after warm-up. Jester won’t touch his stick if anyone else breathes near it.”
Mack huffed a laugh. “I used to keep a lucky tie when I played. When we lost three straight, I realized it wasn’t the tie that was unlucky—it was us.”
I arched a brow. “You sure it wasn’t just out of style?”
That earned me a real smile, faint but unmistakable. “Could’ve been both.”
The red light blinked, signaling a few minutes left.
Another fan question: “How do you keep players motivated during camp?”
He leaned closer to the mic, thoughtful. “You remind them why they love it. Early mornings, sore muscles—those are the price of getting better. Every practice writes the story you’ll tell all season.”
I nodded, surprised by how quiet the room felt. “Guess that’s why no one blinks when you talk.”
