Ghost At The Podium
1042 Words
CHAPTER TWO
The post-game adrenaline was still buzzing in Riley’s veins when she walked into the press room, but the sight of the seating arrangement killed it instantly.
The league had set up a dual-team conference for the night’s two big victors.
On the left side of the long podium sat Riley and Coach Miller.
On the right sat Brian Mercer and his sister, Natalie, fresh off the Sirens’ crushing shutout victory against the Comets in the early slot.
Natalie was already adjusting her microphone with a cold, superior smirk.
The room was packed to the brim with sports journalists, the flashes of their cameras blinding against the dark backdrop.
Riley sat down, pulling her team jacket tight across her chest, deliberately keeping her eyes away from the guy sitting just six feet to her right.
“Great opening win tonight, Captain Hart,” a reporter from the front row called out, raising a digital recorder. “You looked entirely dominant against the Wolves. But looking ahead at the bracket, everyone wants to know: is this tournament about the trophy, or is it personal redemption for what happened two years ago?”
Riley leaned into her microphone, her voice was steady as she spoke.
“It’s about the trophy. The Vipers don't look backward. We played our game tonight, we got the win, and we’re focused on the next match.”
Natalie let out a soft, mocking laugh that cut right through the audio system.
“It’s easy to look dominant against a bottom-tier team like the Wolves, Riley. Let’s see if that leg holds up when you're facing a real defensive line. The Sirens didn't let a single puck pass tonight against the Comets, and we aren't going to give you open lanes either.”
Coach Miller leaned forward, his grizzled face hardening.
“The Vipers are prepared for any line in this league, Natalie. Focus on your own bracket.”
Before the reporter could follow up, a shifting movement at the back of the room drew every eye.
Derek walked down the center aisle, holding a sleek tablet and wearing a high-end designer suit.
As the new head publicist for the rival division, he had full clearance, and he used it to step directly up to the media microphone.
“Derek Vance, representing the Eastern Division,” he announced, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of the warmth he used to pretend to have.
He looked past Riley entirely, fixing his gaze on Brian.
“Coach Mercer, two years ago you designed the physical trap that ultimately ended Riley Hart’s season and put her in a hospital bed for six months. Looking at her performance tonight, do you think she has truly recovered her endurance, or are the Vipers betting their entire tournament on a fragile captain who is one heavy hit away from a permanent retirement?”
The entire room went dead silent.
Riley’s grip tightened on the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white as a painful ache flared in her thigh.
She stared at Derek, the sheer weight of his abandonment hitting her all over again—the guy who had packed his bags the second her career looked compromised was now using her medical history as media bait.
She opened her mouth to tear into him, but Brian beat her to it.
He reached over, pulling the heavy media microphone directly to his face, his dark eyes locking onto Derek without blinking.
“If you think Riley Hart is fragile, you didn't watch her play tonight,” Brian said, his voice a low, commanding baritone that echoed off the walls.
“She commanded the center ice for sixty minutes and scored a flawless slapshot to seal the game. Anyone implying she’s a liability doesn't know the first thing about hockey—or loyalty. Next question.”
The journalists instantly erupted into a flurry of typing and hushed whispers, shocked by the Sirens’ coach publicly defending his fiercest rival.
Derek’s smug smile faltered, his jaw tightening as he stepped back from the microphone, thoroughly shut down.
The moment the PR coordinator called an end to the conference, Riley stood up and marched straight out the side door, ignoring Coach Miller calling her name.
She stormed down the restricted, dimly lit loading dock hallway, her breath coming in short, angry gasps.
A heavy footstep echoed behind her.
She spun around just as Brian caught up to her, his expression unreadable in the shadows of the concrete corridor.
“What the hell was that, Brian?” Riley demanded, slamming her hand against the wall to anchor herself. “I don't need your pity, and I damn sure don't need your protection. Especially not against him.”
Brian didn't stop until he was standing directly in her space, crowding her against the concrete.
He reached out, his fingers locking firmly around her wrists, lifting them until they were pinned against the wall above her head.
The physical proximity was sudden, suffocating, and charged with an intense, furious heat.
“I wasn't protecting you, Riley,” Brian growled, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes burning with the will to break her as he stared.
“I just despise watching a parasite try to rewrite the narrative of a fire he didn't build. Derek left you when you were down, but don't confuse my hatred for him with mercy for you.”
Riley struggled against his grip, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.
“Let go of me, Mercer.”
“Out here, you're mine to break,” Brian whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.
“I engineered the play that took you off the ice two years ago, and I’m going to engineer the play that beats you in the finals. Keep your head in the game, Hart. I want you at your absolute best when I take that cup.”
Before she could answer, the heavy steel doors at the end of the hall rattled open, and the sound of footsteps approached.
Brian released her wrists instantly, stepping back into the shadows just as Riley's phone vibrated violently in her pocket with a harsh, demanding text from her grandmother.
- Writer
