First Interview
1237 Words
Emma barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, memories found her.
Noah laughed as he spun her around after his first professional contract.
Noah kissed her forehead while promising that nothing would ever come between them.
Noah was standing in an airport terminal five years ago, becoming smaller and smaller as he walked away.
By three in the morning, she'd given up on sleep entirely.
By six, she was already dressed.
By seven, she was driving toward the arena.
The closer she got, the tighter her chest became.
The building loomed over the city skyline like a fortress of steel and glass.
Banners bearing the team's colors hung from every light pole.
Fans crowded the sidewalks in the early hours.
Many wore jerseys with the same name across their backs.
CALLAHAN.
Emma's stomach twisted.
Five years ago, that name had belonged to her future.
Now it belonged to the world.
She parked in the media lot and grabbed her equipment bag.
The security guard checked her credentials and waved her through.
The moment she stepped inside, the familiar scent of ice, equipment, and fresh coffee hit her.
A hockey arena had always felt like home once.
Today it felt like a battlefield.
"Emma Hayes?"
She turned.
A team publicist hurried toward her.
"Glad you're here. The captain's interview starts in twenty minutes."
The captain.
Not Noah.
Maybe that would make this easier.
The publicist continued talking, explaining media access and schedules.
Emma nodded automatically.
None of the words stuck.
Her attention remained fixed on one fact.
In twenty minutes, she would see him.
For the first time in five years.
The realization made her palms sweat.
Ridiculous.
She wasn't twenty-two anymore.
She wasn't heartbroken.
She wasn't the girl who cried herself to sleep over Noah Callahan.
She was a respected journalist.
An award winner.
A professional.
She could do this.
She has interviewed Olympic champions, politicians, celebrities, and CEOs.
One hockey player shouldn't rattle her.
Even if he'd once been the love of her life.
Especially then.
The media room filled quickly.
Reporters arranged cameras.
Photographers checked the equipment.
Journalists compared notes.
Emma settled into a chair near the front.
Her notebook rested on her lap.
Her pen remained perfectly still.
The door opened.
Conversation immediately stopped.
The room's energy shifted.
Noah walked in.
The years disappeared.
Emma forgot how to breathe.
He looked different.
Broader.
Stronger.
More dangerous somehow.
The boy she'd loved had become a man.
A devastatingly handsome man.
His dark suit fit his athletic frame perfectly.
A championship ring gleamed on one hand.
His blond hair was shorter than she remembered.
His jaw carried a shadow of stubble.
But it was his eyes that hit her hardest.
The same impossible blue.
The same eyes she'd once imagined seeing every morning for the rest of her life.
Noah stepped toward the podium.
Then he saw her.
Everything stopped.
The change was subtle.
So subtle that nobody else would notice.
But Emma did.
Because she'd once known every expression he could make.
His stride faltered.
Just slightly.
His shoulders stiffened.
His jaw clenched.
And for one brief second, raw emotion flashed across his face.
Shock.
Pain.
Longing.
Then it vanished.
Replaced by the cool professionalism of a superstar athlete.
Emma's pulse raced.
He hadn't expected to see her.
Good.
Neither had she.
The media manager introduced him.
Questions began immediately.
"How are you handling playoff pressure?"
"What adjustments are you making this season?"
"How's the locker room atmosphere?"
Noah answered calmly.
Confidently.
Perfectly.
His voice sounded deeper than she remembered.
Richer.
Every word was measured.
Every answer was polished.
Not once did he look at her.
Not once.
Emma should have been relieved.
Instead, disappointment stabbed unexpectedly through her chest.
She hated herself for noticing.
Then the media manager pointed toward her section.
"Emma?"
Several reporters turned.
Apparently it was her turn.
Her stomach dropped.
Noah's eyes finally lifted.
And collided with hers.
The room disappeared.
Five years vanished.
It was just them.
Again.
Emma forced herself to remain calm.
Professional.
Detached.
She gripped her notebook.
"Callahan," she began.
The use of his surname visibly bothered him.
Good.
"You've been called the favorite for MVP this season. How do you balance individual success with team expectations?"
His gaze remained fixed on hers.
Far too intense.
Far too personal.
For a moment he didn't answer.
The silence stretched.
The room noticed.
Emma noticed.
Most of all, Noah noticed.
Then he blinked.
Looked away.
And answered.
"The teams are what matters."
His voice sounded rough.
"Individual awards don't win championships."
Simple.
Professional.
Safe.
Exactly the kind of answer she'd expected.
Yet his eyes returned to hers as he spoke.
As though the words carried another meaning entirely.
Emma swallowed.
"Next question," the media manager said.
The interview continued.
But something had changed.
Every time another reporter asked a question, Noah answered normally.
Whenever Emma spoke, tension crackled between them.
Invisible.
Dangerous.
Impossible to ignore.
She hated it.
Hated how aware she was of him.
Hated how memories surfaced every time he looked at her.
Hated how beautiful he still was.
Most of all, she hated that part of her still cared.
After forty minutes, the interview ended.
The media manager stood.
"Thank you, everyone."
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Reporters packed equipment.
Conversations resumed.
Emma gathered her notebook.
All she had to do was leave.
Simple.
Easy.
Professional.
Then a hand wrapped gently around her wrist.
Her breath caught.
She turned.
Noah stood beside her.
Close.
Far too close.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
His scent hit her instantly.
Fresh soap.
Clean cologne.
Memories.
So many memories.
Her heart pounded.
Noah's expression remained unreadable.
But his eyes burned.
The same way they always had when emotions overwhelmed him.
Neither of them spoke.
Not immediately.
Five years of silence stretched between them.
Finally, he broke first.
"Emma."
Just her name.
Yet hearing him say it nearly shattered her.
Nobody said her name like Noah.
Nobody ever had.
She stepped back.
Creating distance.
Creating safety.
"Callahan."
His jaw tightened.
The reaction was immediate.
Almost involuntary.
The surname annoyed him.
Good.
Let it.
"You look well," he said quietly.
The words sounded genuine.
Dangerously genuine.
Emma folded her arms.
"I've been busy."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Pain.
Regret.
Maybe both.
"So have I."
The understatement would have been funny under different circumstances.
Instead, it hurt.
"You seem to be doing fine."
The words came out sharper than intended.
Noah looked at her for a long moment.
Then his gaze softened.
And somehow that was worse.
Because she remembered that look.
Remembered being loved by it.
"Not as fine as you think."
The confession slipped out before he could stop it.
Emma froze.
So did Noah.
For a second, neither moved.
Neither breathed.
Then the publicist appeared.
"There you are, Noah."
The spell broke instantly.
His expression closed.
Walls rising.
Mask returning.
The superstar was back.
"Excuse me," he said.
Emma nodded.
"Of course."
Noah started walking away.
Then stopped.
Without turning around, he spoke.
Quietly.
Only for her.
"I never thought I'd see you again."
Emma's heart cracked.
Just a little.
Just enough to hurt.
Before she could answer, he disappeared down the hallway.
Leaving her standing there.
Staring after him.
And wondering why seeing him again felt less like reopening an old chapter—
And more like stepping into a story that had never truly ended.
- Writer
