I want to tell him that he’s the one who publishes drivel, but I do know better.
He keeps going. “All Hockey News has established itself as being cutting-edge. We tell the stories no one else will tell. Give me a good scandal regarding the Icehawks. You’ve been going easy on them lately. I didn’t hire you to gloss over the difficult stories. Our readers want the behind-the-scenes scuttlebutt. The Icehawks are heading for the playoffs for the first time. Who’re the guys to watch as far as causing dissension among the team? Who’s partying too much and not concentrating on hockey? How about conflicts between players? I can’t believe I have to lecture you on the types of stories we require. You’ve been with us for three years.” He’s clearly exasperated, but so am I.
“Four years.” I cringe at how long I’ve worked for this online sports tabloid. Charles’s social media reach is ridiculously high. Sports fans love their scandals as much as the next person.
I can’t compromise my integrity forever, but until I find something better, I have no choice. Legitimate, well-done pieces of sports journalism might garner the attention of one of the more prestigious sports news sites and lead to a job offer. I’m frustrated that I’m not getting the opportunity to do so. Let’s face it, I never will. Charles won’t publish anything that’s not sensational. He loves clickbait, and his followers eat it up. There’s a good reason why he’s built this into a multimillion-dollar business. The man may be without scruples, but he’s business savvy as fuck.
“Now that the Icehawks are in the playoffs, we have a huge opportunity to expand our reach as more fans jump on the bandwagon. Give me something they can sink their teeth into. Something juicy and salacious.”
“I don’t have anything like that.”
“Then make it up. Keep it vague so no one knows who you’re talking about. We’ll create a buzz, and our followers lap it up. I need that article in my inbox in two hours.”
“But what about the coverage of the Icehawks making their first playoffs? Shouldn’t we cover the game last night? My original article did all that.”
He’s silent for so long, I check my phone to make sure he’s still there. “Fine, I’ll put that out there and publish the good stuff tomorrow, but this better not happen again.” And just like that, he disconnects the phone.
I stare at the wall and fret. I have nothing like he wants and have no choice but to make it up.
I place my fingers on the keys and begin to compose a story that’ll please Charles and piss off every single Icehawk and their WAGs.
Sometimes I really hate myself. Maybe most of the time.
Chapter 9
Libido Woes
My sources report that a certain problematic Icehawk is causing trouble again, despite the team’s first playoff game looming on the near horizon. His play this past month has been mediocre at best, and he’s disruptive in the locker room. Last night after the game, this player was spotted staggering into a hotel with three women on his arm. The group was thrown out of a couple clubs for being drunk and disorderly before they entered this nearby hotel. This same player missed practice this morning. The Icehawks’ chances of making it out of the first round are slim, and his total disregard for his team and his own game may well be their downfall. —Aria at All Hockey News
~~Drakos~~
I enjoy the luxury of sleeping in until 11:00 a.m.
It’s Saturday morning, and Coach gave us a day off, not that I’ll take it. I’ll go into the Itch (as we call the Icehawks Hockey Complex) and work out this afternoon. There’s no slacking off when you’re about to head into the playoffs. I shuffle from my room and down the hall, yawning and scratching my bare chest.
I stop in my tracks and stare at Kirby, who’s in the living room. He’s holding a small bundle of what looks like a dried plant. He holds it up, lights the end, speaks in his native tongue, then carefully blows out the flame. Smoke wafts around the room.
“What are you doing?”
“There’s bad energy in this room. I’m cleansing it.”
I bark out a laugh but sober quickly. He’s not joking. He’s dead serious.
“Like what kind of bad energy?” I ask.
“I feel it but cannot see it.”
“It’s probably Aria. She spreads bad energy wherever she goes.”
“Aria has been in this room?” Kirby studies me with interest.
“No, but her bad energy sticks to me like Gorilla Glue.”
Kirby looks thoughtful but says nothing. Instead, he circles the room and fans the smoke to spread it. The windows are wide open, even though it’s a chilly spring day.
“What are you burning?”
“Sage.”
