Not a Bad Thing

Mila Conner

When Mila stepped out of her apartment building, the bright sun was was reflecting off the lake. She smiled in spite of herself as she inhaled deeply, the smell of fall in Chicago heavy in her nostrils as she wiggled further into her thin coat. Today also smelled strongly like optimism and opportunity; the thought made her smile even wider, something that surely warded off pedestrians as she strolled down the calm sidewalk.

She walked into the Chicago Tribune office thirty minutes later with a coffee in hand, convinced that the smile on her face was sewn on permanently as she waltzed toward her cubicle. She was intercepted by an older man boasting business casual clothes and salt-and-pepper hair. “Ah, Conner! Today’s the big day, yeah? You’ve got two stories on your desk I want you to look at first, and then you need to get to the rink. Practice is at ten.”

“Sounds good, captain!” Mila smirked, edging around him to continue to her cubicle. She could hear him following behind her, and she rolled her eyes. “Relax, Tom. I won’t mess this up.”

“You have all of the notes that I e-mailed you yesterday, right? And you got your lanyard and i.d. card right? And-”

“Tom!” Mila cut him off with an easy laugh. She stopped in her tracks, turning to face him for a brief moment. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ve only been waiting for this forever. I promise I won’t start a line brawl or something while I’m there. I am confident in myself, and you need to take a breather. I’ll be sure to post the blog while I’m at the rink before I come back and then I’ll give you a full report. Now, let me get to my stories so I can leave.”

With that she left him hanging idly in the hallway, a victorious smile on her face at the act of thwarting her overwhelmingly concerned boss. It was understandable that he was hesitant- first year employees never got to cover teams without shadowing first, but Jared had recommended her to cover his position before he flew to Maine to be with his ill mother. Nevertheless, Tom knew Mila’s father well enough to know he wouldn’t raise a daughter that would risk spoiling the newspaper company.

After editing the two stories, both major yawns about a suburb basketball team and its star player, she gathered the things that she would need as she chugged the rest of her latte. She successfully managed to evade Tom as she escaped the building, her insides jittering with excitement and nervousness alike.

It was a fairly quick cab ride to the United Center, home of the Chicago Blackhawks. Mila beamed at the sight of the building; it seemed to be emitting a heavenly orb and sparkling in her eyes like a beacon. She was never the biggest hockey fan- she only knew enough information to allow her to fall into easy conversation with others when the team was doing well. But now, the Blackhawks were her new favorite thing. They were helping her become a journalist, and not just a wistful hopeful.

Mila flaunted her press pass happily as she made her way through the bowels of the arena, following the hand-written instructions that Jared had left for her before his departure. She worked her way into the stands, inhaling the cold air with satisfaction. She had the duration of practice to settle on what questions she would need to ask as she watched the players work the ice and take shots on the goaltenders. On top of this task she was also in charge of updating the Twitter, which proved to be the most stressful task as questions from fans began pouring in.

Deciding to ignore the fans altogether, something she was sure Tom would bite at her for later, she gathered her list of questions. She knew she was going to be the fresh meat in the locker room, but she refused to get chewed up and spit out just because she was a newbie journalist. She’d spent too many stressful days anticipating the present.

Mila’s thin, petite frame proved to be a positive in the media scrum. They were playing the Columbus Blue Jackets that night, so everyone was swamping the goaltenders because their starter would not be in net that evening. She scanned the room, feeling overwhelmed despite the fact that there weren’t as many people as she expected. She saw one of the light-haired guys sitting in his locker, more than likely catching a post-practice breather.

She dove for the opening like a shark. The moment she neared him, he caught a glimpse of her shoes and glanced up at her. A lazy grin fell onto her lips, one that she recognized immediately. Only the entire city of Chicago knew who Patrick Kane was. He was seen as some sort of pariah who’d helped bring hockey back to the city.

Mila remembered Jared’s best piece of advice, and that was to become friendly with the players. Well-liked reporters got better responses, therefore better stories. “Hello, I’m Mila Conner from the Chicago Tribune.”

The first thing Patrick did was laugh, looking up at her mischievously as his tongue swiped over his lower lip. “You can call me Patrick.”

His tone was thick, making Mila’s hands quiver a bit as she flicked the button on her recorder. He let out another laugh again, continuing to gaze up at her. “Are you really a redhead?”

Mila’s head popped up at the question, feeling her eyes narrow as she assessed him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m curious. ‘Cause, y’know what they say about redheaded girls.” Patrick subtly winked at Mila, something that caused her blood to begin to boil. It didn’t take much, but her fuse had been lit. He was treading on thin ice.

“No, I actually don’t know what they say about redheaded girls. I don’t really want to know, either.” She told him crisply. “Incase you forgot, I’m the interviewer.”

It took everything in her to not smack the smug look off of his face. She resorted to gritting her teeth to the point she could hear nothing but the grinding in her head. Everything about her brief interview with Patrick had been irritating; he dodged some of her questions purposely with toothy grins, and had dubbed her both Scarlett and Big Red. Mila had already dubbed him perhaps one of the biggest douchebags she’d ever met.

After getting some useable quotes from the captain, Jonathan Toews, and then Patrick Sharp, she took her first scrum as a mild success. Patrick’s eyes had been following her the entire time as she moved around the locker room, making her sick to her stomach with annoyance. She could’ve sworn he’d winked at her as she walked out, something that’d left her in a huff.

She fumbled with her things as she shoved her recorder back into her purse, digging around for her cell phone. Mila hadn’t been attentive of where she’d been going, and per her luck, she found herself colliding fully into another person.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Mila exclaimed, reaching out and steadying the shorter person she’d bumped. When she looked up, she saw that it was a tiny blonde. “Are you okay!”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” The girl responded breathlessly, giggling lightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Mila felt her heart rate declining as she moved around the girl, sending her an apologetic look and feeling less chipper about her day than she had been before. When she finally pulled out her phone, she’d already had three missed calls from Tom. He was probably hyperventilating into a brown paper bag back at the office, she reckoned.

Deciding she would prolong talking with him, she was about to pocket her phone when a hand grabbed her elbow. “Hey.”

She spun around quickly to see Patrick, and let out a growl of frustration. “What?” she grumbled, that being the only word she could utter without some sort of insult following suit.

Patrick held up a plain, battered pen. With a confident grin, he stuck it out toward her. “You dropped your pen.”

Mila cocked an eyebrow, unable to grasp how fast her day was spinning out of control. Her head was about to hurt. She all but spluttered, “Pen? That’s not my pen, I wasn’t even writing!”

What she wanted to do, really, was curse him into oblivion. He was a bigger pain in the ass than he needed to be. Patrick laughed again, and Mila was convinced this was one of four things that he knew how to do. The other things she established that he knew how to do were; play hockey, breathe, and act like an ass.

“Oh? Well, I’m sure it works well enough for you to write down your number.”

Mila was biting her tongue to the point that the copper taste in her mouth was strong. There were so many things that she was itching to say, but she couldn’t get fired. Not on her first day on the job. After counting to ten, she inhaled deeply. “You’re an idiot.”

With that, she left him standing stupidly in the hallway with the beat-up pen in his hand. It was the most satisfaction that she would be able to take from the day.
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Hello, all! I'm Haley, and I'm going to be bringing you lots of Patrick Kane goodness! I'm super stoked for this story with the lovely Kate, and I can't wait to read what she has to bring to the story!

Here's some Patrick... because, yes.

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