Pucking Only (Night Hawks Hockey #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five Presentation

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: PRESENTATION

SKYLER

At long last, the day of my presentation arrives and I am ready. I stand in front of Mr. Ferguson in the office’s conference room, the projector casting a soft glow behind me as the first slide of my presentation hovers in the air. He’s sitting at the far end of the long table in the middle of the room, his hands steepled in front of him and his dark brown eyes are narrowed behind his large glasses. He’s dressed in his usual khaki pants and button-up, and his bald spot gleams a little under the room’s dimmed lights. His expression is as emotionless and hard to read as ever. We’re the only two people in the room, which is kind of a relief because it means that I don’t have to deal with Samuel. My heart is pounding, but I force myself to focus. I’ve worked too hard on this to let nerves get the best of me. This is my moment.

The last two weeks have been absolute hell. I’ve been back in California, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels like I’m stuck in some twisted nightmare where every day is a new level of torture. My boss and Samuel have been worse than ever — like they’ve made it their personal mission to make my life miserable in their own ways. It’s working .

I’ve been overloaded with work, buried under piles of tasks that seem never-ending. Once I got back, it was like it no longer mattered that I was supposed to be working on my game. Mr. Ferguson insisted that I start other tasks for other projects on top of what I’ve had left to do for my own. I’ve poured my heart and soul into it, putting in hours of work to make sure it’s perfect. I haven’t slept more than a few hours each night in over a week. I finally got it done.

“Mr. Ferguson, thank you for taking the time to see my presentation,” I begin, my voice steady even though I feel like I’m on edge. “I’m excited to show you what I’ve been working on for the new hockey game.”

Mr. Ferguson looks up from his laptop, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He gives me a curt nod, gesturing for me to continue. He’s always been a man of few words, but today, the silence feels more ominous than usual. I take a deep breath and launch into my presentation, clicking the remote to reveal the game’s title screen. The logo I practically designed myself for the game shines on the wall behind me, and I can’t help but feel a swell of pride.

“The concept of this game is to go beyond traditional sports simulations,” I explain, moving to the next slide, which showcases the game’s key features. “We’re offering players a fully immersive experience that includes not just the on-ice action but also the off-ice dynamics of being a professional hockey player. From managing relationships with teammates to making crucial career decisions, this game gives players a true-to-life experience.”

I glance at Mr. Ferguson, hoping to see some spark of interest, but he’s just sitting there, his fingers steepled together, his eyes fixed on me with that same unreadable expression. I swallow hard and continue to detail the real-time physics engine that mimics player movements with stunning accuracy, the adaptive AI that learns and evolves with the player, and the high-definition graphics that bring the arenas and players to life. At one point, I even demonstrate a gameplay session that I prerecorded.

“This game isn’t just about winning,” I say, my enthusiasm bubbling over despite Mr. Ferguson’s lack of response. “It’s about the journey, the strategy, and the passion behind every play. I’ve created an experience that will resonate with both hardcore hockey fans and casual gamers alike.”

Finally, I finish my presentation and turn to face him fully, my heart racing. “That’s the game, Mr. Ferguson. I believe it represents a significant step forward in sports gaming, and I’m confident it will be a major success.”

With that, I stop talking and wait, holding my breath, hoping for some reaction, anything to show that he’s impressed or even intrigued. Mr. Ferguson just sits there, however, his fingers still steepled, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s contemplating something far away.

He finally leans back in his chair and gives me a slight nod. “Thank you, Skyler. I’ll think about it and get back to you and Samuel on Monday to let you know whose game has been selected.”

That’s it? I blink, stunned by the lackluster response. After all the work I’ve put in, after the countless hours of coding, designing, and perfecting every detail, all I get is a vague promise that he will think about it? I can feel my chest tightening with frustration, but I keep my face neutral.

“Of course, Mr. Ferguson,” I manage to say, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll look forward to your decision.”

He nods again, already turning back to his laptop, dismissing me without another word. I gather my things, my movements stiff, and leave his office. As soon as the door closes behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The anger and disappointment bubble up inside me, making it hard to think straight. I know my game is good — great, even, but his reaction, or rather the complete lack of one, feels like a slap in the face.

As I walk toward my desk, I can feel the frustration building with every step. I’ve never felt so unappreciated. I’ve given everything to this job, and all I have to show for it is a lukewarm response and an uncertain future. I remember what Grace told me, about being happy and working with people who actually appreciate my talent. I try to remind myself that I’ve done my best, but right now, that doesn’t feel like enough. How did I end up here? How did I let things get this bad? I’ve always wanted this job, always dreamed of working for this company, but now… now I’m not so sure.

Wait, I can’t think that way. Not yet. My game is good and I know it. I have to have faith in the process. Mr. Ferguson isn’t an expressive man anyway, so what should I expect from him? I just need to wait for his answer. There’s still a chance I could get this.

Dropping into my chair at my desk, I stare blankly at my computer screen while I fight to keep my temper in check, despite my little pep talk. At least I have this weekend, and the anniversary party in Wisconsin to look forward to. I’ve been counting down the days, telling myself that seeing Grace and my Dad again will make everything better. That being around them will help me forget about the hell I’ve been living through these past two weeks. Even though I am excited about seeing Grace and my dad, I have this gnawing anxiety deep in my stomach that won’t go away no matter how much I try to ignore it.

As much as I hate to admit it, the truth is that I’m nervous about seeing Carson again. I’ve wanted to text him so many times. I’ve picked up my phone, typed out messages, and then deleted them before hitting send. What would I even say? How do you start a conversation with someone who’s been on your mind nonstop, but who you haven’t spoken to since that awkward goodbye at the door? I can’t stop thinking about that night. The way he acted so weird and distant all evening, how it felt like he was pulling away just when I was starting to realize how much he means to me. I keep replaying our last moments together, trying to figure out what went wrong. Did I imagine the connection between us? Did I read too much into it?

It’s driving me crazy, not knowing where I stand with him. It infuriates me that I even care. I'm acting in ways I never would in any other situation. I’ve tried to tell myself that it doesn’t matter, that I shouldn’t let myself get so wrapped up in him again. The truth is, I do care. I care more than I want to admit.

Sighing, I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. This weekend, I’m going to have to confront him. I can’t keep avoiding it or keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. I need to know if I ever meant anything to him, or if I was just fooling myself this whole time.

The thought of confronting Carson makes my heart race with a mix of fear and anticipation. What if he tells me I’m wrong? What if he says that I never mattered to him, that I was just a distraction? A passing phase? I don’t know if I can handle that, but I also know that I can’t keep living in this limbo, caught between hope and doubt. When I see him again, I’m going to have to be honest with him — honest about my feelings, about how much he’s been on my mind, and about how much it hurt when he seemed to pull away. I want to understand what’s going on in his head, to know if there’s any chance for us, or if I need to let go and move on.

In addition to my worries about how he’ll respond is my anxiety about getting into a real relationship. As much as I hope he says he feels something for me, I’m also terrified. I’ve never been in a committed relationship before I don’t really know how to be in one, especially not a long distance one. There’s always the chance that things will crash and burn between us, despite any feelings we might have for each other.

The weekend can’t come soon enough, and yet I’m terrified of what it might bring. Seeing Carson again could either make things better or break my heart completely, but either way, I have to know. I can’t keep living with this uncertainty.