Page 14 of They All Puck Me

As practice continues, I can’t help stealing glances at Olivia. She’s engrossed in her notes but occasionally looks up to watch us. It makes my heart pound harder than any drill could.

I skate over to Ethan as he adjusts his helmet. “You need to be quicker on your passes,” I say tersely.

Ethan narrows his eyes at me. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” I snap before skating away.

As practice winds down, we run one last drill. This time, everything clicks—the passes are sharp, the shots precise. When Coach blows the final whistle, there’s a sense of satisfaction in the air.

After practice, I find myself lingering near the locker room door, watching Olivia pack up her gear. My feet move before my brain catches up, and I’m suddenly standing next to her.

“Hey, Olivia,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside my head. “You want to grab a coffee real quick?”

She looks up, surprised. “Sure, that sounds great.”

Olivia follows me in her car to the quaint little coffee shop across town. I open my car door, and step out into the crisp evening air, and I find myself unexpectedly at ease. Olivia gets out of her SUV, and matches my pace as we walk toward the café down the street. I sneak a glance at her, noting how her eyes light up when she talks about the game.

“So,” she starts, her voice curious, “what’s it really like being the captain of the Wolves? You know, beyond the public persona.”

I chuckle, scratching my stubble. “You mean the guy who yells at everyone on the ice?”

“Exactly,” she grins. “What’s behind all that intensity?”

I take a deep breath, feeling a rare openness. “It’s... a lot of pressure,” I admit. “You’re not just playing for yourself anymore. Every move, every decision—it affects the whole team.”

She nods thoughtfully. “That must be tough, especially with the playoffs coming up.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice softening. “The guys look to me for direction. It’s like having twenty brothers relying on you not to screw up.”

Olivia leans in, her eyes full of interest. “How do you handle that kind of pressure?”

I run a hand through my hair, feeling more exposed than usual. “Honestly? Sometimes it’s overwhelming. But then I think about why I started playing in the first place—my dad was in the NHL too. I grew up wanting to be just like him.”

“And do you feel like you’ve achieved that?”

I pause, considering her question. “In some ways, yeah. But there’s always that voice in the back of my head saying I need to do more.”

Her eyes soften with understanding. “Sounds like you’re pretty hard on yourself.”

“You could say that,” I admit with a wry smile.

She laughs lightly, and it feels like a weight lifts off my shoulders.

“What about you?” I ask, leaning forward. “Why journalism?”

Her face lights up as she talks about her childhood dreams and supportive parents. She mentions how covering sports was always her goal.

“That’s impressive,” I say genuinely. “Not everyone gets to chase their dreams.”

She shrugs modestly. “I’m just trying to make my mark.”

We reach the café and step inside. The rich aroma of coffee envelops us as we place our order, and find a table in the corner.

The barista brings our coffees, and Olivia takes a sip before leaning forward slightly. “Off the record, do you ever feel like you can’t live up to everyone’s expectations?”

I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “All the time,” I confess. “But I try not to show it. The team looks to me for strength, and if they see me wavering...”

“That’s a lot to carry on your shoulders,” she says softly.

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