Page 21 of They All Puck Me

She takes a deep breath and executes the movement. The puck glides towards the net and slips past an imaginary goalie.

“I did it!” she exclaims, spinning around in excitement. But her foot catches an edge, and she starts to fall.

I react instinctively, grabbing her waist again and pulling her upright. For a moment, we’re locked in an embrace on the ice, faces inches apart.

Our breaths mingle in the cold air as we stare at each other. Her green eyes are wide with surprise and something else—something that makes my heart race.

“You good?” I ask softly.

She nods, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah... thanks.”

We stay like that for a moment longer before I reluctantly let go, clearing my throat awkwardly.

“Well,” she says with a laugh, stepping back carefully. “That was more exhilarating than expected.”

I step back, forcing my hands to my sides, even though every instinct screams to stay close. Olivia regains her balance, brushing a stray hair from her face and giving me that damn smile that’s making it hard to think straight.

“Well, Thanks for that impromptu lesson,” she says, her voice a mix of amusement and genuine gratitude.

“No problem, if you continue to practice maybe you can replace Liam,” I mutter, as I walk towards the box to pack up my gear. I need to focus, get my head back in the game. But that's not happening now when Olivia's perfume continues to invade my fucking senses.

We leave the rink, Olivia’s boots clacking on the concrete floor as we walk towards the parking lot. I keep my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to ignore the unfamiliar warmth in my chest. She’s chatting about something—probably a follow-up question for her article—but I’m too focused on keeping my guard up to really listen.

“So, do you always practice this late?” she asks, glancing up at me with those bright green eyes.

“Only when I need to,” I grunt, keeping my gaze straight ahead.

“Must be tough, balancing solo practice and team drills,” she says, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.

I shrug. “You do what you gotta do.”

We reach her car, and she fumbles with her keys. I can’t help but notice how small she looks next to me, yet there’s a strength in her that’s hard to miss.

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything more. She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. The car hums to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.

“Well, goodnight then,” she says with a smile that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Goodnight,” I mutter, stepping back as she closes her car door.

As her car disappears down the road, I feel an unexpected sense of loss settle over me. Shaking my head, I remind myself why I don’t get close to people. Trust issues run deep; focusing on hockey is safer.

I turn back towards my car, my mind already shifting back to tomorrow’s practice. But even as I try to concentrate on strategy and plays, Olivia’s smile lingers at the edges of my thoughts.

Damn it. This is exactly why I need to keep my distance. Distractions like her can mess up everything—my game, my focus. I can’t afford that now. Not when the playoffs are on the line.

I open the door to my truck with more force than necessary, trying to shake off the lingering warmth in my chest. It’s time to get back to what matters: hockey and winning games.

But as I start the engine, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder one last time, hoping for a glimpse of her taillights in the distance.

9

LIAM

The video review room is a sanctuary after the grueling practice. The fluorescent lights buzz softly, and the air is tinged with the faint scent of disinfectant and old popcorn. I push open the door, expecting to find it empty. Instead, Olivia sits at the console, her eyes glued to the screen, scribbling notes furiously.

"Didn’t peg you for a video review type," I say, leaning against the doorframe.

She jumps slightly but recovers quickly. "Jesus Liam, just trying to understand the magic behind your moves."

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