Page 28 of They All Puck Me

Liam lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Noah nods in agreement, though his eyes still flicker with unresolved tension. "We’ll deal with this later."

I roll my eyes as I storm off to the locker room, each step echoing my frustration. Stripping off my gear, I can still hear Liam’s voice in my head, calling me out, questioning my place on this team. My hands tremble as I yank my jersey over my head and slam it into my locker.

"Assholes," I mutter under my breath.

Quickly changing into street clothes, I grab my bag and head out to the parking lot. The cool air does nothing to quell the fire burning inside me. As I approach my car, I’m surprised to find Olivia leaning against it, her notebook tucked under her arm.

"Great," I grumble. "Here to give me a lecture?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Lecture? No. Just wanted to see if you’re okay."

I snort, throwing my bag into the back seat. "Yeah, because that’s your job now?"

"Actually," she says, not moving from her spot, "I’m here because I care."

Her words catch me off guard. I glare at her, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she looks genuinely concerned. Damn it.

"Liam and Noah piss me off," I snap, leaning against the car next to her. "They think they’re so perfect."

Olivia nods slowly. "They’re definitely pushy."

"Pushy?" I scoff. "More like controlling."

She tilts her head slightly, considering my words. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because they’ve had everything handed to them," I spit out before realizing how bitter I sound. "Liam with his golden boy reputation and Noah with his carefree fucking charm."

Olivia’s eyes soften. "And you feel like you have to prove yourself?"

I let out a harsh laugh. "Prove myself? To them? They don’t know half of what I've been through."

She takes a step closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Then tell me."

I look at her, really look at her for the first time since she appeared by my car. There’s no judgment in her eyes, only genuine curiosity and... something else I can’t quite place.

"I’ve fought for everything," I say finally, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "They think I'm some screw-up from Chicago who can’t keep his shit together."

"And are you?" she asks softly.

Her question hits harder than any check on the ice. Am I?

"I don’t know anymore," I admit quietly.

"Well if it helps matters, I don't think you're a screw up." she almost whispers.

Her comment catches me off guard. It's been so long since anyone's looked at me like that, without judgment or disdain. I find myself talking, more calmly than I usually do, and in more words than I've used in months.

"I don’t need those asshats telling me the problems I already know," I say, the anger still simmering but more controlled.

Olivia nods, her eyes never leaving mine. "I get that," she says softly. "But they’re your teammates now. Maybe they’re just trying to help."

I scoff. "Help? By calling me out in front of everyone? That’s not help; that’s just making me look like a fucking fool."

She steps closer, her expression earnest. "Maybe they don’t know how else to reach you."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Reach me? They don’t want to reach me; they want to control me. They think I’m some loose cannon who can’t keep his shit together."

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