Page 42 of They All Puck Me

16

LIAM

Coach Bergman’s voice cuts through the room, explaining our defensive setup for the second round of the playoffs tonight. I should be paying attention, but I can’t help noticing Noah and Olivia exchanging glances. Each look feels like a punch to the gut, twisting the knife of jealousy deeper. The memory of my night with Olivia clashes violently with the obvious connection she has with Noah.

“Liam!” Coach’s bark snaps me back to reality. “You good?”

“Yeah, Coach,” I lie, forcing myself to focus on the whiteboard. But even as I nod along to his strategy, my mind is a whirlwind. I glance at Noah, who’s leaning back in his chair, chewing on his damn pen like he's done for as long as I can remember when he's nervous. He catches Olivia’s eye again, and they both immediately turn away. Like one of them is Medusa and may turn the other into stone if they look too long. My stomach churns.

Colt nudges me with his elbow. “You okay, man? You seem like you're somewhere else.”

“Just thinking about the game,” I mutter, avoiding his eyes.

He chuckles. “Sure you are.”

I grit my teeth, wanting to wipe that grin off his face. But instead, I force myself to look at Coach Bergman, who’s now discussing our power play.

“And remember,” Coach says, pointing at me, “Liam will lead the defense. Keep it tight, no unnecessary risks.”

“Got it,” I say automatically, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

Olivia shifts in her seat near the back of the room, scribbling notes with focused intensity. The way her auburn hair falls over her shoulder as she writes… Damn it, Liam, get a grip.

Coach wraps up the meeting with a final pep talk. “Alright boys, let’s hit the ice and make this count.”

As we stand to leave, Noah claps a hand on my shoulder. “Ready to show ‘em what we’re made of bro?”

“Always,” I reply gruffly.

We head out to the rink, but my mind is still on Olivia and Noah. As we lace up our skates in the locker room, I can’t shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us.

I spot Olivia watching from the stands as we take our positions on the ice. Her eyes follow us intently—no doubt gathering material for her article—but all I can see is how her gaze lingers on Noah just a fraction longer than it does on me.

The puck skitters past my stick, and I curse under my breath. What the hell is wrong with me today? I glance up, and there’s Olivia in the stands, her green eyes following every move. Her presence feels like a lead weight around my neck, pulling me down with every mistake.

“Focus, Makar!” Coach Bergman’s voice rings out. I nod, forcing myself to snap back into the game.

Noah races past me, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with a sharp intensity. He catches my eye for a split second. There’s something unspoken in that look—concern, maybe even guilt. Damn it, Noah.

I dig my skates into the ice, chasing after the puck as it bounces off the boards. My timing is off again; I collide hard with Ethan. We both go sprawling onto the ice in a tangle of limbs and curses.

“Watch where you’re going, Makar!” Ethan growls, shoving me off as he scrambles to his feet.

“Maybe if you weren’t always in the wrong place,” I snap back, hauling myself up and brushing ice shavings off my pads.

Ethan’s eyes flash darkly. “Maybe if you were more focused on the puck rather than what's between Olivia's legs you would…”

Before I can respond, or throw the first punch, Coach Bergman’s whistle cuts through the tension like a knife. “Liam! Bench! Now!”

“What?” The word slips out before I can stop it.

“You heard me, you want to act like a fucking child, you can sit in timeout like one.” Coach says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I skate to the bench, every muscle in my body taut with humiliation and anger. This never happens to me. I'm Liam Makar—captain of this damn team.

Coach doesn’t even look at me as he barks orders to the rest of the team. My eyes find Olivia again, her pen still moving rapidly over her notepad. She glances up and our gazes lock for a moment that feels like an eternity. There’s something in her expression—pity maybe? It makes my stomach churn even more.

As soon as practice ends, I storm into the locker room, my skates carving a path of fury. Noah's chatting with some of the guys, his laughter grating on my nerves. I slam my helmet into my locker, the metallic clang echoing through the room.

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