Page 49 of They All Puck Me

Liam's eyes narrow slightly. "We didn't execute our plays well enough," he says curtly. "We'll review the footage and make adjustments."

"Any specific areas you're focusing on?" they press.

"Our transition game needs work," he replies, his tone clipped. "And we need to communicate better on the ice."

I jot down his responses, all the while avoiding his gaze. The next reporter jumps in with a question about the power play, giving me a moment to breathe.

Noah is next at the podium. His usual easy smile is absent, replaced by a frown. "Noah," Tom begins, "can you talk about the missed opportunities tonight?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, we had some chances we didn't capitalize on. It's frustrating."

"Anything you plan to change for the next game?" he asks.

"Just gotta keep working hard, prioritize things," he says simply. His eyes meet mine briefly, and I see a flicker of hurt there too.

The press finishes their questions for Noah rather quickly and move on to Ethan. He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Ethan," a young woman says, already trying way too hard to gain his attention. "Can you comment on your performance tonight?"

He looks right through her, and gives me a hard look before answering. "Could've been better," he says gruffly.

"Specific areas you're focusing on improving?" she asks, nauseatingly sweet. Something about the way she's looking at him like her next meal is aggravating the fuck out of me.

Damnit Olivia, this is exactly what you don't need to do.

"All of it," he replies tersely.

She scribbles down his words and thanks him before stepping back. I manage to look up and see them all standing side by side like a firing squad. The hurt and confusion in their eyes is almost too much to bear, but I force myself to remain detached.

As I pack up my things and head out of the arena, I overhear a group of reporters speculating about the team's sudden drop in performance.

"I just dont understand," one reporter asks. "They were solid all season."

"Something's definitely off," another agrees. "Wonder if there's some internal drama we don't know about."

Their words sting because I know they're right—and that I'm partly to blame. I tighten my grip on my notebook and push through the exit doors into the chilly night air.

I need to fix this before it gets any worse—for them and for me.

Chapter 19- Rodeo

19

ETHAN

The bar’s neon sign flickers above the entrance, a beacon of temporary escape. I push through the door, craving the burn of whiskey more than I’d like to admit. The grueling practice still lingers in my muscles, a reminder of how fucked up things have gotten.

Inside, the low hum of conversation mixes with clinking glasses and the faint strum of a guitar from the jukebox. I head straight for the bar, ready to drown out thoughts of Liam and Noah and their bullshit, and a certain auburn haired girl that has seemed to crawl her way under my skin with just one PG 13 rated fucking kiss.

I head towards the back of the bar, intending on claiming my table in the far back, away from the crowd, nearly hidden away, like it like it.

Then I see her.

Olivia's sitting at a small table near the back, her auburn hair catching the dim light. She’s got that damn notebook open, scribbling away like she’s solving the world’s problems one sentence at a time.

I stride over before I can talk myself out of it. “You know the coffee shop is the usual scene for work, not a bar.”

She looks up, surprise flashing in those bright green eyes. “Ethan? Didn’t expect to see you here.”

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