Page 53 of They All Puck Me

For now, this is perfect.

20

NOAH

The game is intense, the stakes higher than ever. We're down by one, no surprise there, and the crowd's roar is deafening. The puck is in our zone, and I skate towards Liam for the handoff. He’s supposed to pass it to me, but his eyes are elsewhere, distracted.

“Liam, now!” I shout, my voice barely cutting through the noise.

He looks at me too late. The puck sails past us both, right onto the stick of an opposing player. They don’t waste a second, driving it straight into our net.

The red light blares, signaling another goal against us. The scoreboard updates with a cruel flicker: 5-3.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath as we skate back to position. I catch Liam’s glare through his helmet, his blue eyes blazing with accusation.

“You had one fucking job,” he growls as we pass each other.

“You weren’t looking!” I snap back. “Maybe focus on the game instead of wallowing around like a fucking chump.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, it looks like he’s about to drop his gloves right here on the ice. But he skates away, leaving the air between us charged with tension.

Coach Bergman calls a timeout, and we huddle at the bench. His face is a mask of frustration.

“What the hell?” he demands. “You two need to get your shit together, for fuck's sake!”

Liam and I avoid each other’s eyes. The rest of the team stands in awkward silence.

“Focus,” Coach says, pointing a finger at both of us. “We can’t afford any more screw-ups.”

As we skate back onto the ice, I try to shake off the weight of Liam’s glare and the disappointment in Coach’s voice. But it clings to me like sweat-soaked gear.

Ethan skates up beside me. “You good?” he asks.

“Sure,” I reply dryly.

“Look,” Ethan says, his tone surprisingly earnest for once. “We need you two to get in sync. Our shot at the cup depends on it.”

I nod curtly but say nothing more. As the puck drops again, I can feel every pair of eyes in the arena on us—waiting to see if we’ll crumble or rise above this mess we've created.

The game resumes, and I push harder than ever, my focus razor-sharp despite everything swirling in my head. But Liam's presence is a constant reminder of our fractured dynamic—a crack in our foundation that no amount of skating can fix.

As I race down the ice, chasing after a loose puck, I catch another glimpse of Liam out of the corner of my eye. For a split second, our gazes lock again—this time with something deeper than anger. Disappointment? Regret? It's hard to tell through the helmets and years of friendship now strained by rivalry and unspoken words.

The puck reaches me just as an opposing player barrels towards me. With a quick deke and a burst of speed, I evade him and pass to Ethan, who takes a shot at goal but misses narrowly.

“Nice try,” Ethan calls out as we regroup for another attempt.

I nod back at him but can't help glancing over at Liam again. He's already moving into position for another play—a wall of muscle and determination that once felt like an unbreakable ally but now feels like an immovable obstacle.

It feels like all too soon the buzzer rings out signaling another miserable defeat. The sad thing is, I've gotten to the point of expecting it now.

The locker room is a tomb, the silence broken only by the hiss of showers and the occasional thud of equipment hitting the floor. We lost, again, and it stings like hell. I spot Liam sitting on the bench, head in his hands, still in full gear. I walk over, determined to make things right.

“Hey,” I start, voice low. “Look, about earlier?—”

He cuts me off, not even lifting his head. “Save it.”

“No, seriously. I’m sorry. I should’ve?—”

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