Page 55 of They All Puck Me

After 2 grueling hours at the gym, I hit the ice. The cold air is a relief against my flushed skin as I lace up my skates. Hours pass as I practice breakaways and penalty kills, each movement precise and deliberate. The ice is my sanctuary, the place where everything else fades away.

Coach Bergman watches from the sidelines, arms crossed. "You planning on living here now?" he asks, not unkindly.

"Maybe," I say between breaths. "Free air conditioning."

He nods, his expression softening slightly. "Keep it up, Kane. We need you at your best."

I skate harder, pushing myself until my legs tremble and my lungs burn. Every shot on goal is a reminder of what's at stake – for me, for the team.

When I finally collapse into bed each night, exhaustion washes over me like a wave. My body aches in ways that feel both punishing and satisfying. But it's my mind that's hardest to quiet.

Liam's words echo in my head, sharp and cutting. Olivia’s face haunts my thoughts – her laugh, her eyes that see too much.

As sleep pulls me under, I cling to the hope that this relentless focus on hockey will help untangle the mess of emotions inside me. That maybe on the ice, I'll find some clarity about where I stand with Liam and Olivia – and where they stand with each other.

Tomorrow's another day of training, another chance to prove myself. And I'll take it because that's all I can do right now – keep moving forward and hope it leads somewhere worth going.

21

ETHAN

Olivia's absence at practices and games gnaws at me. When she does show up, usually with another reporter in tow, she’s all business. Professional and distant. Like I'm just some entity she's writing an article on, not someone who's been buried inside her.

Part of me gets it—she's got her job, just like I do. But another part, the part that's starting to care more than I should, feels the sting of rejection.

I spot her by the entrance to the rink, chatting with some guy from another paper. My gut tightens. It's stupid, but I can't shake it.

"Hey, Reynolds," Noah calls out, skating over. "You gonna join us for the drill or just stare at Olivia all day?"

I glare at him. "Mind your own fucking business."

"Easy, man, just a joke" he says, holding up his hands. "Just thought you might want to participate in practice."

"You know you're one to talk," I snap back. "Wasn't too long ago your eyes were glued in her direction as well."

Noah's expression hardens. "Not you too, Ethan. Come on."

"Whatever," I mutter, turning my focus back to the ice.

Fuck, I really don't want to be the one to offer the olive branch. When what I really want to do is hit them both in the fucking head with it. But this shit is getting way old, way fast. With a resigned sigh, I make a decision.

"Hey, asshats!" I call out, skating over to them. "Drinks. Tonight. The Tavern."

Liam raises an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

"Team bonding," I say, my tone brooking no argument. "Gossip, bitching, whatever you want to call it."

Noah looks skeptical but nods. "Alright, Ethan. I'll bite."

"7 tonight. Don't be late."

They both mumble something under their breath as they skate away.

Never in a million years did I think I'd be playing fucking counselor to two grown men.

Later that night, the dim lighting of The Tavern casts shadows over Liam and Noah’s tense faces. They sit across from each other, arms crossed, both looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.

I take a swig of my beer and break the silence. "Look, this pissing contest between you two needs to stop. It's fucking ridiculous."

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