Page 57 of They All Puck Me

"Always has been," Noah says quietly.

"Could've fooled me," I mutter under my breath.

Liam leans forward, his blue eyes piercing mine. "We can't win this without you playing at your best."

"And vice versa," Noah adds.

"Fine," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "Let's hear it then."

Noah takes a swig of his beer before speaking. "We're all dealing with...complicated feelings regarding Olivia."

"No shit," I reply, my tone sharper than intended.

"But it's affecting our game," Liam continues. "And that's unacceptable."

I nod slowly. "So what's your solution? Because ignoring it sure as hell isn't working."

"We need boundaries," Noah says firmly. "We agree that until playoffs are over, we keep things professional."

"Agreed," Liam says immediately.

I hesitate but nod. "Fine. But if one of you crosses that line?—"

"We won't," Liam interrupts.

"And neither will you," Noah adds pointedly.

I take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. Maybe this could work—if we all stick to it.

Noah raises his glass. "To winning the Cup and keeping our heads straight."

Liam and I clink our glasses against his.

"To winning," I echo.

As we drink, an uneasy truce settles over us. For now, it's enough.

22

OLIVIA

Seemingly glued to my desk, I read through my article one last time. The words blur together, and I force myself to focus. The more I read it, the more it feels like it's some kind of sick twisted goodbye letter to the guys. As much as it kills me, I need to distance myself from the Wolves. I owe Liam, Noah and Ethan that much.

As I continue to proofread, memories flood back. Liam's smile as he explained defensive strategies in the tape room, his hand brushing mine. Noah giving me his jacket after the rainstorm, that currently sits draped across my bedpost. Ethan's guarded expression softening as he shared his struggles with the trade.

Each passage about them tugs at my heart.

"Leadership is not just about skill," I'd written about Liam. "It's about heart, and Liam Makar has that in spades." I can still see the determination in his eyes during that game-winning block.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I recall Noah's lightning-fast breakaways. "Noah Kane is the embodiment of resilience," I'd typed, remembering how he'd confided in me about always feeling second best to Liam.

And then there's Ethan. "Ethan Reynolds brings a raw intensity to the Wolves," I'd written, thinking of our late-night conversation where he'd let his guard down for just a moment.

My phone buzzes, breaking my reverie. A text from Sophie: "Any progress?"

I type back quickly, "Almost done."

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. This isn't just an article anymore; it's a piece of me. An autobiography of sorts. Each sentence feels like an admission of how deeply I've let these men affect me.

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