Page 59 of They All Puck Me

"It's not just about objectivity," I cut in, voice rising. "This story is everything I've worked for. Handing it off feels like giving up."

Hartgrove sighs, leaning forward on his desk. "You're not giving up. You're ensuring the piece gets the professional distance it needs."

I grip the edge of my chair, frustration bubbling up. "Professional distance? You think Jenna will understand the nuances of Liam's leadership? Or Noah's resilience? Or Ethan's struggles with integrating into a new team?"

"Jenna's a good reporter," Marcus says evenly.

"But she's not me." My voice cracks on the last word.

Marcus looks at me with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "What do you want me to tell you then? Keep entangling yourself in this mess until you can't see straight?"

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions. "I have to finish this. I need to tell their stories."

"And what about your own story?" Hartgrove asks quietly.

"What about it?"

He leans back again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You're risking everything for three guys who might not even care about you once this is all over."

I flinch at his words but hold my ground. "Maybe. But I'm not ready to let go of them—or this story."

Marcus watches me for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright, Olivia. Finish it. But be careful. But you are to report to me daily, and if anything seems off to me, I'm handing the story to Jenna. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir," I nod, feeling a strange mix of relief and determination settle over me.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"Just promise me you'll keep some perspective," He warns.

"I will," I promise, standing up to leave.

As I walk out of his office, I feel a surge of clarity. This story isn't just about hockey or playoffs—it's about Liam, Noah, and Ethan as individuals with dreams, fears, and struggles that deserve to be told.

And maybe... just maybe... it's about my own journey too.

I subconsciously decide to attend the game tonight. Not as a reporter, not as a distraction, just as a fan. The drive to the arena is a blur. My heart pounds as I pull into the parking lot and grab my press pass.

As I step into the Howl Center, the familiar buzz of pre-game excitement fills the air. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's ahead. I make my way to the stands and position myself behind a large burly man who reeks of B.O and beer.

"Game time boys," I mutter to myself as I pull the bill of my hat down. "Let's kick some ass."

23

ETHAN

The game is a blur of ice and sweat. I don't know if the stars have aligned or some shit or someone gave the Wolves voodoo doll a break, but we are on fucking fire tonight. It's been a long time coming. The noise of the crowd fades into the background as I focus on the puck, my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the game. Liam shouts something at Noah, and I catch a flash of blonde hair as Noah takes off down the ice.

"Liam, right wing!" I call out, and Liam’s eyes lock with mine for a split second. There's no hesitation in his nod.

We move like a well-oiled machine, weaving through the defense. Noah’s got the puck, darting left and right like a damn magician. He passes it to me, and I see the opening.

“Go for it!” Liam yells from behind.

I push forward, adrenaline surging through me. My stick meets the puck, sending it flying past the goalie’s glove. The red light blares as the puck hits the back of the net. Goal.

The arena erupts in cheers. I turn to see Liam barreling toward me, a grin splitting his face.

“Hell yeah, Reynolds!” he shouts, clapping me on the back.

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