Page 13 of The Pucking Player

[Caleb]: Damn, Dmitri, that was deep. But seriously, Liam, you better have a good plan if you’re going to pursue her.

[Logan]: And a good hiding spot for when Coach finds out!

[Adam]: I’m warning you, Liam. Stay away from Sophie, or you’ll have me to deal with. Finn, I’ve got my eye on you too!

[Nate]: Looks like Liam’s got his work cut out for him. But hey, at least practice will be entertaining today!

And on andon it goes.

I glare at Nate, who’s leaning casually against the lockers, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Dude,” I hiss. “You texted the whole team?”

Nate shrugs, his grin unapologetic. “Hey, they needed to know what’s going on with our fearless leader. Besides, it’s the most entertainment we’ve had all week.”

Adam crosses his arms, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Liam, I’m serious. Stay away from my sister.”

I meet his gaze head-on, my jaw tightening. “I hear you, Adam. But I’m not going to promise you something I can’t deliver.”

At my words, the room goes completely still, the usual pre-practice noise vanishing as every guy turns their attention toward us. Even the faint sound of tape being ripped off a roll stops, leaving only the heavy weight of silence.

Adam Novak isn’t just our top winger—he’smyright winger. We’ve spent the past three seasons perfecting our on-ice chemistry—he knows where I’m going to be before I’m even there, and I know exactly how to set him up for the perfect shot. When I send a no-look pass to the corner, I know Adam will be there to bury it. When I’m pinned behind the net, he’s in the slot waiting to finish the play. On the ice, we’re unstoppable together. It’s this unspoken connection that wins championships. It’s a bond built on trust and instinct, and the team needs us running like a well-oiled machine if we’re going to make it all the way to the Cup.

But right now, Adam’s trust in me is hanging by a thread, and I feel the weight of it pressing down on my shoulders.

“I’m not trying to mess with her, Novak,” I say, my voice steady but firm. “I want to take her out for dinner.”

Adam scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Dinner? With you? ThenotoriousLiam O’Connor? Come on, man. Sophie’s got her whole life ahead of her. Med school, a bright future. Your player lifestyle doesn’t fit into it.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “I’m not going to say this again. Stay away from her. I don’t care if you’re the captain or the fucking president—Sophie’s off-limits.”

His words hit harder than I want to admit. Not because I think he’s right, but because I know Adam, and I know this isn’t just about Sophie. It’s about the team. Aboutus. He’s worried this thing—whatever it is—will blow up and take everything we’ve built on the ice with it.

And maybe he’s got a point.

I take a deep breath, holding up my hands in surrender. “Look, I’m not looking to screw things up—for her, for me, or for the team. I know what’s at stake.”

His glare doesn’t soften, but he doesn’t say anything else, either. The room is still heavy with tension, every guy silently watching, waiting to see how this plays out.

Before I can figure out how to move past this, Adam’s demeanor shifts. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, his brow furrowing as he stares at the screen.

“By the way,” he says, his tone suddenly sharper, “have you seen this?”

He holds his phone out, the headline glaring back at me like a slap to the face:“Anonymous Tip Sparks Allegations of PED Use in Defenders’ Locker Room.”

At the same time, my own phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a flood of notifications, all of them pointing to the same trending hashtag:#DefendersDopingScandal.

My stomach churns as I click on the hashtag, revealing a barrage of tweets speculating about performance-enhancing drug use within our team. The article Adam showed me is everywhere, shared and retweeted with relentless speed.

The accusations are vague but damning—an anonymous tip claiming that PEDs were discovered in one of our lockers during a routine cleaning. No names are mentioned, but that doesn’t stop the internet from running wild with speculation.

The locker room is deathly quiet now, the weight of the news hanging over us like a storm cloud.

Nate, always the first to crack a joke when things get too serious, breaks the silence. “Logan, Aiden—anything to tell us?” he quips, flashing a grin at the two players most likely to be targeted by rumors.

Aiden, who’s close to retirement, and Logan, who’s recovering from a nagging injury, both bristle at the comment.

“You serious right now?” Aiden growls, crossing his arms. “I don’t need that shit to play hockey.”

---