Page 42 of The Pucking Player

I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on my knees, my gaze locked on hers. “Stick with me, angel. I’ve got an espresso machine at home that can make mean cappuccinos anytime you need.”

She shakes her head with a quiet laugh, but the way her cheeks flush a little deeper tells me I’ve scored another point.

“So,” she says, leaning over and pouring me a cup of tea, “the infamous Liam O’Connor. I feel like I know the hockey star, but not the man.”

I take the offered mug, wrapping my hands around its warmth. “What do you want to know?”

She shrugs. “Everything. Where you’re from, your family, how you got into hockey. The real Liam, not the bad boy I read about in the celebrity blogs.”

“You’re following those?” I smirk, teasingly.

“Only when I was online stalking you after you first asked for my number,” she admits, grinning, and takes a sip of her coffee.

I chuckle, self-assured at the idea that she was checking me out online. “I grew up in Brooklyn. Williamsburg, before it became a hipster magnet. Working-class family, Irish roots. My dad’s a firefighter, Mom’s a nurse. We were doing okay. Not rich but getting by just fine.”

Sophie nods, her eyes encouraging me to continue.

“Then when I was fourteen, Dad got trapped in a burning building when the floor collapsed.” I pause, the memory still vivid. “He survived, but he couldn’t work after that. He still has trouble. It’s been a very long recovery, that’s for sure.”

“That must be hard,” Sophie says, her hand reaching out to touch my arm.

“Mom had to pick up extra shifts, and suddenly, I wasn’t just the oldest kid. I was the man of the house. My sister Erin was ten, and my little brother Kieran was only six. I grew up real fast.”

“How did you get into hockey?” Sophie asks, her voice soft but curious.

I lean back in my chair, swirling the tea in my cup, watching the steam curl and rise as I consider how to answer. “It was my escape,” I finally say. “Hockey was the opposite of the heaviness I felt at home. It was...structure. It was walking into the rink and knowing exactly what to expect. I knew the rules, I knew my role, and for those hours on the ice, everything just...made sense. There were no surprises, no curveballs I couldn’t handle. I could leave all the responsibility behind the second I laced up my skates.” I glance at Sophie, who’s listening intently, her green eyes fixed on mine.

“The rink became my sanctuary. The chill of the ice, the sound of skates cutting through it, the steady rhythm of drills—it was all so grounding. The game wasn’t just about scoring goals or winning matches. It was the one place I didn’t feel like I was failing anyone. At home, I felt like I couldn’t fix anything. But on the ice, I knew what to do. I knew the plays, the rules. Having that kind of certainty was everything.”

I glance down at my tea, the memories as vivid as if I’d just stepped off the ice after practice. “Of course, as I got older, hockey became more than just my escape. It became a way to help my family. Every game, every practice, I felt like I was carrying the weight of their future on my shoulders.But even then, it wasn’t the same kind of pressure as home. The ice still feels like freedom.”

“So, what’s up with the bad boy image?” Sophie asks, her eyes twinkling.

I grin. Just as I’m about to say something more, Sophie’s phone buzzes to life. She glances at the screen, her eyes widening slightly.

“It’s my mom.” She gestures to me to stay silent and picks up. “Hi, Mom! Yes, I’m fine,” she trills in a happy voice. “The phone lines are working again.”

I lean back, watching her navigate the conversation. It’s like watching a high-wire act, and I’ve got to admit, it’s pretty entertaining.

“No, no, don’t worry. I’m safe. We’re at a bed and breakfast in Sleepy Hollow, just a few miles from campus.” She pauses, listening. “Yes, we. Liam’s here too. Remember, the gala?”

I can’t help but smirk as I watch her squirm, trying to dance around the details of our night together.

“Separate rooms? Well, um...” Sophie’s eyes dart to me, panicked. I raise an eyebrow, amused. “It’s a small place, Mom. But don’t worry, everything’s...fine.”

She’s blushing now, and it’s adorable. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“The roads? Oh, they’re still closed. We’ll try to get through when we can, but it might not be until tomorrow.” Another pause. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Love you too, Mom. Bye.”

Sophie hangs up, letting out a long breath. “That was...interesting.”

I can’t hold back my chuckle anymore. “Smooth, Novak. Real smooth.”

She throws a decorative pillow at me, but she’s laughingtoo. “Oh, shut up. You try explaining to your mother that you spent the night—and day—in bed with the guy who’s plastered all over page six.”

“Hey, I thought we established I’m good…for you,” I protest, still grinning.

“Let’s see about that,” Sophie concedes, her smile widening.

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