Page 64 of The Pucking Player

“Liam.” Her voice is soft, her fingers still fidgeting. “I don’t want to get...sidetracked right now. Med school is my priority. It’s what I want to do. It’s important.”

“I know,” I say, my voice steady, even as my chest tightens. “And I’m not asking you to change that. I’d never ask you to give up who you are.”

She tilts her head, skeptical. “What are you saying?”

“Give us a chance,” I say simply. “A real one.”

Her lips press together, and I can see the walls she’s trying to keep up crumble. “And what happens when it gets complicated?” she asks. “When my dad finds out and loses his shit? Or when the media decides to make me their nextheadline? I can’t say I enjoyed my face being projected on all the screens during the last game I went to.”

I lean back, taking a moment before responding. “It’s complicated, I know. Your dad already wants to murder me most days, and the media’s already got their eyes trained on us. But none of that changes how I feel about you.” I pause, my voice softening. “Look, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But I’m saying it’s worth it.”

Her fingers finally stop fidgeting. “Worth it,” she repeats, like she’s testing the weight of the words.

“Yeah,” I say, leaning in again. “Let’s do this, angel.”

Her breath catches, and I can see the crack in her armor deepen. “What if you change your mind?” she says, but her voice is quieter now, less sure. “What if this gets messy?”

I reach across the table, my hand hovering until she nods, letting me take hers. Her skin is warm and soft under my fingers, and I give her a gentle squeeze.

“I get why you’re scared,” I say. “You’ve worked your ass off to get here. You’ve got big dreams, and you don’t want anything—or anyone—getting in your way.” I take a breath, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But I’m not here to derail you, Sophie. I’m here because with you, I feel whole.” Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. I press on. “You think I’ll run the second things get hard? Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” My voice lowers, more serious now. “I don’t give up when things get hard. Not on the ice, not with my family, and sure as hell not with you.”

She’s staring at me like she doesn’t know whether to believe me. And I get it—she’s got every reason to be cautious. But I’ll be damned if I let her slip through my fingers.

“Just give me this,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “One chance to prove that I’m in this for real. And if you change your mind—if I let you down—I’ll let you walk away. No hard feelings. No strings.”

Sophie blinks, her green eyes glassy now, like she’s fighting back tears. Her hand tightens around mine, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away. The clinking silverware, the murmured conversations, even the flashes of phones from the next table—it all disappears.

It’s just her and me.

“You’re too good at this,” she murmurs, her voice trembling. “You know just the right things to say.”

I smirk, but it’s soft and careful. “I’m not just saying them, angel. I mean every word.”

She exhales a shaky breath. “Okay,” she whispers.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll give us a chance,” she says, her voice stronger now, but her eyes are still searching mine, like she’s waiting for me to flinch or backpedal.

But I don’t. I just grin, unable to stop the rush of relief flooding my chest.

“You won’t regret it,” I promise, my voice steady with conviction.

“I better not,” she counters, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips now.

I lift her hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. I’ve won this round. But as she pulls her hand back, the way she looks at me tells me she’s not all in just yet. And that’s okay.

Because I’ve already decided I’m going to give her every reason to trust me.

“Speaking of family,” I say after a pause, needing to change the topic, “you’ll get to meet my sister Erin tonight atthe concert. She’s doing an internship withDeath of Classical. She plays the cello.”

Sophie’s eyes light up. “That’s amazing! She’s been playing for a long time?”

“Yeah, since she was six. She was a tiny kid with this massive instrument.” I smile at the memory. “Mom and Dad couldn’t afford lessons at first, but she got a scholarship at the community music school. Now she’s at Brooklyn College, studying music performance. She’ll graduate in June.”

“You’re proud of her.” Sophie smiles.

“Course I am. She’s got real talent. Plus,” I lean in conspiratorially, “she and Kieran are the only ones who know all my embarrassing childhood stories, so I have to stay on her good side.”

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