Page 76 of The Pucking Player

My jaw clenches. “So, what’s our play?”

“Let me make more calls. My friend, he’s building a case. Following money trails. Digital breadcrumbs. But Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“These people, they’re not fourth-line goons you can drop gloves with. They make problems disappear silently. Permanently.”

I think of Sophie, of Mom, of Erin’s destroyed cello. “Yeah? Well, maybe it’s time someone made them disappear.”

“Blyad,” Dmitri mutters. “Just give me twenty-four hours. And Liam?”

“What?”

“Your girl, Sophie. Keep her away until this is settled.”

The suggestion hits like a blindside check, but he’s right. I can’t drag her into this mess.

“Yeah,” I say through clenched teeth, looking at Erin. “I know.”

27

WHEN ENZYMES MAKE BETTER BOYFRIENDS

SOPHIE

My Stanford interview prep notes mock me from their scattered positions across my desk, bed, and floor. I’m still waiting for them to reach out, but I know it’s imminent. To be ready, I’m preparing the standard questions: Why medicine? What makes you stand out? Where do you see yourself in ten years?

Yeah, great question. Ten minutes ago, I saw myself in California. Now I’m pathetically checking my phone for the hundredth time today.

My last text to Liam sits there like expired milk.

[Me] [10:47 AM]:Guess who got into Columbia AND NYU???

[Liam] [11:32 AM]:Congrats, angel. Never doubted youfor a second.

[Me] [11:33 AM]:Thanks! Still waiting on Stanford to reach out about the interview next week... Could use a good luck kiss

[Liam] [2:15 PM]:You’ll crush it.

And that’s it.No flirty comeback. No suggestive emoji. No “when can I see you?”

What happened to the guy who couldn’t go two hours without texting me?

I scroll back through our messages from just last week.

[Liam] [6 days ago]:Morning beautiful. Dreamed about that little noise you make when I kiss your neck.

[Me]:Shouldn’t you be at practice?

[Liam]:Worth being late for.

[Me]:You’re impossible.

[Liam]:Impossibly into you.

Now?Radio silence. Well, not silence exactly. Just...distance. Like someone slowly turning downthe volume. And didn’t he reassure me just last week that what we have is real? That he would never bolt on me?

I’m not going anywhere, Angel.

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