Page 109 of The Pucking Player

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“But you know what they say about love and hate.” He’s skating closer to our section now, those blue eyes locked on mine. “There’s a thin line between them. And, angel, I’vebeen hoping—praying really—that it’s true. And I’m hoping that you hate me just enough to give me one more chance to make this right.”

Jenna actually squeals. Jessica grabs my hand.

“So yeah, I went into a Bratva boss’s club. Took a risk. But you know what the scariest thing I’ve ever done is?” He’s right in front of our section now. “Watching you walk away. Letting you think I don’t care.”

The Garden is dead silent.

“Before you go on your spring break, I need you to know something.” Liam’s voice softens, but the mic catches every word. “I love you, Sophie Novak. I loved you when I wrote my number on your wrist. I loved you when I had to push you away. And I love you now, in front of twenty thousand people and your terrifying father who’s probably planning out my trade as we speak.”

A laugh ripples through the crowd. I catch a glimpse of Daddy in the owner’s box, looking like he can’t decide whether to kill Liam or admire his courage.

“Stay with me.” The word rings through the arena. “Choose me. Or at least let me try to earn you back.”

I’m frozen in my seat, my heart doing some kind of complicated gymnastics routine.

“And if you’re still set on Miami,” his grin turns wicked, “hockey players like sun and sand too.”

“Oh my God,” Jessica mutters.

But I’m not listening anymore. Because Liam’s looking at me like I’m the only person in this packed arena, like he’d trade everything—his career, his reputation, this historic night—just for a chance.

And suddenly Miami seems very, very far away.

Move, I tell my legs.Just. Move.

But I’m frozen, caught between twenty thousand expectantfaces and those blue eyes that have turned my world upside down since that first stolen kiss. The silence stretches so long, I swear I can hear my heart trying to escape my chest.

“If you don’t go down there,” Jenna finally hisses, “I will personally throw you over these seats.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Jessica’s already pulling me up. “Security’s waiting to escort you.”

Sure enough, two guys in Defenders jackets materialize beside our seats. Like this whole thing was orchestrated.

Of course it was. This is Liam O’Connor we’re talking about. When has he ever done anything halfway?

The crowd parts as security leads me down toward ice level. By the time I reach the boards, I’m trembling. Someone’s laid down a carpet to the ice—because apparently when Liam O’Connor makes grand gestures, he thinks of everything.

He’s waiting at center ice, still in full gear, chest heaving like he’s just played the game of his life. Which he has. Championship record. Hat trick. And somehow, I’m still the main event.

“You’re completely insane,” I manage when I reach him, grateful the mic is off. “You know that, right?”

“Only about you.” His voice is rough, like he’s been skating for hours or maybe like his heart’s trying to escape too. “Is it working?”

“I have a flight in the morning.”

“So, miss it.”

“My friends?—”

“Will understand.”

“You can’t just?—”

“Yes, I can.” He steps closer, and suddenly we’re in ourown world, twenty thousand people fading to background noise. “I’m done playing it safe, angel. Done watching you walk away. If you go to Miami, I’ll follow. If you choose Stanford, I choose Stanford. Hell, I’ll learn to surf if that’s what it takes.”

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