8. Liam
EIGHT
LIAM
“Where’s your head, GK?” Maverick clasps my shoulder in the locker room during intermission. “You’re staring at the wall.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“You had a hell of a second period. Fifteen saves and not a single goal? Fucking impressive. We only have twenty minutes until we can get the fuck out of here and celebrate our hopeful victory against the reigning Stanley Cup champs somewhere fun. Can you please pull yourself together?”
“No problem.”
“What’s got you so distracted?”
Piper fucking Mitchell .
She looked goddamn sexy strutting up the tunnel with that microphone of hers. It was obvious her confidence wasn’t there when we saw her before the game, but she seemed a hell of a lot more sure of herself after she finished talking with Hudson.
I’ve caught glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye all night.
That bright pink blazer keeps grabbing my attention.
So does her laugh.
I can practically hear it across the ice.
The more time that passes on the clock, the more relaxed she gets. Her shoulders move away from her ears. Her smile gets wider. More real , not some forced thing she’s grimacing out.
It’s obnoxious as hell.
Two seconds of seeing her in her element, and I can barely focus on the job I’m paid millions of dollars to excel at.
I need to get my head out of my ass.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Such a bad liar,” he says under his breath, but he doesn’t press me any further. “Just keep stopping those goals for the rest of the night and I won’t give a shit what you’re thinking about.”
“Would be nice if you decided to score for once in your life. When did you get so selfless and start passing the puck?” I fire back, and he grins.
“There’s my guy.”
We skate onto the ice for the final period. Boos from the hometown crowd greet us, but I don’t pay them any mind as I take my spot in the goal. I also don’t pay the women sitting in the front row and wearing my jersey any mind.
They bang on the glass and try to get my attention. I ignore them, settling into the bliss of blacking out my surroundings. Of only focusing on the two hundred feet in front of me, not who might be in the crowd.
I’ve always been good at dulling the noise. At hearing what I want to hear and seeing what I want to see. I learned early on my brain doesn’t work the way other people’s do. I don’t see colors or shapes. I see solutions to problems and every way a scenario can play out.
When I first started skating as a kid, I noticed how those differences translated to the ice. Every time someone has the puck, I anticipate the moves they could make. I analyze the outcome if they go left then right instead of right then left. Most of the time, I know what the opposing player is going to do before they do, and I’m one step ahead of them.
It’s what’s made me so good at my job.
Like right now.
The Edmonton Bulls’ right wing likes to cross over center ice. Likes to accept a pass in the offensive zone, then fire off a backhand shot that I?—
“Nice save, Sully,” Hudson yells, whizzing past me when I catch the puck in the center of my glove.
“I gotta give you shit for not paying attention more often,” Maverick adds. He knocks his stick against mine as the ref blows his whistle. “Gets your head out of your ass.”
“Fuck off.” I grab my drink bottle and squirt some water in my mouth. “And get out of my goal.”
“Did you see the fan club behind you?” Maverick teases. “I thought they’d be here for Hudson, but that one girl has a shirt that says Big, bad Sully can sully me up anytime .”
“Better you than me.” Hudson flashes me a sympathetic grin. “You know I hate that shit.”
“You and me both,” I grumble.
The attention makes my skin crawl.
I know it’s part of the job.
I know it comes with playing in a high-contact sport that makes us seem tough and strong.
But, fuck , the fan obsession is weird.
Ethan had a stalker last year, a woman who showed up at every away game and stared at him from five rows behind our bench.
Grant gets messages on social media from fans asking how much they’d have to pay to spend a night with him.
Photos of Hudson walking his dogs shirtless in the middle of summer were used in an anonymous TikTok video, and he still hasn’t figured out who took the pictures.
The sexualization is creepy as fuck, but the male fans are even worse.
After game five of the finals last year, my posts were swarmed with comments about how I should kill myself because I don’t know how to do my job. There were mentions of letting my city down and being a disgrace.
And when they found Alana’s account and said they were going to hurt her like I hurt the Stars fans’ championship dreams?
I almost stopped playing altogether.
This sport is my lifeline though, and I don’t want to give those asshats the satisfaction of having a hold over me.
They can all fuck off.
“Fifteen minutes to go,” Riley says, huddling up with us. “Their offense looks gassed. Think if we keep playing them close and save our breakaways for the last few minutes, we’ll be able to put this one in the bag.”
Ethan snorts. “I’m tempted to lose the next face-off just to fuck with them.”
“I kind of want to rile them up, land one of them in the sin bin and earn a power play where we can crush their spirits,” Maverick says. “Fuck that they’re champions.”
“Grant said if we win, we’re going to a country bar downtown.”
“A country bar in Canada?” Hudson asks. “Sounds like something we’d find in those cowboy romances we’ve been reading at book club.”
“I love the cowboy romances,” Riley agrees.
I toss my bottle on the back of the goal and squat, ready for the next play. “Now I’m purposely going to let one past me so I don’t have to get on a mechanical bull. And cowboy romances? What the fuck?”
“He fucks the nanny. It’s hot,” Ethan argues. “And don’t get me started on the relationship she has with his kid.”
“I’d pay good money to see Goalie Daddy on a bull.” Maverick looks at Hudson, Riley, Ethan and Finn Adams, our left wing. “We need to pull out this victory boys, so we can get Liam in a cowboy hat.”
“I will murder you,” I growl, and the ref blows his whistle again. “If you don’t get your asses back on the line, I’m going to intentionally throw the puck out of the playing area to give them the delay of game advantage so I don’t have to listen to you squawk. Get away from me and let me do my job, you fucking dogs.”
Ethan salutes me and takes off toward our opponents for the face-off. “Yes, sir.”
Maverick barks and skates away with more power than I’ve seen from him all game. Hudson and Riley hang back with me and get in their defensive stances.
“You know you probably encouraged him to get a hat trick, right?” Hudson laughs, and I roll my eyes.
“At least it would lock up this game,” I say. “I’m tired.”
“I wonder if the girls will go to the cowboy bar.” Riley shifts to his left, knowing the Bulls players tend to play against the boards closest to their bench. “Lexi always makes the night more fun.”
“If you shut up and stop these guys from getting close to the goal, I’ll buy you a beer at this goddamn cowboy bar so you have a shit ton of fun,” I say.
“Your wish is my command, GK,” Riley yells, passing the puck to Finn over the red line and following after him.
I know I made a deal with the devil, but as Maverick rears his stick back and sinks a beautiful slap shot that will undoubtedly be on ESPN’s Top Ten plays tomorrow morning, I don’t give a shit about anything besides a win.
“Unbelievable save, GK.”
“Hell of a stop there with a minute to go on the clock, Sul.”
“Play of the game goes to our Goalie Daddy.” Maverick jumps on my back and wraps his arms around my neck. “I knew all it would take is some positive reinforcement from yours truly to make sure you had your best stat line of the season.”
“It’s October.” I pull off my helmet and shake out my hair. I’m disgusting, and ten minutes under a blazing hot shower sounds like heaven. “No one cares about my stats in October.”
“Great win, boys,” a gentle voice says from my right, and I stop in my tracks. Turn my head slowly and spot Piper leaning against the wall. “Do you have a minute to talk about your performance, Mav?”
“Hey, Little P.” Maverick slides down my back. “Anything for the best reporter on her first official night with a microphone.”
Piper’s eyes bounce to me. “Mind if I talk to you next, Liam? You really did have a fantastic game.”
“Not doing an interview,” I say. “Sorry.”
“Come on, man. It’s Piper,” Maverick says.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Mav. He’s not forced to talk to the media, and I don’t want to push him.” She smiles. “Have a good rest of your night, Liam.”
“Oh, it’s going to be good all right. He’s coming with us to the western bar downtown. I hope you and the girls are going to tag along. We have a lot to celebrate,” Maverick says. “A victory. Your reporter gig. It’s going to be a blast.”
“Wait a second. You’re going to the western bar?” Piper asks me. “You? In a crowd of people? Where they line dance and play country music?”
It’s my idea of hell.
The last place I’d ever want to be, but I bet it would be fun if she were there.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I said something stupid to Riley during the game and dug myself into a hole. I’m not happy about it.”
“Please tell me I’m allowed to video you singing karaoke. It’ll be the greatest night of my life.”
“Dream on, Pipsqueak. I’m staying for one round, and if someone tries to get me on stage, they’ll end up worse for wear.”
“It was worth a try. Maybe you’ll have a different perspective after a drink or two.”
“Are you buying?”
Her lips split into a wide grin. “I could, if it’ll keep you around for longer than eight seconds.”
Maverick looks between us. “When did you two get so chummy?”
“We’re not chummy,” Piper rushes to say, her cheeks turning red.
She blushes a lot, I’ve learned.
When she saw me shirtless in the trainers’ room.
When I complimented her at team dinner.
When she knows she’s said something she shouldn’t.
It’s cute to see her panicking, and it kind of makes me want to push her buttons. Makes me want to see how close I can get to prodding her before she retaliates.
Maverick groans. “I have no clue what’s going on, and I hate being out of the loop.”
“You’re not missing out on anything, Mav,” she says, motioning for the cameraman to join them. “Let’s talk about the game tonight. You had two goals, with one coming in the final thirty-five seconds of the third period. How do you feel about the team’s momentum as we head into November?”
I trudge to the locker room, letting them talk shop and trying to ignore the way my mouth twitches up in a smile when I look over my shoulder and notice Piper watching me walk away.