35. Game Plan
35
GAME PLAN
LIAM
T he puck hits the net with a satisfying thwack, joining the pile of others I’ve been firing since five a.m. Because apparently, that’s what I do now—show up at the rink at ungodly hours when I should be resting for tonight’s historic game.
Nothing like sleep deprivation before the biggest game of your career.
But sleep’s not happening anyway, not after Sophie closed that door in my face. Not with her going to Miami for spring break. The thought of her on a beach, wearing a tiny bikini, without me…
I fire another puck. This one misses wide.
“Your shot’s off.”
Adam’s voice echoes across the empty rink. He’s leaning against the boards in sweats and a Defenders hoodie, looking about as well-rested as I feel.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, scooping up another puck. “Game’s not till seven.”
“Could ask you the same thing.” He grabs his stick from the bench and hops onto the ice. “Though I’m guessing it has something to do with my sister.”
My shot goes wide again. “She tell you about Miami?”
“Jenna mentioned it when I ran into her getting coffee this morning,” Adam says. “Right after telling me about your doorway performance yesterday.” His eyes get this weird glint when he mentions her name, but it’s gone so fast I might have imagined it.
He collects a puck and lines up his shot. Perfect top shelf.
Show off.
I notice he doesn’t elaborate on why he and Jenna were getting coffee at the same time, or how a quick mention turned into a full rundown of my romantic failures. I don’t press, just file that observation away for another day. We’ve got bigger problems right now.
“Bold move, by the way. Though maybe not your smartest play.”
“Yeah, well, smart’s not really my thing lately.” I fire another shot, this one finally finding its mark. “Wearing wires into criminal clubs. Making Sophie hate me. Showing up at practice at five a.m. before a franchise record game.”
Adam’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of our sticks and pucks filling the air. Then, “You really wore a wire in there?”
“Yep.”
“That was stupid.”
“Probably.”
“Could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
I line up another shot. “My friend Mike was right out front ready to storm in with the police squad.”
The puck hits dead center.
“Yeah.” Adam’s voice is thoughtful. “That’s what’s been pissing me off. You were exactly the kind of guy I didn’t want around Sophie, until you weren’t.”
I turn to face him, trying to read his expression in the morning light filtering through the arena windows. “That almost sounds like approval, Novak.”
“Don’t push it, O’Connor.” But there’s no heat in it. “Let’s just say I get it now. Why she fell for you. Why Dad’s probably going to let you live.”
“Probably?”
He shrugs, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
“I need your help to get her to the game tonight,” I say, hitting the puck again.
“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you planning to do if she shows?”
I tell him.
His eyes widen slightly. “Damn. That’s either the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, or the stupidest.”
“Story of my life lately.”
We’re both grinning now, the ice between us finally thawing. Then a voice booms across the rink.
“What the hell are my captain and star winger doing on the ice at this hour on a game night?”
Coach’s footsteps echo through the rink as he approaches, looking more resigned than angry.
“Morning, Coach.” I try to sound casual, like firing pucks at five a.m. is my normal pre-game routine.
“Save it, O’Connor.” He stops at the boards, taking in the pile of pucks in the net. “Both of you are supposed to be resting. Historic record tonight. Ring any bells?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Adam and I say in unison, then look at each other, surprised.
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose. “My star players, sleep-deprived before the biggest game of the season. Perfect.”
“Dad,” Adam starts, “we need a favor. For tonight’s game.”
Coach’s eyes narrow. “What kind of favor?”
“Access to the sound system. And maybe keep security posted by section one hundred fourteen.”
“The sound system.” Coach looks between us. “Why?”
I meet his gaze steadily. “Because I want Sophie back, and I want to let her know what she means to me.”
Something shifts in Coach’s expression—not quite approval but understanding. He picks up a stray puck, turning it over in his hands.
“You wore a wire into Volkov’s club.”
“I did.”
“Could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
“Had backup. My friend on the force.”
He nods slowly. “That why you didn’t fight back? During all those extra drills?”
“Figured I deserved worse after hurting her.”
Coach is quiet for a long moment, just the sound of the puck hitting his palm. Finally, “No more punishment drills. You need to be sharp tonight.” He tosses me the puck. “For the team.”
As we gather our gear, his voice carries across the ice one more time.
“O’Connor?”
“Coach?”
“I’ll talk to the sound guys.”
I nod in his direction, making my way off the ice, Adam following close behind.
“So,” Adam says as we hit the locker room. “You’re really going to do it? In front of twenty thousand people? ”
“And your terrifying father.” I start unlacing my skates. “And probably half the league’s front office.”
“You realize if she shuts you down, it’ll be all over social media in about thirty seconds?”
“Thanks for that mental image.”
“Just saying.” He drops onto the bench across from me. “My sister’s not big on public declarations.”
“Your sister’s not big on a lot of things I’ve done lately.” I peel off my practice jersey, wincing at muscles still sore from Coach’s recent torture sessions. “But playing it safe isn’t working out so well for me.”
Adam’s quiet for a moment, then, “You know what Sophie told me once? Back when you first started pursuing her?”
I look up, curious.
“She said you were like a hurricane, an unstoppable force that just swept in and rearranged everything in your path.” He grins. “Pretty sure she meant it as a complaint.”
“And now?”
He shrugs. “Now I’m thinking a hurricane might be exactly what she needs. Someone who’ll fight for her even when she’s being stubborn as hell.”
“High praise from the guy who wanted to murder me a month ago.”
“Oh, I still might.” But he’s grinning. “Depends how tonight goes.”
I grab my shower kit, trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. “You really think you can get her here?”
“Leave that to me and Jess. We’ve got years of practice manipulating our baby sister.” He heads for the door, then pauses. “Hey, O’Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget I will end you if you hurt her again.”