25. Liam
TWENTY-FIVE
LIAM
Alana
Still waiting on your date’s name!
Me
So you can stalk her?
Alana
Am I a bad person for wanting to make sure my big brother is being treated right?
What if she breaks your heart?
Me
You don’t need to worry about that.
Going through a tunnel and losing service.
Alana
I’m watching your pregame coverage on TV right now, asshole!!!!
Piper
I was wondering…
Me
About?
Piper
I know hotel room hookups aren’t part of our lessons, and I respect the space you want on the road.
But do you want to hang out tonight?
As friends!! Not a date!!
I really don’t want to be sucked into the New Year’s Eve shitshow of the Vegas Strip and figured we could get a burger after the game?
Me
I’m down for burgers.
Piper
Hooray! Maybe I can convince you to get another milkshake.
Me
You were quick to tell me it’s not a date, Pipsqueak.
Piper
I don’t want you to think I’m using you outside our bedroom parameters or anything. Behind closed doors, remember?
Me
I didn’t get that impression.
Piper
Okay, good!
Me
Going to take a nap. We’l talk after the game.
Piper
You’re going to play great, Sully! See you out there!
The crowd in Vegas is relentless.
They always are, but with the added buzz of the holiday and pregaming that’s probably lasted all day, they’re even more fired up.
They’ve been screaming nonstop the whole night. Pounding on the glass and trying to break my focus with heckling and boos.
Unfortunately for them, I’m playing my ass off and don’t hear shit. I’ve stopped every shot through two and a half periods, and I’m on track to break the NHL record for most saves in a game.
“You’re on fire tonight,” Maverick says during a media timeout. “Think you can break it?”
“Already told you I don’t care about the record.” I squeeze my water bottle and wipe the sweat from my forehead. My heart rate has never been this high, and if it weren’t for the adrenaline pounding in my ears, I’d be worried. “Just want the win.”
And a hot shower.
And Piper in my bed.
She’s come over a few times since the charity gala. Sometimes it’s only for a few minutes while she’s out running errands, and it’s just enough time for me to press her against the wall and slip three fingers inside of her.
Occasionally she’ll stop by for longer, her knees red from dropping to the ground and sucking me off, not stopping until I finish in her mouth and she swallows me down with a wide smile.
She slept over earlier this week.
It was accidental. We fell asleep during a movie, and I woke her up in the middle of the night to move her to my bed.
I wasn’t going to be a dick and kick her out.
“He’s twelve away,” Riley says, snapping my daydreams in half as he glances at the statistics notebook open on the bench. Coach is an old school guy, preferring to keep track of stats by hand instead of digitally. “Thirteen will make history.”
“Cut it out,” Coach says. “Let him do his job and you all do yours. We’re up by one, but we know how quickly these games can change. Someone can get hot, and that’s all it takes. I need you to lock in. Focus on your man. Richardson, you were late on the last face-off. You gotta move the stick quicker. React. Don’t anticipate.”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan says, showing Coach the respect he deserves.
“Hayes. Number thirty-eight almost slipped past you with a breakaway. Watch your left side.”
Hudson nods, and I know the wheels are turning in his head.
“Miller,” Coach continues. “Where the hell is your aggression tonight? It’s like your mind is somewhere else, and that’s not you.”
“Sorry, Coach.” Maverick dries his face off with a towel. “I’m distracted.”
“You better have a good reason. That wrist shot on our last possession was weak.”
“Agreed. Emmy is in the crowd tonight, and I always play a little sloppy when she’s around. Can’t stop looking at her.” He gives us all a sheepish grin. “We also decided to say fuck it and elope tonight, and I really don’t want to have a bloody nose for the pictures. She’d kill me.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Grant jumps to his feet. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” Maverick reaches into his skate and pulls out a small bag with two rings inside. “Been carrying these around all game. Wanted to keep her next to me before I put this on her finger later.”
The guys all go wild. Someone squirts a water bottle in Maverick’s face and another jumps on his back. The timeout goes from play making to celebrating real quick, but not one of my teammates seems to care.
“Christ.” Coach rolls his eyes, but he grins and pulls Maverick into a hug. “You’re a sneaky fucker.”
“I’m here for the next ten minutes, Coach. I promise. Let’s get the win so I can marry my girl.”
I yank off my glove so I can shake his hand. “Congratulations, man.”
“Thanks, dude. You’re coming, by the way. I don’t want to hear any bullshit about being tired or wanting to spend the rest of the night in your room. You’re my friend, and I want you there.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say. “And I won’t even complain.”
“Fucking right you won’t.” Maverick grins and kisses my cheek. “Now go get that fucking record.”
The Lightning’s offense has been more aggressive coming out of the timeout. Like they know it’s sink or swim and they’re struggling to stay alive. They start firing off shots like madmen, each one a little sloppier than the last. Fatigue is setting in for all of us—I see it in our boys too—and I know if I can hang on a little longer, if I can stay focused for a few more minutes, I have this one in the bag.
I take advantage of the stoppage in play to grab a drink of water. I stretch my back and see Piper behind me. She’s right against the glass in her usual spot, a notebook in her hand and scribbling furiously. After a few seconds of staring, she looks up and spots me.
She waves and gives me a thumbs up. I nod her way, not wanting to fall too far down the rabbit hole that can happen when I look at her for too long.
Especially when she’s in her element.
Piper comes alive at the rink, all fierce determination and excitement about the game. I can tell she genuinely loves her job, exuding a confidence she’s still trying to find in other parts of her life when she has a microphone in her hand.
The whistle blows, and I’m pulled back to reality. I shove the thoughts of her naked body spread out on my sheets from my mind. I forget the smell of her perfume and the bite of her nails digging into my skin and focus on the job ahead of me.
Now that this record is close—I’m only four goals away—I really fucking want it.
I’ve clawed my way to being one of the best goalies in the league after getting drafted in the sixth round eight years ago. I’ve worked hard, stayed in my lane, and never been boastful about my achievements as a player.
But being able to say I’m the one in the history books would be fucking cool.
The next five minutes pass in a blur. My muscles ache. Sweat stings my eyes, but I don’t dare move my attention away from the puck for a single second.
I stop a backhand shot. A slap shot that almost sneaks under my left knee. A gnarly wrist shot that has me squeezing my legs together in a butterfly potion, and my whole body tumbling forward, snatching the puck out of the crease before any of the Lightning players can go in for a second chance at a goal.
The announcer tells the crowd there’s one minute left, and I start to mumble the alphabet to myself, just like I always do, saying the letters and counting each tick of time as we get closer and closer to the end of regulation.
When I catch another save—lucky number seventy-one—just as the horn sounds, I drop my stick and collapse on the ice. It’s cool on my overheated skin, and before I can breathe, my teammates are piling on top of me.
“Let’s fucking GO,” Riley yells.
“Hell of a game, Sully,” Hudson says from somewhere close to my ear.
“Think Richardson just broke my ribs.” I laugh, feeling really fucking proud.
“Best goalie in the league.” Maverick shoves my shoulder and rolls away from me. “Wouldn’t want anyone else protecting our team.”
“Thanks, guys.” I groan when I finally stand on two feet. My legs almost give out on me again, but Grant loops an arm around my left side. Hudson loops an arm around my right, steadying me just like I steadied them for the last sixty grueling minutes. “I’m going to need at least twenty minutes in the shower. Might need someone to wash my ass. My legs are shot.”
“I love the fuck out of you, GK, but I draw the line at ass washing.” Grant wrinkles his nose. “Maybe in seventy years.”
“God, I hope I’m dead by then.”
We slowly skate over to the bench where the rest of my teammates greet me. I exchange handshakes with all of them, sheepishly waving to the crowd after the PA announcer lets the arena know I just broke the all-time save record. The referee hands me the puck that sealed the deal, and I’m overcome with a wave of emotion I so rarely experience.
I skate off the ice as fast as my exhausted legs will allow, not wanting anyone to see me like this: vulnerable. Worn out. On the verge of crying because I’ve been playing hockey for goddamn years and I’ve never had my name on anything.
I dip my head and walk down the tunnel toward the visitors’ locker room, hoping to escape before the media starts to hound me. I know Coach is going to ask me to talk to reporters and I’m going to write another check and pay the fucking fine, wanting to keep this moment untainted from whatever they might try to ask.
Before I can make it too far, Piper falls in step next to me.
“I’m not going to hound you for an interview,” she says, her short legs working double time to keep up with me. “Maverick has that covered.”
“Good.”
“Hey.” She touches my elbow, and I stop. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I pull off my helmet and scrub a hand over my face. “I’m just—” I gesture vaguely around me, trying to find the right words—“I don’t know.”
“Oh, Liam. I’m so proud of you.” She launches herself at me in a hug, holding me tight. I rest my chin on her head and exhale, cradling the back of her neck awkwardly with my glove. “It’s okay to be emotional. You did something incredible.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat. “I’m proud of me too.”
“You don’t owe anyone a conversation.” Piper pulls away and touches my cheek. She doesn’t show any sign of being bothered that her outfit is now covered in my sweat and stench, and that almost makes me emotional too. “Forget the media. Forget reporters. You take this moment however you want. It’s yours , not anyone else’s. The day you do decide to talk about it though, I better be first in line for an interview.”
“I promise you will be, Pipsqueak.” I chuckle. “I know we said we were going to have a low-key night, but I think this changes things. The guys aren’t going to let me hide. Add in the whole Maverick and Emmy thing, and I’ll be shocked if I can sneak back to my room before sunrise.”
“What do you mean the whole Maverick and Emmy thing?”
“You didn’t hear? They’re eloping.”
“ What ?” she almost screeches. “Are you serious?”
“Maverick’s been playing with the rings in his skate all night.”
“Of course he has. He’s such a romantic.” Piper huffs and puts her hands on her hips. “That woman has some explaining to do.” She turns back to the stands but stops halfway up the tunnel. “We’ll see each other tonight, right?”
“Why? You need something from me, Piper?”
Her eyes rake over my jersey and pads. Color invades her cheeks, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“A couple somethings. Think you can lend a hand?” she asks.
“Always willing to help.” The guys start to make their way into the tunnel, and the noise amplifies. Someone has a bottle of champagne, and I have no fucking clue where they got it. “See you soon, Pipsqueak.”
“I really am proud of you, Liam,” she says.
From her, it means more than the damn record itself.