Chapter 2
LIAM
SENIOR YEAR — CORNELL UNIVERSITY
Ihad been sitting on the news for four hours.
Four hours of practice where I could barely keep my head in the drills. Four hours of smiling at guys who had no idea their teammate was about to sign with the Chicago Storm. Four hours of knowing and not being able to say it out loud to the one person who mattered most.
I spotted her through the coffee shop window before I even pushed through the door.
She was bent over a spread of flashcards at the corner booth, the one she always claimed when she had a big exam coming up. Hair pulled back. Pencil tucked behind her ear. Lower lip caught between her teeth in that way she had when she was concentrating.
She looked up when the bell above the door chimed.
Her face was the thing I was going to remember. The second she saw me — the way I was walking, the way I couldn't contain it — she sat up straight.
"Liam."
"Anne Mitchell." I slid into the booth across from her and grabbed both her hands before she could say anything else. "You are looking at the future of the Chicago Storm.”
She stared at me for one breathless second.
Then she threw her flashcards in the air and kissed me across the table.
I heard a few people around us react — someone laughed, someone said get a room — and I didn't care about any of it. I just kissed her back and held on.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes were bright and wet.
"First round?"
"First round."
She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob and launched herself out of her seat into my arms. I caught her, chair scraping back against the floor, not caring that we were making a scene.
"We're going to Chicago," I said into her hair. "You and me. I'll play hockey. You'll do your DPT program. We're doing this."
"We're doing this," she said.
I set her back down, and she was grinning like she couldn't help it, flashcards scattered all over the booth and the floor. She didn't even glance at them.
"Thai food," I said. "Tonight. Your dorm. We're celebrating."
"You're buying."
"Obviously."
She kissed me again, quick and certain.
That night, sprawled across her too-small dorm bed with takeout containers between us, I planned our future out loud.
"You'll apply to Northwestern. Best PT program in the Midwest. If I stay with Chicago, it's perfect. If I get traded, we'll figure it out."
"You're very confident I'll get into Northwestern."
"You're brilliant. They'd be stupid not to take you."
She fit perfectly against my side, her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulders.
This was it. This was everything I wanted.
Hockey and Anne.
I could have both.
Everything I had worked for since I was five years old — it was all coming together.
The NHL. The girl. The future.
Nothing could fuck this up.
Two years later, the Sweden offer came in.
I was in my second year with the Chicago Storm's AAA affiliate, grinding through bus leagues and small arenas, waiting for the call-up to the NHL that might never come.
The money was shit. The travel was brutal.
I was twenty-four years old and starting to wonder if I had made a mistake, if maybe the Storm didn't see me as their future after all.
Then my agent called.
"Liam, I've got something. Swedish Elite League. Two to three-year contract with an option to extend. Salary is 400,000 kronor per year."
I did the math in my head. That was... God, that was more than I made in a year right now. Way more.
"Elite level hockey," he continued. "Competitive team. And here's the thing — the Storm are aware of this. They think it's a good move for you. Development opportunity. Get you stronger, faster, more experienced before bringing you up to the NHL."
My agent explained it all. This was a legitimate career path. Not a dead end. Not a failure to make the NHL. This was a strategic move exactly what young players did to accelerate their development.
"The team is sending over the official offer tomorrow," he said. "Think about it. But Liam? This could be the best move for your career. The Storm see potential in you. They want to invest in your development."
I thought about it all night.
Sweden meant leaving Anne for two to three years. She was in her final semester at Northwestern, about to graduate with her DPT. She had just gotten a job offer from Midwest Elite — the kind of opportunity she had worked her ass off for.
But Sweden also meant I wasn't a failure. I wasn't stuck in the minors forever. The Storm believed in me. And this path — going to Europe, proving myself, coming back stronger — this was how elite players developed.
It meant coming back to North America in a few years as a proven player, commanding the kind of contract that set up our future. It meant we could actually afford the life we talked about.
The next day, the offer came through. It was everything my agent said. Good money, competitive team, a clear path back to the NHL.
I read through the contract three times.
By the fourth read, I was already imagining telling Anne.
She'd understand. She knew how important my career was.
She'd always supported my hockey dreams. She'd be excited — this was the kind of opportunity players dreamed about.
Maybe she could even find opportunities in Europe.
International sports teams needed PTs. There were options.
I signed the contract before I could second-guess myself.
Then I went back to our apartment to tell Anne we were moving to Sweden.
Except that's not what happened.
"I can't go to Sweden," she said, and my entire world tilted.
"What do you mean you can't go?"
"I mean I can't. Liam, I just accepted a job with Midwest Elite. I'm graduating in three weeks. My life is here."
"Your life is with me. We planned this — Chicago together, remember?"
"Chicago, yes. Not Sweden."
The fight that followed was the worst of my life. We were both shouting, both crying, both too stubborn to back down.
"There are options," I said, desperately trying to make her see reason. "International sports teams need PTs. You could work in Sweden, do telehealth for US clients, delay your certification?—"
"Delay my certification? Liam, I've already put my career on hold for years. I've already adjusted everything around your schedule."
"I'm not asking you to put it on hold. I'm asking you to come with me. To support me."
"Support you? I've been at every single game.
I've been here through every setback, every frustration, every time you weren't sure if you were going to make it.
" Her voice was shaking now. "And the one time — the one time — something required you to think about me before you acted, you couldn't do it.
You didn't ask me, Liam. You just signed. "
"I thought you'd be as excited as I was. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Anne. I never imagined you'd say no."
"That's exactly the problem." She set down her coffee cup carefully, like she was making herself stay calm.
"You never imagined it. You didn't consider it.
You didn't think, 'let me talk to Anne before I make a decision that affects both of us.
' You just assumed I'd follow." She looked at me.
"Would you prefer you just play in the AAA league for the rest of your career? Is that what you're going to say next?"
I said nothing. Because yes, that was roughly what I'd been about to say.
"That's what I thought." She walked to the window and stood with her back to me. "I have worked just as hard as you have. My career matters just as much as yours. And you treated it like a minor inconvenience to be worked around."
"So what?" I was desperate now, the words coming out wrong. "We just throw away everything we have because you won't come with me?"
"You won't STAY." Her voice broke on the last word. "You're choosing Sweden over us. Over me."
"This is my career, Anne. You know how important?—"
"I know exactly how important it is." She turned around. Her eyes were wet but her voice was steady, and that steadiness was more frightening than any anger would have been. "That's why I'm not going to ask you not to go. But I'm also not going to be here when you get back."
"Anne—"
"When you grow up — when you finally understand what you actually did here — maybe you'll realize it." She walked to the door and opened it. "Please leave, Liam."
Not angry. Not crying. Just done.
We stood in our kitchen, surrounded by years of history — my practice jersey draped over her chair, our photos on her fridge, the life we'd built in this apartment — and I understood that none of it was enough to fix what I'd broken.
"Please," she said again. Quietly.
I left.
I packed my things over the next two days while she stayed at her mom's. A teammate helped me load boxes. I moved through the apartment carefully, taking only what was mine, leaving everything that was ours.
Before I handed back the key I left a note on the kitchen counter where she'd find it:
Good luck with your career. You deserve the best. L
At the airport I sat at the gate for an hour with my phone in my hand.
I didn't reach out. She'd made herself clear. Whatever I was feeling — the grief, the doubt, the creeping certainty that I'd made a catastrophic mistake — that was mine to carry. I didn't get to hand it to her.
I boarded the plane.
I didn't look back.
STOCKHOLM
Training camp was brutal, but I had expected that. New team, new system, new language. I was learning Swedish on the fly, trying to prove I deserved the contract they had given me.
The team was competitive. The level of play was good. This was real professional hockey.
But at night, alone in my small apartment in a city where I didn't know anyone, I thought about Anne.
I thought about how I had signed that contract without discussing it with her. How I had assumed she would just follow. How I had been so caught up in the opportunity that I hadn't really heard her when she said no.
How I had never once stopped to ask her what she wanted before I decided for both of us.
I tried to call her. Once, twice, a dozen times. Her number went straight to voicemail every time.
After two weeks, I tried again.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
She had changed her number.
She actually changed her number.
I sat on my couch in Stockholm, staring at my phone, and understood that she meant it. Not on pause. Not waiting.
Done.
She had made her choice. I had made mine.
I had chosen Sweden. She had chosen her career.
Neither of us had chosen us.
The thing was, I thought I was choosing my career. I thought I was choosing the opportunity of a lifetime, the path that would lead me to the NHL.
But lying here alone in Stockholm, watching television I didn't understand, eating dinner by myself every night — I was starting to understand what she'd been trying to tell me.
That I had never really chosen us at all.
I tried calling from a different phone. Still disconnected. Still gone.
By the end of week three, I had stopped trying.
ST. LOUIS
Six years had passed since I walked out of that Chicago apartment.
I had made the right call signing with Sweden. The hockey was exactly what I needed. My skating improved. My strength doubled. I was faster, smarter, more confident on the ice.
I'd spent four years in Sweden proving myself. Then two years clawing my way up through the AHL. And finally, I was here — in the NHL, playing for the St. Louis Blaze, living the dream I had sacrificed everything for.
I was twenty-nine years old, successful, and completely alone.
I had dated. Nothing serious, nothing that lasted more than a few weeks. I moved on. Or tried to.
I didn't think about her every day anymore. Just most days.
Just every time I was in a training room. Just every time I saw a woman with dark hair and smart eyes. Just every time I realized that none of the women I met could compare to the one I'd left behind.
Sitting in my apartment at night, or worse, watching other guys on the team with their wives and girlfriends, I wondered if it was worth it.
I wondered if Anne ever thought about me.
I wondered if she'd moved on, if she was happy, if she'd found someone who actually asked her opinion before making decisions that affected her life.
I wondered if the dream was really worth all this.