9. Liam
9
LIAM
T he video review room is a sanctuary after the grueling practice. The fluorescent lights buzz softly, and the air is tinged with the faint scent of disinfectant and old popcorn. I push open the door, expecting to find it empty. Instead, Olivia sits at the console, her eyes glued to the screen, scribbling notes furiously.
"Didn’t peg you for a video review type," I say, leaning against the doorframe.
She jumps slightly but recovers quickly. "Jesus Liam, just trying to understand the magic behind your moves."
"Magic, huh?" I saunter over, dropping into the chair beside her. "Want me to break it down for you?"
"Please," she says, sliding her notebook aside. "I could use an expert’s insight."
I grab the remote and cue up a recent game. "Alright, this here," I pause the footage at a particular play, "is our power play setup. Watch how Ethan positions himself."
She leans in closer, her shoulder brushing mine. The small room feels even smaller with her so close. "He’s drawing their defense out," she observes.
"Exactly," I nod. "Creates space for Noah to sneak in here," I fast-forward to Noah’s goal. "Bam! Right in the sweet spot."
"Magic," she murmurs, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.
"Just part of the job." I try to ignore how good it feels to have her this close, focusing instead on the footage. "Now here," I switch to another clip, "is one of our defensive setups."
She shifts even closer as I explain the strategy, our arms almost touching now. Her perfume—something light and floral—distracts me more than it should.
"So you’re basically forcing them wide?" she asks.
"Right," I say, pointing out how we box out their forwards. "Makes it harder for them to get quality shots on goal."
"I see." She nods thoughtfully, scribbling more notes.
Her focus is intense; it’s captivating. But I can't help but notice the way her hair falls loose from her bun or how her lips purse slightly when she's deep in thought.
"You’re really into this," I remark.
"I have to be," she replies, glancing up with a small smile. "This article could make my career."
I admire her dedication—it mirrors my own when I'm on the ice. "You’ll nail it," I say with certainty.
"Now this," I say, pointing at the screen, "this play was pure brilliance." I pause the footage from last season, showing Noah threading a pass between two defenders right onto Ethan's stick.
Olivia's eyes light up. "The way he read the defense and executed that pass—it's like he knew exactly where Ethan would be."
I nod, feeling a swell of pride for my teammates. "Noah's got a sixth sense for those plays. And Ethan’s shot? Unstoppable."
Our eyes meet, and suddenly, the room feels too small. The intensity of her gaze makes my breath catch. Her lips part slightly, and before I know it, I'm leaning in, drawn to her like a magnet.
Just before our lips touch, the door handle rattles. I jerk back, my heart pounding in my chest. Coach Bergman strides in, eyebrow raised.
"Well, well," he says, crossing his arms. "Didn't realize we were holding a private meeting in here."
"Coach," I say, standing up straight. "Just going over some game footage for Olivia’s article."
He eyes us both skeptically. "Sure you are." He looks at Olivia. "Getting all the details you need?"
"Yes sir," she replies quickly, gathering her notebook and pen. "Liam's been very helpful."
"Good," Bergman says with a nod.
I feel like a church boy being chastised for getting caught with a dirty magazine, despite the fact nothing even happened. But damnit, do I wish it had.
I quickly jump up from the chair. "Well, I better be going. If you need someone else's insight on the plays, holler at Noah. He sometimes takes a much less competitive stance."
She blushes but smiles, "thank you Liam, I really appreciate you breaking it down for me."
"Anytime," I say with a cheesy ass pageant wave.
I make a hasty exit from the video review room, my heart pounding like I just finished a triple overtime game. I need to clear my head. My footsteps echo in the empty corridor as I wrestle with my feelings for Olivia and my commitment to the team. Damn, this is complicated.
As I turn the corner, Coach Bergman's voice catches my attention. I pause, not meaning to eavesdrop but unable to stop myself.
"Olivia," Coach says, his tone serious, "you need to be careful getting too close to the players."
"I… I don't think that's what I'm doing coach…" Her voice carries a mix of curiosity and defiance.
"This isn’t just about your article," Coach continues. "Relationships with players can get messy. It could compromise your work and theirs."
I lean against the wall, closing my eyes. He's right, of course. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to keep my distance.
"Thanks for the warning, Coach," Olivia says. "But I'm here to do my job."
"And you're doing it well," he acknowledges. "Just remember why you're here."
I push off the wall and continue down the hallway. My mind races with conflicting thoughts. How can I focus on leading the team when all I can think about is her? And Noah—he's been acting weird lately too. It's like we're all caught in this tangled web.
I reach the locker room and slam my hand against the door frame before entering. Noah looks up from tying his skates.
"Everything alright?" he asks, his brow furrowed.
"Yeah," I lie, dropping onto the bench beside him. "Just a long day."
He gives me a knowing look but doesn't press further. We’ve been friends long enough for him to read between the lines.
"You talked to Olivia?" he asks casually, but there's an edge to his voice.
"Yeah," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "Coach caught us in the video room."
Noah's eyes widen slightly. "Caught you?"
"Not like that," I snap, then soften my tone. "We were just going over some game footage."
Noah smirks, but it's forced. "Gotcha."
Before I can respond, Ethan walks in, his expression as stormy as ever. He glances between us and scoffs.
"What's got you two all riled up?" he asks, throwing his gear into his locker.
"Nothing," I say quickly, not wanting to drag him into this mess.
Ethan narrows his eyes but doesn't push it either. He sits down across from us, still radiating that brooding intensity he's known for.
"We've got practice tomorrow," I remind them both, trying to shift focus back to hockey. "Let's make sure we're ready."
Noah nods, though his gaze lingers on me a moment longer than usual. Ethan grunts in agreement, already lost in his own thoughts.
As we settle into silence, I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change—whether we're ready for it or not.
But for now, all we can do is focus on what we do best: playing hockey and trying not to let our personal lives screw it all up.