11. Ethan
11
ETHAN
T he locker room hums with the usual pre-practice chatter, a mix of trash talk and random banter. I’m lacing up my skates, half-listening to the guys nearby when I catch something that makes me pause.
"Did you see Liam and Olivia the other day?" one of the rookies, Kyle, says, a grin plastered on his face. "They looked pretty cozy."
"Yeah, but Noah’s been spending time with her too," another voice chimes in. "Saw them walking around the lake the other night."
My grip on the skate lace tightens. Cozy? Walking around the lake? What the hell?
"You think there's something going on between them?" Kyle asks.
"Maybe," someone else says with a chuckle. "I wouldn't mind being in their shoes. She’s hot as fuck, and knows her hockey."
I can't help but slam the door of my locker shut, loud enough to draw attention.
"You got something to say, Reynolds?" Kyle looks over, eyebrows raised.
"Just wondering if you guys ever talk about anything other than what high school girls talk about in gym class," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Kyle shrugs. "Just calling it like we see it. Olivia's hard not to notice."
"She's here doing her job, not here to be the object of your mental spank bank," I shoot back, trying to ignore the twist in my gut.
Another guy snickers. "You sound jealous, Ethan."
Jealous? Me? No way. Except maybe I am. I don’t like the idea of Liam or Noah getting close to Olivia. Not that it’s any of my business.
I finish lacing up and stand, ready to head out to the ice when Noah walks in, looking relaxed as always.
"Hey, man," he greets me casually, not noticing the tension in my stance.
I nod back, my eyes narrowing slightly as I watch him interact with the others. The easy smiles and laughs they share grate on my nerves more than usual today.
Liam enters next, all business as usual. He starts giving orders for practice drills without missing a beat.
"We're focusing on power plays today," Liam announces. "Let's keep it sharp."
As we head out to the rink, I can’t shake the feeling of unease. It’s stupid really—Olivia’s just a reporter. But hearing about her with Liam and Noah stirs something unfamiliar in me.
The ice feels different today. Maybe it’s the tension simmering under my skin, or the way Liam and Noah keep shooting glances Olivia's way, like no one with eyes couldn't notice. Whatever it is, I channel it into my plays, pushing harder, skating faster, hitting with more force. The puck barely leaves my stick before I’m barreling down on the next guy.
"Jesus, Reynolds!" Liam’s voice cuts through the air as I slam into him during a drill. "You trying to kill someone?"
"Just playing the game, this is yoga Makar," I grunt, skating away before he can retort. My shoulder aches from the impact, but I ignore it.
Noah skates up beside me, his usual easygoing grin nowhere in sight. "Ethan, dial it back a notch. We’re supposed to be working together."
"I am," I snap back, firing a pass across the ice that’s just out of reach for our center. Frustration gnaws at me when he misses it. "Maybe you should keep up."
Noah’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to; his glare says it all.
The next drill starts, and I go even harder. Every hit, every pass is an outlet for the storm brewing inside me. But no matter how much I push, it doesn’t seem to be enough to shake off the thoughts of Olivia with Liam or Noah.
We clash again in the corner during a scrimmage, sticks tangling and bodies colliding. "Get your head outta your ass," Liam growls as we break apart.
"You get yours out first," I retort, shoving past him.
Coach Bergman blows his whistle, frustration clear on his face as he skates over. "Enough! This isn’t a damn Fight Club! Play like a team or sit your asses on the bench."
Liam glares at me but says nothing. Noah looks like he wants to say something but holds back.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The anger hasn’t lessened; if anything, it’s intensified with every second spent clashing with them.
When Noah skates up beside me again during a water break, he leans in close enough so only I can hear him. "What’s your problem today?"
"Nothing," I say through gritted teeth.
"Doesn’t look like nothing," he replies, taking a sip from his water bottle before tossing it aside.
Before I can respond, Liam joins us. "Reynolds, if you’ve got something to prove?—"
"I don’t need to prove anything to you assholes," I cut him off.
The tension between us is palpable as we head back onto the ice for yet another round of drills. My plays are no less aggressive—if anything, they’re more calculated now. Every pass and hit is precise and intentional, leaving no room for mistakes or misinterpretation.
But even as we push through practice, my mind keeps drifting back to Olivia and those damn rumors swirling around her and my teammates.
By the time practice ends, my body is sore and my mind is still buzzing with frustration and confusion. Coach Bergman dismisses us with a stern look directed at me.
As we head off the ice and into the locker room, Liam grabs my arm before I can slip away.
His grip on my arm is like a vice, his blue eyes boring into mine. "What the fuck is the deal, Ethan?"
I jerk my arm free, my temper flaring hotter than the ice beneath us. "The deal? Maybe it's your shitty leadership."
Liam’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch it, Reynolds. You're on thin ice."
I snort, shaking my head. "Thin ice? Please. You couldn't lead a team out of a paper bag."
Noah steps up, his easygoing demeanor nowhere in sight. "Ethan, back off. Liam's a damn good captain."
I turn my glare to Noah. "Of course you'd say that. You're only in your position because you're up his ass."
Noah's eyes flash with anger, and he takes a step closer. "You're one to talk about positions, Mr. Chicago Screw-Up."
The words hit harder than any check I've ever taken. I can feel the tension rise as the other guys watch us, but I can't stop now.
"At least I’m not riding someone else’s coattails," I snap back.
Liam steps between us, his presence commanding as always. "Enough! You want to prove something? Do it on the ice, not by causing fucking problems."
"You think you’re some kind of hero?" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "All you’ve done is make this team soft."
Liam’s eyes narrow dangerously. "Soft? We’re fighting for the Cup, and we don’t need some loose cannon jeopardizing that."
"Yeah," Noah adds, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maybe you were better off in Chicago... oh wait, you got that fucked up too."
The words are like a punch to the gut, but I refuse to show it. "You don’t know a god damn thing about what happened in Chicago," I growl.
"I know enough," Liam says coldly. "You couldn’t keep your shit together there, and you’re not doing any better here."
My fists clench at my sides, and it takes everything in me not to swing at him right then and there.
Before I can throw a punch, Olivia appears and steps between us, her eyes wide with concern. "What is all this shit?" Her voice cuts through the tension like a sharp blade. She looks at me, then at Liam and Noah, her gaze lingering on each of us.
"Just a little team bonding," I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Liam scoffs. "If by bonding you mean trying to start a fucking war."
Olivia’s eyes dart between us, and I see the worry etched in her features. "You guys are supposed to be a team. This isn’t helping anyone."
I cross my arms, the frustration boiling beneath my skin. "Tell that to Captain America over here."
"Shut up, Ethan," Noah interjects, his voice steady but firm. "This isn’t the time or place."
Olivia turns to me, her green eyes searching mine. "Ethan, is everything okay?"
For a moment, I’m caught off guard by the genuine concern in her voice. It’s been a long time since anyone’s looked at me like that. I force myself to look away, clenching my jaw. "Yeah, everything’s just fucking peachy."
She doesn’t buy it for a second, but she shifts her attention to Liam and Noah. "Look, whatever this is about, can’t it wait until after playoffs? You’ve got some important games coming up."
Liam lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.
Noah nods in agreement, though his eyes still flicker with unresolved tension. "We’ll deal with this later."
I roll my eyes as I storm off to the locker room, each step echoing my frustration. Stripping off my gear, I can still hear Liam’s voice in my head, calling me out, questioning my place on this team. My hands tremble as I yank my jersey over my head and slam it into my locker.
"Assholes," I mutter under my breath.
Quickly changing into street clothes, I grab my bag and head out to the parking lot. The cool air does nothing to quell the fire burning inside me. As I approach my car, I’m surprised to find Olivia leaning against it, her notebook tucked under her arm.
"Great," I grumble. "Here to give me a lecture?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Lecture? No. Just wanted to see if you’re okay."
I snort, throwing my bag into the back seat. "Yeah, because that’s your job now?"
"Actually," she says, not moving from her spot, "I’m here because I care."
Her words catch me off guard. I glare at her, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she looks genuinely concerned. Damn it.
"Liam and Noah piss me off," I snap, leaning against the car next to her. "They think they’re so perfect."
Olivia nods slowly. "They’re definitely pushy."
"Pushy?" I scoff. "More like controlling."
She tilts her head slightly, considering my words. "Why do you think that is?"
"Because they’ve had everything handed to them," I spit out before realizing how bitter I sound. "Liam with his golden boy reputation and Noah with his carefree fucking charm."
Olivia’s eyes soften. "And you feel like you have to prove yourself?"
I let out a harsh laugh. "Prove myself? To them? They don’t know half of what I've been through."
She takes a step closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Then tell me."
I look at her, really look at her for the first time since she appeared by my car. There’s no judgment in her eyes, only genuine curiosity and... something else I can’t quite place.
"I’ve fought for everything," I say finally, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "They think I'm some screw-up from Chicago who can’t keep his shit together."
"And are you?" she asks softly.
Her question hits harder than any check on the ice. Am I?
"I don’t know anymore," I admit quietly.
"Well if it helps matters, I don't think you're a screw up." she almost whispers.
Her comment catches me off guard. It's been so long since anyone's looked at me like that, without judgment or disdain. I find myself talking, more calmly than I usually do, and in more words than I've used in months.
"I don’t need those asshats telling me the problems I already know," I say, the anger still simmering but more controlled.
Olivia nods, her eyes never leaving mine. "I get that," she says softly. "But they’re your teammates now. Maybe they’re just trying to help."
I scoff. "Help? By calling me out in front of everyone? That’s not help; that’s just making me look like a fucking fool."
She steps closer, her expression earnest. "Maybe they don’t know how else to reach you."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Reach me? They don’t want to reach me; they want to control me. They think I’m some loose cannon who can’t keep his shit together."
"Then prove to them you're not." she says, her voice gentle but insistent.
"I don’t know," I admit quietly. "But I do know I’m not gonna let them push me around."
Olivia smiles slightly, and for a moment, the tension eases. "You’ve got a lot of fire in you, Ethan. Maybe that’s what this team needs."
"Or maybe it’s what’ll tear us apart," I mutter.
She shakes her head. "Not if you can find a way to channel it into something positive."
I look at her, really look at her this time. There’s no judgment in her eyes, only understanding and maybe even a little bit of admiration.
"Thanks," I say finally, my voice rough but sincere.
She glances at her watch and sighs. "I have to go for the interviews with the other guys," she says reluctantly.
"Yeah," I nod, stepping back and trying to shake off the lingering frustration.
As Olivia walks away, I feel surprisingly better than before. Maybe it’s because I actually talked it out for once instead of bottling it up like usual.
For now, though, it's back to focusing on what matters: hockey and proving myself on this damn team.