17. Ethan
17
ETHAN
L iam and Noah are a fucking joke. "Off their game doesn't even begin to cover it. Their passes are off, their timing’s comical, and their usual coordination is more like a bad dance routine. I watch them fumble through drills, a growing knot of frustration tightening in my gut.
Coach Bergman’s face is a storm cloud as he blows the whistle. “Alright, listen up,” His eyes zero in on Liam and Noah, who can barely look at each other. “We’ve got a playoff game in two days! I don't know what the fuck happened to ya'll, but you better kiss and make up.”
Liam’s jaw clenches. “We’re fine, Coach.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter under my breath, loud enough for them to hear. The tension between them is thicker than the ice we’re skating on.
Noah shoots me a look, but it lacks his usual fire. “Not now, Ethan.”
“Actually,” I say, skating over to them, “I think now is exactly the right time.” I can’t believe I’m about to get involved in this drama, but if they keep this up, we’re screwed.
Liam crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at me. “What’s your deal?”
“My deal? My deal is watching you two tank our chances because you both keep dropping your dick in the dirt.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “Whatever this is between you two—it has nothing to do with hockey, and everything to do with a certain brunette.”
Noah looks away, guilt written all over his face. Liam’s expression hardens even more if that’s possible.
“Stay out of it,” Liam growls.
“Can’t do that,” I say, matching his intensity. “We need to win. And you two acting like morons isn't helping.”
Noah finally speaks up, his voice strained. “As much as I hate to say it, Ethan's right.”
Liam scoffs. “So what should we do Dr. Phil? Talk it out?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Truthfully, I don’t give a damn about your personal issues. But all I know is if you don’t figure it out, we’re all going down with you.”
Coach Bergman skates over to us, his eyes narrowing as he takes in our little huddle. “Everything alright here?”
I nod quickly. “Just working some stuff out.”
“Lovely,” he says curtly. “Now get back on the damn ice.”
As Coach skates away, I turn back to Liam and Noah. “Figure it out,” I say quietly but firmly. “Before it’s too late.”
Liam’s eyes flicker with something—maybe regret? He finally nods slightly before turning back to the drill.
Noah follows suit but not before giving me a grateful look.
Practice ends in a mess of sweat and frustration. I skate off the ice, ripping my helmet off, feeling like I could punch a hole through the wall. Those fucking idiots didn't listen to a word I said. The locker room’s a minefield of tension, so I grab my stuff and head out before I do something stupid.
As I push through the hallway, I spot Olivia leaning against the wall, staring at her phone like it’s got all the answers to life’s problems. Her brows are furrowed, lost in thought. Despite every instinct telling me to keep my distance, I find myself walking over.
“Hey,” I say gruffly. “You alright?”
She looks up, startled. Her green eyes meet mine, and for a moment, she just blinks. Then she sighs, tucking a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Honestly? No.”
I lean against the wall beside her, arms crossed. “Wanna talk about it?” Who the fuck am I? and where is Ethan?
Olivia hesitates but then nods slowly. “I just feel like my life is destined to implode. If it isn't my piece of shit ex boyfriend blowing my phone up, It’s this article… and everything else.” She laughs bitterly. “I’m supposed to be objective, but it’s hard when you’ve found yourself personally involved.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Personally involved?”
She looks away, biting her lip. “I didn’t plan on getting close to any of you. But Liam… Noah…” She trails off, shaking her head. “It’s messing with my head.”
Despite the sting I feel hearing her refer to those two idiots as someone she is "involved" with, her honesty catches me off guard. I rub the back of my neck, searching for words that don’t come easily to me. “Yeah, I get it,” I finally say. “Sometimes personal shit gets tangled with professional stuff.”
Olivia glances at me curiously. “You do?”
“Yeah.” I look down the empty hallway, remembering too many nights filled with anger and regret. “Used to think hockey was just about skill and strength. Turns out dealing with people is harder than any game.”
She gives me a small smile. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” I admit, feeling more exposed than usual. “But we can’t let it mess us up—on or off the ice.”
I gesture for Olivia to follow me to a quieter corner of the arena. The distant hum of activity fades as we find a spot away from prying eyes and ears. Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms and study her.
Olivia shifts her weight, looking a bit unsure. “Enough about me, how are you feeling about the trade now? I mean, honestly.”
I let out a long breath, running a hand through my hair. “Honestly? It’s been rough. Being on a new team isn’t easy, especially with the baggage I brought. Then being traded to the Wolves… it’s a mindfuck. Spent years hating this team.”
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. “But do you think it might be a better fit for you?”
“Potentially,” I shrug, feeling more exposed than I’d like. “Chicago was… complicated. Lots of shit went down there. Here? It’s different. Could be better, but who knows? Still figuring it out.”
Olivia takes a step closer, her genuine concern disarming me. “It sounds like you’re conflicted.”
I laugh bitterly. “You could say that. Part of me thinks I might actually belong here, which pisses me off because I’ve spent so long fighting against these guys.”
Her eyes soften, and she reaches out to touch my arm gently. “Change is hard, but sometimes it leads to something better.”
Her touch sends a jolt through me, and I find myself leaning in slightly. “Yeah? What would you know about that?”
“I’ve had my fair share of changes,” she says quietly, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
The vulnerability in her gaze breaks down the very last remnants of my walls. Without thinking, I close the distance between us, cupping her face with my hands and pulling her into a kiss.
It starts slow but quickly deepens, an intense mix of frustration and longing spilling over into that single moment. Her hands find their way to my chest, gripping my shirt as if she’s afraid to let go.
I immediately come to my senses, and pull away. I’ve just kissed Olivia—Olivia, who’s clearly entangled with Liam and Noah. My breath comes out in a shaky exhale, and I step back, running a hand through my hair.
“Ethan,” Olivia starts, her voice uncertain. “I…”
“Yeah,” I cut her off, not wanting to hear whatever she’s about to say. “This… probably wasn’t a great idea.”
She looks down, fiddling with the corner of her notebook. “I know.”
“I’m not blind,” I say, forcing myself to look at her. “I know there's something going on with Liam and Noah. And now I’m tangled up in this clusterfuck too.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “It’s not what you think?—”
“Come on Olivia, you're not fooling anyone.” I interrupt, my voice harsher than intended. Something, maybe jealousy comes over me and I lash out. “You’re here to do a job, right? And now you’re involved with three players from the same damn team.” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of frustration and confusion.
“I never meant for this to happen,” she says softly.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, it did.” The weight of my own words hits me. I need to focus on hockey—proving myself. And here I am, caught up in some fucking soap opera.
Olivia takes a tentative step closer. “Ethan, I don’t want to mess things up for you or for the team— or anyone for that matter.”
“Well it's a little too late for that isn't it,” I mutter under my breath. I turn to leave before I say something I regret.
She reaches out, hesitating before placing a hand on my arm. I turn around and see the tears begin to fall from her hazel eyes. “I'm sorry, I'll fix this.”
I look down at her hand, feeling the warmth seep through my skin. Part of me wants to pull her to me, kiss the fuck out of her, and apologize for being such an inconsiderate prick.
But I don't get the opportunity to, because she nods solemnly, and turns to walk away.
My stupid fucking pride has me rooted in place. I should apologize, I should tell her to fuck what everyone else thinks. But I've built such a fortress around myself that I can't even break through anymore.
"Olivia, wait." I call out.
She doesn't stop, she doesn't hesitate, she just keeps walking.
“Good,” I say gruffly, turning away before I change my mind.