20. Noah
20
NOAH
T he game is intense, the stakes higher than ever. We're down by one, no surprise there, and the crowd's roar is deafening. The puck is in our zone, and I skate towards Liam for the handoff. He’s supposed to pass it to me, but his eyes are elsewhere, distracted.
“Liam, now!” I shout, my voice barely cutting through the noise.
He looks at me too late. The puck sails past us both, right onto the stick of an opposing player. They don’t waste a second, driving it straight into our net.
The red light blares, signaling another goal against us. The scoreboard updates with a cruel flicker: 5-3.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath as we skate back to position. I catch Liam’s glare through his helmet, his blue eyes blazing with accusation.
“You had one fucking job,” he growls as we pass each other.
“You weren’t looking!” I snap back. “Maybe focus on the game instead of wallowing around like a fucking chump.”
His jaw clenches, and for a moment, it looks like he’s about to drop his gloves right here on the ice. But he skates away, leaving the air between us charged with tension.
Coach Bergman calls a timeout, and we huddle at the bench. His face is a mask of frustration.
“What the hell?” he demands. “You two need to get your shit together, for fuck's sake!”
Liam and I avoid each other’s eyes. The rest of the team stands in awkward silence.
“Focus,” Coach says, pointing a finger at both of us. “We can’t afford any more screw-ups.”
As we skate back onto the ice, I try to shake off the weight of Liam’s glare and the disappointment in Coach’s voice. But it clings to me like sweat-soaked gear.
Ethan skates up beside me. “You good?” he asks.
“Sure,” I reply dryly.
“Look,” Ethan says, his tone surprisingly earnest for once. “We need you two to get in sync. Our shot at the cup depends on it.”
I nod curtly but say nothing more. As the puck drops again, I can feel every pair of eyes in the arena on us—waiting to see if we’ll crumble or rise above this mess we've created.
The game resumes, and I push harder than ever, my focus razor-sharp despite everything swirling in my head. But Liam's presence is a constant reminder of our fractured dynamic—a crack in our foundation that no amount of skating can fix.
As I race down the ice, chasing after a loose puck, I catch another glimpse of Liam out of the corner of my eye. For a split second, our gazes lock again—this time with something deeper than anger. Disappointment? Regret? It's hard to tell through the helmets and years of friendship now strained by rivalry and unspoken words.
The puck reaches me just as an opposing player barrels towards me. With a quick deke and a burst of speed, I evade him and pass to Ethan, who takes a shot at goal but misses narrowly.
“Nice try,” Ethan calls out as we regroup for another attempt.
I nod back at him but can't help glancing over at Liam again. He's already moving into position for another play—a wall of muscle and determination that once felt like an unbreakable ally but now feels like an immovable obstacle.
It feels like all too soon the buzzer rings out signaling another miserable defeat. The sad thing is, I've gotten to the point of expecting it now.
The locker room is a tomb, the silence broken only by the hiss of showers and the occasional thud of equipment hitting the floor. We lost, again, and it stings like hell. I spot Liam sitting on the bench, head in his hands, still in full gear. I walk over, determined to make things right.
“Hey,” I start, voice low. “Look, about earlier?—”
He cuts me off, not even lifting his head. “Save it.”
“No, seriously. I’m sorry. I should’ve?—”
“Should’ve what?” He stands up abruptly, towering over me. “Passed the puck better? Played better defense? What exactly are you sorry for, Noah?”
His tone sets my teeth on edge. “For not having eyes in the back of my head when you decided to daydream during a crucial play.”
Liam’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare put this on me.”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault now?” My voice rises with each word. “Like it always is? Every time something goes wrong, it’s Noah who screwed up.”
“Maybe because you do screw up!” His shout echoes off the lockers.
Years of resentment bubble to the surface. “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Mr. Youngest Captain in NHL History. You ever stop to think maybe that pressure gets to you sometimes?”
“You don’t know what pressure is,” he spits back.
“Right, because playing second fiddle to you my entire life has been a fucking breeze!”
The team falls silent around us, eyes darting between us like they’re watching a train wreck in slow motion.
“What’s this really about?” Liam steps closer, our noses almost touching.
“It’s about always being in your shadow!” I shove him back. “About never being good enough no matter how hard I try.”
“You want a pity party? Fine.” He shoves me right back. “But don’t drag the team down with your issues.”
“My issues?” I bark out a humorless laugh. “You’re the one distracted by Olivia every damn game!”
“Leave her out of this,” he growls.
“She’s already in it,” I snap back. “We all are!”
Before either of us can throw another punch or word, Coach Bergman’s voice booms through the room.
“Enough!”
We freeze as he steps between us, his glare icy enough to rival the rink.
“I don’t care what your personal shit is,” Coach says through gritted teeth. “You either fix your shit and play like a team or find another damn sport.”
Leaving the arena, I spot Olivia talking to another reporter. She's nodding politely, her eyes flicking to me briefly before quickly looking away. The distance she's creating is clear, and I feel a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. Relief that she's stepping back—maybe things can get back to normal now—but also a gnawing sense of loss.
“Hey, Kane!” The voice pulls me out of my thoughts. It's Sam, one of the rookies, holding up his phone. “Did you see the clip of your breakaway? That move was sick.”
I force a smile. “Yeah? Maybe you can learn a thing or two.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “One day, man. One day.”
As Sam heads off, I steal another glance at Olivia. She's now laughing at something the other reporter said, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I consider walking over, but what would I even say? Hey, sorry for throwing a wrench in your career and our chances at the playoffs? Yeah, that’d go over well.
Instead, I turn towards the exit, shoving my hands into my pockets. The cold air hits me as I step outside, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside my head. As I walk to my car to escape the place that use to feel like a refuge to me, I decide that from here on out, I'm done being Liam's shadow. To hell with being his punching bad. I refuse to let his bullshit bring me down any longer.
The gym smells like sweat and determination. My muscles burn as I push through another set of deadlifts, the barbell heavy in my hands. Dropping it with a thud, I take a moment to catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my brow.
"Going for a new record, Kane?" Ethan's voice cuts through the air, his tone more curious than mocking.
"Just trying to stay ahead of you," I reply, forcing a grin. "Someone's gotta keep you in check."
He snorts, shaking his head as he grabs a towel. "Good luck with that."
We exchange a look that holds a flicker of understanding. We've both got something to prove, even if our reasons differ. Ethan’s trying to fit in; I'm trying to claw my way out.
After 2 grueling hours at the gym, I hit the ice. The cold air is a relief against my flushed skin as I lace up my skates. Hours pass as I practice breakaways and penalty kills, each movement precise and deliberate. The ice is my sanctuary, the place where everything else fades away.
Coach Bergman watches from the sidelines, arms crossed. "You planning on living here now?" he asks, not unkindly.
"Maybe," I say between breaths. "Free air conditioning."
He nods, his expression softening slightly. "Keep it up, Kane. We need you at your best."
I skate harder, pushing myself until my legs tremble and my lungs burn. Every shot on goal is a reminder of what's at stake – for me, for the team.
When I finally collapse into bed each night, exhaustion washes over me like a wave. My body aches in ways that feel both punishing and satisfying. But it's my mind that's hardest to quiet.
Liam's words echo in my head, sharp and cutting. Olivia’s face haunts my thoughts – her laugh, her eyes that see too much.
As sleep pulls me under, I cling to the hope that this relentless focus on hockey will help untangle the mess of emotions inside me. That maybe on the ice, I'll find some clarity about where I stand with Liam and Olivia – and where they stand with each other.
Tomorrow's another day of training, another chance to prove myself. And I'll take it because that's all I can do right now – keep moving forward and hope it leads somewhere worth going.