24. Liam
24
LIAM
I skate hard during warm-ups, pushing myself to the limit, but my mind isn't on the ice. The thought of talking to Olivia tonight eats away at me. What if we have this all wrong? What if she's done with me? What if she chooses one of us over the other two. I can only imagine the fucking drama on the ice that will cause. I can hear Coach Bergman's frustrated shouts echoing across the rink, but they barely register.
"What's up with you, Liam?" Noah skates up beside me, his breath visible in the cold air. "You're playing like you've got two left feet."
"Sorry Coach," I snap, my tone sharper than intended. I shoot the puck, but it veers wide of the net. "Just need to focus."
"Yeah, well, maybe focus a little harder," Noah says, not backing down.
Ethan glides over, his dark eyes assessing. "You sure you're good? Because right now, you're a liability."
I grit my teeth, irritation bubbling up. "Back off, Reynolds."
Ethan shrugs but doesn't move. "Just saying what everyone's thinking."
Coach Bergman's whistle pierces the air. "Makar! Kane! Reynolds! Get your heads in the game and out of the clouds or get off my ice!"
I nod curtly and take a deep breath. This isn't just about me; it's about the team. But every time I try to focus, Olivia's smile or that heated kiss we shared invades my thoughts.
Noah nudges me as we line up for another drill. "Look, man, let's just get through the game, then we can worry about what later will bring."
"Yeah," I mutter, trying to shake off the distraction.
We start skating again. My legs pump furiously as I weave through cones, but my rhythm is off. My passes are sloppy; my shots lack their usual precision. It's like my body and mind are on different planets.
We're neck and neck, trading goals with our opponents like it's a damn ping pong match. Coach Bergman paces behind the bench, his face set in a scowl that could scare a grizzly.
"Come on!" he shouts, his voice cutting through the din. "Makar, one more screw-up and you're off the first line!"
I give a curt nod, my jaw tight. There's no room for error now.
I try to shake off the coach's words, but they stick like gum on my skate blade. The puck is in play again, and I focus on the opponent's center, who's weaving through our defense like he's got something to prove.
I shadow him, waiting for my moment. When he slips slightly, I dive in and swipe the puck away. My heart pounds as I head towards their goal. I'm near the net when I spot Ethan in a better position.
For a split second, I hesitate. Passing the puck means trusting him—trusting anyone—something I'm not great at off the ice. But this isn't just about me anymore.
"Reynolds!" I yell and send the puck flying his way.
Ethan catches it seamlessly, his eyes locking onto mine for just a moment before he lines up his shot. The crowd holds its breath as he fires—and scores.
The arena explodes with cheers. The series is tied.
I skate over to Ethan, my adrenaline still pumping. "Nice shot," I say, slapping him on the back.
Ethan nods, his usual stoic expression cracking into a small smile. "Good pass."
Noah joins us, grinning from ear to ear. "Hell yeah! That's how we do it!"
As we celebrate on the ice, something clicks in my mind. Trust and teamwork aren't just about hockey—they're about life and love too. Maybe it's time I stop trying to control everything and start letting people in.
Coach Bergman approaches us, his scowl replaced by a rare smile of approval. "That's what I'm talking about!" he says gruffly.
"Thanks, Coach," I reply, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
I sit in the locker room, turning my captain's 'C' patch over in my hands. The room buzzes with post-game chatter, but I'm somewhere else entirely. My fingers trace the stitching, the weight of the patch suddenly feeling like a ton of bricks.
Noah plops down next to me, sweat still dripping from his hair. "You alright, man? You don't look like someone who just scored a spot in the playoffs."
I snort. "I'm just thinking."
"That's dangerous," Noah jokes, nudging me with his elbow.
I can't help but chuckle. "Shut up." I pause, glancing around the room. The guys are celebrating, but there's a tension underlying it all. A tension I've been too blind to see—or maybe just too scared to face.
Ethan walks by, towel slung over his shoulder. He gives me a nod, but there's a guarded look in his eyes. It hits me then—I've been so focused on being strong and unyielding that I've shut everyone out.
I stand up, clearing my throat. "Hey, everyone! Can I get your attention for a minute?"
The room quiets down as the guys turn to look at me, curiosity and confusion on their faces.
"I've been a shitty captain lately," I start, the words feeling foreign but necessary. "I've been so damn scared of showing any weakness that I've forgotten what it means to be part of a team."
Noah's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and Ethan leans against his locker, arms crossed.
"I've let my own fears get in the way—of my relationships with you guys and...other things," I admit, my voice steady even as my heart races. "It's time I stop running from that."
Ethan's expression softens just a fraction. "About time you figured that out."
A ripple of laughter goes through the room, easing some of the tension.
"Yeah, well," I say with a wry smile. "I'm not perfect."
Noah grins. "We knew that already."
I roll my eyes but feel a weight lift off my shoulders. "Look, I know I've got shit to work on—trust issues, vulnerability, all that crap—but I'm committed to this team and making sure we get through these playoffs together."
The guys nod, some murmuring their agreement.
Ethan uncrosses his arms and steps forward. "Let's just focus on winning first," he says gruffly. "Then we can deal with the rest."
"Deal," I say firmly.
As we start to break up and head out for the night, Noah slaps me on the back. "Nice speech, Captain America."
"Thanks," I reply dryly.
Ethan gives me a nod before walking out of the locker room.
I take one last look at the 'C' patch before putting it back on my jersey where it belongs. Maybe being vulnerable doesn't make me weak—it makes me human.