Chapter 25
Liam
I'm sprawled on the king bed in my hotel room in Minneapolis, texting with Avery. I hate being alone on the road.
Me: This hotel room is depressing. I miss you.
Three dots appear immediately.
Avery: You've been there for four hours. And aren't you rooming with Jake?
Me: No. Everyone gets their own room. Coach thinks it helps us focus. Spoiler alert: I'm not focusing. I'm just lonely.
Avery: Poor baby. Want me to send you a care package? Maybe some cookies?
Me: I want YOU. In this bed. Wearing nothing but my jersey.
Avery: Liam. You have a game in six hours.
Me: I'm aware. Doesn't change what I want.
I roll onto my stomach, grinning at my phone like an idiot. We've been doing this for weeks now. Constant texting, nights at my place where we pretend the outside world doesn't exist.
And it's been incredible.
But the more we get to the cup, the more road games, more nights apart, more time to miss her until it physically hurts.
My phone buzzes again.
Avery: Find a distraction. Watch a movie. Call your brothers.
That’s a good idea. I’ve been procrastinating calling Caden. I scroll through my contacts until I find his number.
This is stupid. He probably doesn't even want to hear from me. I'm the stranger half-brother who shows up once a year and brings expensive presents to compensate for being absent the other 364 days.
But then I think about Avery's words. Just try, Liam. The worst that happens is, it's awkward. The best that happens is you get your brothers back.
Fuck it.
I hit call before I can overthink it.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Maybe he's not going to answer.
“Hello?”
Caden's voice cracks slightly, caught between boyhood and whatever he's becoming. Fifteen. God, he's fifteen already.
“Hey, Caden. It's Liam.”
“I know. Your name came up on my phone.”
I wince. Right. Of course it did. I'm already screwing this up.
“So, I'm in Minneapolis,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual. “The Renegades are playing the Wild tonight.”
“I know. I've been following the games.”
That surprises me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You've been playing really well.” There's excitement creeping into his voice now. “That goal you scored against Calgary was insane.”
Pride swells in my chest, unexpected and sharp. “You saw that?”
“Travis and I watched it like ten times. He keeps trying to recreate it in our driveway.”
The image of my twelve-year-old brother attempting my signature move makes me smile. “Tell him to work on his wrist shot first. That's where the power comes from.”
“I will.” Caden pauses.
“I was thinking, if you guys want, I could get tickets to tonight's game. It'll be intense. Good hockey.” I'm talking too fast now, nervous in a way I haven't been since I was a rookie. “And then maybe we could grab dinner after? If you want. No pressure.”
The silence stretches so long I think the call dropped.
Then, “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.”
“Holy shit. I mean, yes. Travis is going to lose his mind.”
The enthusiasm in his voice does something to my chest, makes it tight and warm and uncomfortable in a good way.
“I'll get two tickets under your name.”
“This is so cool. Thank you, Liam. Seriously, thank you.”
“No problem.” I clear my throat. “I'll see you guys tonight then. Game starts at seven, but get there early. You'll want to watch warmups.”
“We will. I promise. Oh my God, I have to go tell Travis. Thanks again!”
He hangs up before I can respond, and I'm left staring at my phone with this stupid grin on my face.
I did it. I reached out, and it didn't completely suck.
Avery is going to be so proud of me.
I'm about to text her when a notification pops. My mentions are blowing up, which isn't unusual, but the tone feels different.
Curious, I open the app.
And immediately wish I hadn't.
Nova's light has officially gone out. Remember when he was fun? Those days are dead. #Renegades
Nova is officially boring now. Where's the bad boy we fell in love with? This wholesome version is a snooze fest.
I miss the old Nova. The one who partied and didn't take life so seriously. This new guy? Pass.
I scroll further, my stomach sinking with each comment.
Nova's rebrand is fake AF. You can tell he's forcing it. Give us back the real Liam Novak, not this PR-manufactured robot.
Playing it safe isn't playing at all. Nova used to be electric. Now he's just... there. #BringBackBadBoyNova
The comments go on and on, hundreds of them, all saying the same thing in different ways. I've changed too much. I'm boring now. They want the old Liam back, the one who made headlines for all the wrong reasons.
The one who was slowly destroying his career and didn't care.
My chest tightens. I don’t like this accusation that I've lost myself, that I'm not authentic anymore.
But what they don't understand is that the old Liam was the fake one. The party boy, the player, the guy who didn't give a shit about anything? That was the performance.
This version that actually thinks about consequences? This is real.
My phone buzzes with more notifications. The attacks are getting more vicious. They're calling me a sellout.
My thoughts spiral, each one feeding the next until my head is a mess of doubt and anxiety.
But then I think about Avery. About how she looks at me like I'm worth something. About the way she believes in me, even when I don't believe in myself. That's real. What we have is real.
And if some fans don't like the person I'm becoming, if the media thinks I'm boring now, well, they'll just have to get used to it.
I lock my phone and toss it onto the nightstand, refusing to read any more. This is my life. My choice. And I'm not going back to who I used to be just because it made better headlines.
I'm about to text Avery when my phone rings.
It’s Caden again. “Hey.”
“Can you make that three tickets?” He sounds breathless. “Mom wants to come.”
Ice floods my veins. I don’t want her at the game.
“Liam? You still there?”
I force myself to respond. “Yeah, I'm here. Three tickets. Got it.”
“Is that okay? I know things are weird with you and Mom, but she seemed really excited when I told her about the game.”
“It's fine, Caden.” I cut him off before he can apologize for something that's not his fault. “I'll have three tickets waiting. See you tonight.”
“Cool. Thanks, Liam.”
I end the call and stare at the ceiling again, my mind racing. I hate that she gets to me so easily. I hate that somewhere deep inside me, I’m still waiting for my mother to choose me. And yet, I’m a grown ass man.
We're four wins away from the Stanley Cup Finals. Four games stand between us and everything we've worked for all season.
No pressure.
I follow the team through the back entrance, past security, down the corridors to the visitors’ locker room. Everyone is in their own head now, mentally preparing, going through their pre-game rituals.
Jake tapes his stick the same way every time. Cole sits in his stall with his eyes closed, visualizing plays. Ethan paces back and forth, too wired to sit still.
And me? I keep checking my phone for messages from Avery.
Avery: You've got this. Play your game. I'll be watching from New York.
Me: Wish you were here.
Avery: Me too. But I'll be thinking about you every second.
Me: That's a lot of pressure.
Avery: You can handle it. You always do.
I smile at the screen, her words settling something anxious in my chest.
“Who's got you smiling like that?” Jake asks, pulling on his jersey.
“None of your business.”
“You're so far gone, man.” But Jake's grinning too.
Despite the social media hate, I'm happy in a way I've never been before. For the first time in my life, I'm not performing. I'm just being myself. And someone loves me anyway.
Coach gives his pre-game speech, all fire and intensity, reminding us what's at stake. Then we're moving, filing down the tunnel toward the ice, the roar of the crowd growing louder with each step.
I scan the seats as we emerge for warmups, and there they are.
Caden is wearing my number seventeen jersey, and Travis is right next to him, pointing at players on the ice. Next to them is my mother. Dark hair pulled back, hands folded on her lap, eyes locked on me.
I wave. Caden and Travis go wild, jumping and waving back. My mother gives a small, tentative wave of her own.
I turn away and focus on warmups. This is what I can control. The feel of the puck on my stick, the burn in my muscles, and the way my skates cut across the ice.
The game starts fast and physical. Minnesota comes out aggressively, trying to intimidate us with big hits and trash talk. But we're ready for it.
First period ends scoreless, both teams feeling each other out.
Second period, Jake scores off a beautiful pass from Cole, and the visitors’ section erupts. I spot my brothers jumping up and down, high-fiving each other. Even my mom is on her feet, clapping.
Third period, Minnesota ties it up, and suddenly it's anyone's game. The pressure ratchets up, every shift feeling like it could be the one that decides everything.
With five minutes left, I get the puck in the offensive zone. Jake's open on my right, but I see an opening, a sliver of space between the defender and the goalie. It's a low-percentage shot, the kind that usually doesn't work.
But something tells me to take it.
I wind up and release, watching the puck sail past the defender's stick, past the goalie's glove, and into the top corner of the net.
Goal.
The light goes on. The horn sounds. And I'm buried under teammates, everyone screaming and celebrating and pounding my helmet.
We're up 2-1 with five minutes left in the game.
I glance toward section 114. Caden and Travis are losing their minds. My mother has both hands pressed to her mouth.
And something in me softens, just a little.
We hold on for the win. When the final buzzer sounds, the celebration is explosive. Guys pile onto each other, yelling, already thinking about how close we are to the Finals.