Chapter 25 #2
Four games. We're four games away from the Stanley Cup Finals.
But first, media obligations.
The press room is packed with reporters, all of them shoving microphones in our faces the second we sit down at the table. Cole is in the middle, as captain. I'm on his right, and Jake is on his left.
“Congratulations on the win,” someone says. “You're now four games away from the Finals. How does that feel?”
Cole handles it with calm professionalism. “We're taking it one game at a time. Minnesota's a great team. We're not looking ahead.”
More questions about the game, about strategy, about upcoming matches.
Then a reporter in the third row catches my eye.
“Liam, there's been a lot of discussion on social media about your changed personality this season. Some fans are saying you're not the same player anymore, that you've lost the edge that made you exciting. Are you worried about no longer being the darling of the fans?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My mind goes blank, all the social media comments from earlier. flooding back.
You're boring now. You've lost your edge. We want the old Nova back.
“I—” I start, but my voice sounds uncertain even to my own ears.
Cole jumps in before I can spiral.
“Liam's maturity has made him a better player,” he says firmly. “He's focused, disciplined, and playing the best hockey of his career. If some fans don't appreciate that, that's their problem. We're winning games because of players like Liam, who are willing to put the team first.”
The reporter isn't done, though.
“But Liam, aren't you concerned that you're losing what made you special? That by playing it safe, you're risking your fan base?”
My throat feels tight. Every doubt I've been pushing down for weeks rises to the surface.
Am I losing myself? Am I playing it too safe?
“Personal growth doesn't mean losing yourself,” Cole says, still covering for me. “It means becoming the best version of yourself. Next question.”
But the reporters smell blood in the water now.
“Liam, is there a specific reason for the change? Are you losing your love for the game? Are you being forced to change by management?”
I hate that they're getting to me. “I'm just growing up. That's allowed, isn't it?”
“But at what cost?” another reporter pushes. “Your fans fell in love with the bad boy image. Without that, what makes you different from any other player?”
Cole's jaw tightens. “Liam doesn't need a bad boy image to be valuable. His skill speaks for itself. And anyone who can't see that isn't paying attention. We're done here.”
He stands, ending the press conference abruptly. Jake and I follow, grateful for the escape.
Back in the locker room, Cole pulls me aside.
“Don't listen to them,” he says quietly. “They're trying to get in your head.”
“They succeeded.”
“Then get them out.” His hand grips my shoulder. “You're playing the best hockey of your career. You just scored the game-winning goal in a playoff game. Don't let anyone make you doubt that.”
I nod, but the doubt is already there, burrowing deep.
An hour later, showered and changed, I make my way to the parking lot where I told Caden to meet me. They're waiting by my mother’s car, all bundled in jackets against the Minnesota cold.
“That was incredible!” Travis launches himself at me the second I'm close enough. “That goal was so cool. Can you teach me how to do that?”
I catch him, surprised by the hug and the genuine enthusiasm. “Maybe. If you promise to practice your wrist shot first.”
“I will, I promise.”
Caden is more reserved, but his eyes are shining. “Seriously, Liam. That was amazing.”
“Thanks.” I look at my mother, who's hanging back, uncertain. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” Her smile is tentative. “You played beautifully.”
The endearment feels wrong, coming from her. Like she's claiming a closeness we don't have.
But I force myself to smile. “Thanks for coming. You guys hungry?”
We end up at some chain restaurant near the hotel, the kind with too many options on the menu and booth seats that squeak when you move.
It's not fancy, but the boys don't care.
They're too busy peppering me with questions about hockey, about the season, about what it's like to play in the playoffs.
“Is it scarier?” Travis asks around a mouthful of burger.
“It's intense,” I say. “Every shift feels important. But that's part of what makes it fun.”
“Do you ever get nervous?”
“All the time. But you learn to use that energy. Turn it into focus.”
My mother sits quietly through most of dinner, just watching us interact. It's strange, seeing her here, being part of this moment. Part of me wants to reach across the table, to bridge whatever gap has grown between us over the years.
But the hurt is still there.
After we eat, Travis spots an arcade attached to the restaurant and drags Caden over, both of them begging for quarters. I hand over a twenty and watch them run off, and I’m suddenly alone with my mother.
The silence stretches, awkward and heavy.
“You're not returning my calls,” she says finally, her voice quiet.
Stress from the day makes me more honest than I usually am. “That's because I don't want to talk to you.”
She flinches.
“What do you want me to say, Mom? That everything's fine? That I'm not still angry about how you chose John and the boys over me?” The words spill out. “Because I am angry. I've been angry for years.”
“We're family.”
I lean forward, unable to stop now that I've started. “You didn't act like family when you let John bully me. You never once defended me.”
“He was trying to give you structure,” she says, but her voice wavers. “You needed a firm hand after your father left.”
“I needed you.” The words come out louder than I intended, and I have to force myself to lower my voice. “I needed my mother to tell me I mattered. That losing Dad wasn't my fault.”
My hands are shaking now, years of repressed hurt and anger finally finding their way out.
“Instead, you made a new family. A better family. And I was just, what? The reminder of your failed first marriage? The problem child you pawned off on John to fix?”
“That's not fair,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face.
“None of it was fair, Mom.” I'm crying too now, and I hate it. I hate that she can still get to me like this. “You want to talk about family? About acting like we're family? Then answer this: Where were you when I needed you most?”
She doesn't have an answer. She can't admit that she chose comfort over her son, chose peace over fighting for me.
The boys return then, loaded up with cheap arcade prizes, oblivious to the tension crackling between us.
“Look what I won.” Travis holds up a stuffed animal. “Can you believe it? I thought these games were rigged.”
I force a smile, wiping my eyes quickly. “Nice job, kid.”
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, the earlier excitement dampened by whatever the boys sensed between me and Mom. When they drop me off, Caden rolls down the window.
“Can we do this again?” he asks. “Next time you're in town, or maybe we could come visit New York?”
I look at him. Really look at him. He’s fifteen years old, caught in the middle of a family that doesn't quite work, but he’s trying anyway. He didn't choose this situation any more than I did.
“Yeah, I'd like that. Maybe during spring break? You guys could come to New York, catch a game at Madison Square Garden.”
His face lights up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. We'll make it happen.”
Travis leans across him. “Can we see the Statue of Liberty too?”
“Whatever you want, buddy.”
After they drive away, I stand in the parking lot for a long moment, processing everything. The conversation with my mother went exactly as badly as I feared.
But also, there are my brothers. The way Caden lit up when I offered to have them visit. It's a start.
Inside my hotel room, I collapse onto the bed and pull out my phone.
Me: Today was a lot.
Avery responds a few seconds later.
Avery: Tell me everything.
So I do. I tell her about the game and the conversation with my mother that left me feeling raw and exposed.
Avery: I'm so proud of you.
Me: For what? Yelling at my mother in a restaurant?
Avery: For being honest. For telling her how you felt instead of burying it. That's growth, Liam.
Me: Didn't feel like growth. Felt like losing my shit.
Avery: Sometimes those are the same thing. And inviting your brothers to New York is huge.
Me: Caden seemed excited.
Avery: You're giving them something they've never had. A relationship with their big brother. That matters.
My chest tightens with emotion.
Me: I miss you.
Avery: I miss you too. Now get some sleep. You have another game to win.
I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling, my mind still racing but my heart feeling lighter than it has all day.
The trolls can say whatever they want. The media can question my changes. My relationship with my mother might never be what I wish it was.
But I have my brothers. I have Avery. And I have hockey.
That's enough.