Chapter 27
Liam
I stare at my phone screen, scrolling through the headlines for what must be the hundredth time today.
Nova’s new girlfriend: The woman taming the bad boy
Is Nova losing his edge? Girlfriend blamed for personality change
That last one makes my jaw clench so hard my teeth hurt.
We're in the team hotel in Tampa, waiting for tonight's game against the Lightning. First round of the conference finals. Win this and we're three games away from the Stanley Cup Finals.
I should be focused on the fact that we're about to play one of the most important games of my career.
Instead, I'm reading comments from strangers on the internet who think they know me. Who think they know Avery.
She's ruining him. Old Nova would never be this boring.
Bet she's controlling. Probably won't let him have any fun.
RIP party boy Nova. Killed by his uptight girlfriend.
The comments go on and on, hundreds of them, all saying variations of the same thing. Avery is the reason I've changed. Avery is to blame for me being less fun. Avery has destroyed the player they used to love.
It's bullshit. All of it.
But it's also everywhere. And I can see it's taking a toll on her.
She's been quiet lately. Every time I ask if she's okay, she says she's fine, but I can see the tightness around her eyes, the way she flinches when I mention social media.
I did this to her. I insisted we go public and told her it was time to stop hiding, promising her it would be worth it.
And now she's getting crucified online for the crime of dating me.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Avery: Good luck tonight. I know you'll be amazing.
Me: Wish you were here.
Avery: Me too. But I have a lot of work to catch up on. Rain check?
It's the third game in a row she's skipped. Her excuse is always the same. She has too much work, too many things to handle remotely. But I know that she’s avoiding the cameras and the scrutiny that comes from being seen with me.
I should push back, but part of me is relieved she's not here. At least if she's in New York, she's not subjected to insults and stupid comments.
A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Time to head out,” someone calls out.
I grab my gear and head out.
The game is brutal.
Tampa comes out trying to intimidate us from the first puck drop. But we match their intensity, trading hits and chances, both teams desperate to take control of the series.
I'm on the ice for the first goal. Jake's shot from the point that deflects off my stick and past their goalie. The arena erupts in boos, but I don't care. We're up 1-0.
Second period, Tampa ties it. Then goes up 2-1. The pressure mounts with every shift. Third period is chaos. Cole ties it at 2-2 with seven minutes left. The crowd is deafening now, the energy in the arena hostile.
With two minutes remaining, I get the puck in the neutral zone. Jake streaks down the right wing, and I see the opening. A perfect pass that hits him in stride. He shoots and scores.
3-2. We're up with less than two minutes left.
Tampa pulls their goalie for an extra attacker, throwing everything they have at us. Logan makes three incredible saves in the final minute, and when the buzzer sounds, we've won.
We're two games closer to the Finals.
The locker room is wild after the game.
“Ottawa next,” Ryan shouts over the noise. “Then Detroit. Two more wins and we're in the fucking Finals!”
He's right. The path is clear now. Beat Ottawa in game six, then Detroit in game seven. Two wins. That's all that stands between us and the Stanley Cup Finals.
It should be exciting and the culmination of everything we've worked for all season.
But all I feel is restless and agitated. Like there's something crawling under my skin that I can't shake.
“We're hitting the clubs,” Logan announces. “Celebration time. Who's in?”
“I'm in,” Jake says immediately.
“Me too,” Ryan adds.
Eyes turn to me. I never go out anymore. Everyone knows I've changed, that I stay in now, that the party boy reputation is dead.
“Nova's probably calling his girlfriend,” someone teases.
“Or going home to his puppies,” another adds with a laugh.
The comments are good-natured, but they hit a raw nerve. “Fuck it. I'm in.”
“Hell yeah.” Logan claps me on the shoulder. “Nova's back.”
The phrase makes my stomach twist, but I ignore it. I just need to blow off some steam. A few drinks with the guys. Nothing crazy.
Just one night to feel like myself again.
The club is loud and packed, exactly the kind of place I used to love. The music is pounding, and there are bodies everywhere.
We claim a VIP section, and drinks start flowing immediately.
“To the Finals.” Jake raises his glass.
“To the Finals,” we chorus back, and I throw back my shot.
It burns going down, familiar and good. I order another immediately.
“Easy, man,” Jake says, eyeing me. “We have practice tomorrow.”
“It's one night.” I flag down the waitress. “Another round for the table.”
The alcohol hits fast. I haven't been drinking like this in months, and my tolerance is shot. But I welcome the buzz. It dulls the constant noise in my head. The worries about Avery, about my reputation, about whether I'm losing myself trying to be someone else.
Here, in this club, with drinks flowing and music pounding, I don't have to think about any of it.
I can just be.
“This place is dead,” Logan announces after our third round. “I know somewhere better.”
“Where?” Ryan asks.
“Trust me.” Ethan grins. “Way better atmosphere.”
We pile into hired cars and end up at a different club. It takes me a minute to realize where we are.
A strip club.
“Dude,” Jake says, looking uncertain.
“Relax.” I'm already heading inside, something reckless rising in my chest. “It's just a club.”
We get another VIP section, this one with a better view of the stage. More drinks appear. And then the strippers start circulating, drawn to our table by the promise of money.
This is familiar territory. This is where the old Nova thrived. Throwing money around and being the center of chaos.
I order a bottle of champagne, pop it with dramatic flair, and pour it for everyone. The strippers laugh and pose for photos.
Someone hands me a stack of bills. Without thinking, I stand up and start throwing them in the air, watching them flutter down like confetti.
Making it rain money. Just like the old days.
The club erupts in cheers. For the first time in months, I feel free.
The strippers are over us. Sitting on laps, posing for photos, and laughing at jokes that aren't funny. It's shallow and exactly what I need right now.
I'm vaguely aware that this is a bad idea. That Avery wouldn't want me here. That the photos will go up online.
But the alcohol has done its job. I don't care about consequences anymore.
I just want to feel like myself again. Like Nova. Like the guy who didn't have to worry about disappointing anyone because everyone already expected him to fuck up.
“Nova,” someone shouts. “Do it again!”
So I do. I throw more money.
The old Nova is back.
And it feels fucking great.
I wake up to sunlight stabbing through the hotel curtains and a headache that feels like an ice pick through my skull.
For a moment, I have no idea where I am. Then reality crashes in. We’re in Tampa. The game last night and then…
Oh fuck.
The strip club.
My phone is on the nightstand, and with shaking hands, I grab it and immediately wish I hadn't.
Fifteen missed calls from Avery.
Five text messages from Avery
I’m not brave enough to open her messages or return her calls. Instead, I go on social media. My stomach drops.
I'm trending. Number three in the United States.
#NovaWildNight
The photos are everywhere. Me in the club, clearly drunk. Me at the strip club, surrounded by half-naked women. Me throwing money in the air, a stupid grin on my face. A video of me making it rain has been viewed over two million times.
Nova’s wild night out: The party boy is back!
Nova’s girlfriend must be thrilled: Strip club photos surface!
So much for Reformed: Nova parties like old days!
The comments are worse.
Called it. Knew he couldn't stay tame forever.
His girlfriend must be mortified. This is humiliating.
Poor Avery. She really thought she could change him.
No, no, that was not about Avery. I jab at the screen to her texts with mounting horror.
Avery: I'm seeing photos. Please tell me that's not you.
Avery: Liam, call me back.
Avery: Are you seriously at a strip club right now?
Avery: I can't believe this. After everything.
Avery: You humiliated me. You humiliated us.
The last message came in at three AM. It's now 9:30. My hands are shaking as I call her back.
She answers on the first ring. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Her voice is ice cold.
“Avery, I can explain.”
“Explain what? That you went to a strip club? That you made me look like a complete fool?” She's not yelling. That would be easier. Instead, her voice is controlled and low.
“We won the game. The guys wanted to celebrate. I needed to blow off some steam.”
“Blow off steam?” Now she's yelling. “You humiliated me! You were the one who made me come out in public. You told me we should stop hiding and that you were done with that life. And then the second I'm not there to babysit you, you revert to exactly who you used to be.”
“I didn't do anything wrong.” My own anger rises to match hers. “I went out with my teammates. I had some drinks. I didn't sleep with anyone. I didn't do anything except have fun.”
“You went to a strip club.” Each word came out enunciated, and lands like blow to the ribs.
“So what? Lots of guys go to strip clubs. It doesn't mean anything.”
“It means everything.” Her voice cracks. “Don't you get it? The media is tearing me apart. They're saying that you were faking the change all along. And maybe they're right. Maybe you were just pretending to be someone else to shut everyone up.”
“That's not fair.”
“What's not fair is that I stuck my neck out for you. I risked my reputation, my career, my professional credibility, for what? So you could party like you're still the same asshole who doesn't care about anyone but himself?”
“I care about you.”
“Then why didn't you call me last night? Why didn't you answer any of my texts? Why did I have to find out from social media that my boyfriend was at a strip club?” A lets out a cry. “God, you're just like Kai. I was so stupid to think you were different.”
“Don't,” I plead. “Don't compare me to him.”
“You're doing exactly what he did. Choosing the spotlight, the attention, the validation from strangers over the person who actually cares.” She chokes on a sob. “I watched Kai throw away what we had for applause and adoration. And now I'm watching you do the same thing.”
“I am nothing like Kai.” Fury floods through me. “That asshole dropped you the second someone shinier came along. I'm not doing that.”
“Really? Because it sure looks like it from where I'm standing.”
“One night, Avery! One fucking night where I let loose after winning a playoff game. That doesn't make me Kai.”
“He said the same things,” she says, her voice breaking. “That it was just one time. That it didn't mean anything. That I was overreacting. And then it kept happening.”
“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” she continues, crying openly now. “That you'd get tired of being the good guy. That the change wasn't real. That I was just another project you got bored with. That you'd prove every fear Kai left me with was justified.”
“That's not true. Avery, I love you.”
“You love me? You have a funny way of showing it. Because from where I'm standing, you just threw away months of work, months of building a better reputation, months of us being together, for one night of partying. I was a fool to think you were different from Kai.”
“Don't compare me to that piece of shit!” I'm shouting now. “I'm not him. I went to a club with my teammates. I didn't cheat on you. I didn't lie to you. I didn't make you feel like you weren't enough.”
“But you did!” she screams back. “You made me feel exactly like that. Like I'm not enough to keep you from needing the approval of everyone else! Like one person loving you will never be enough when you can have hundreds of strangers worshipping you.”
“It was just one night! I needed to let loose. The pressure has been crazy.”
“We all have pressure, Liam.” She's crying harder now.
“I've had people attacking me online for weeks, calling me every name in the book, saying I've ruined you.
Comparing me to every girlfriend who's tried and failed to tame you.
And I dealt with it. I didn't go out and humiliate you in public.
I didn't prove every single person right who said you'd never change.”
“I never did anything wrong,” I insist, but my voice sounds weaker now. “I didn't cheat.” My stomach twists with guilt so hard I think I might puke.
“Perception matters. In our world, perception is everything. And right now, the perception is that you're the same irresponsible party boy you've always been, and I'm the idiot who thought she could change you. Just like I was an idiot with Kai.”
“Stop bringing him up,” I growl through gritted teeth. I’m not him. I’d never treat Avery the way he treated her. Never.
“Why? Because you don't like being compared to the man who broke my heart? Well, guess what, Liam, you're breaking it too. You're doing exactly what he did, and I was stupid enough to let it happen twice.”
“You only care about what people think.”
“Because it's my job. Because your reputation affects both of us. Because I swore I'd never let another athlete make me feel this way again, and here I am, crying over the same fucking pattern.” She breaks off with a sob.
“I can't do this. I already survived Kai. I won't survive you, too.”
“Avery, please.”
But she's already disconnected.
She hung up on me.
And she thinks I'm just like the asshole who broke her heart.
The comparison burns worse than anything else she said. Because part of me wonders if maybe she's right.
I really, really fucked up.
There's a knock on my door. “Nova. Team meeting in ten.”
I still have a Stanley Cup to win. Even though I might have just lost the only thing that actually matters.
I drag myself to the shower, trying to wash away the smell of stale alcohol.
Avery is right. I threw away months of progress for one night of feeling like my old self.
And now I don't know how to fix it.
Or if she'll even let me try.