Liam
Slash. Skate. Turn. Shoot.
His muscles screamed in protest as he pushed himself through another grueling drill.
Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and soaking through his practice jersey.
The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the hollow ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest since the events at the medical center four days.
It’s not fair. We only had a few days to be happy about it.
Sunny’s broken voice haunted him as he slammed another puck toward the empty net. The black disc ricocheted off the post with a metallic clang that reverberated through the empty arena.
“Dammit!” he snarled, his voice bouncing back at him from the rafters.
He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. For a moment, the empty rink blurred, replaced by the sterile white of a hospital room. Sunny’s tear-streaked face. The gentle, apologetic voice of Dr Chen.
Liam straightened with a violent jerk, as if physically throwing off the memory. He skated to center ice, gathered the scattered pucks, and started again.
Slash. Skate. Turn. Shoot.
By the time other players began filtering in for regular practice, Liam had been on the ice for nearly three hours. His legs felt like lead, his lungs burned with each breath, and still he pushed on.
“Jesus, Anderson,” Coach Hendricks called from the bench. “You trying to kill yourself before the season even starts?”
Liam ignored him, focusing instead on the puck at his stick.
“Anderson! Get over here. Now.”
The authoritative bark in Coach’s voice finally penetrated Liam’s fog. With reluctance, he skated over, chest heaving.
Coach’s eyes narrowed as he took in Liam’s appearance — the dark circles under bloodshot eyes, the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. “How long have you been here?”
Liam shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Couple hours.”
“Bullshit. Sullivan says he saw your car in the lot when he arrived at four.”
“Just getting some extra practice in.”
Coach’s weathered face softened slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you—”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“—but whatever it is, it’s obvious you’re distracted.” Coach lowered his voice. “Management’s been asking questions. About your focus. About your… situation at home.”
The implication hung in the air between them. The tabloid scandal had died down after the Caribbean trip, but rumors still circulated. Management’s concerns about his “involvement” with Sunny remained, though they had no idea about the pregnancy or the loss.
“My situation at home is fine,” Liam growled, jaw clenching.
“Is it? Because you look like hell, and you’re skating like a man running from something.”
Liam’s grip tightened on his stick. “I said I’m fine.”
Coach opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Alex Pasternak’s arrival. The younger player sauntered over, confident smirk firmly in place.
“Working overtime, old man?” he taunted. “Trying to keep up with the rest of us?”
Liam ignored him, turning to head back onto the ice.
“How’s the hot nanny doing?” Alex called after him. “Still warming your bed, or has she moved on to someone whose ‘hockey stick’ can—”
The rest of his sentence was cut off as Liam whirled around, dropping his gloves and stick in one fluid motion. His fist connected with Alex’s jaw with a satisfying crunch. The younger player stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock, blood already streaming from his split lip.
“You son of a bitch!” Liam roared, closing the distance between them.
His second punch landed squarely on Alex’s nose. The third was blocked as Coach and several teammates rushed to pull them apart.
“That’s enough!” Coach bellowed, positioning himself between the two men. “Pasternak, get yourself cleaned up. Anderson — my office. Now.”
Alex spat blood onto the ice, eyes blazing with humiliation and rage. “Psycho,” he muttered, touching his swollen lip gingerly. “No wonder your wife—”
“Finish that sentence,” Liam snarled, straining against the teammates holding him back, “and I’ll make sure you can never play again.”
The deadly calm in his voice silenced even Alex, whose face paled slightly before he was led away by the team medic.
In Coach’s office, Liam paced like a caged animal, knuckles throbbing, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
“Sit down,” Coach ordered.
Liam remained standing.
“Goddammit, Anderson! Sit your ass down or I’ll bench you for the next three games.”
With a resentful scowl, Liam dropped into the chair opposite the desk.
“What the hell was that out there?” Coach demanded.
“Pasternak had it coming.”
“I don’t care if he insulted your mother, your dog, and the entire state of Kansas. You don’t put your hands on a teammate like that.”
Liam stared at the floor, jaw working.
Coach sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Look, Liam, I know things have been tough. The media circus with your nanny, the pressure from management about your contract… But this behavior? This isn’t you.”
A bitter laugh escaped Liam’s throat. “Isn’t it?”
“No. It’s not. The Liam Anderson I know is a professional. He’s a leader.” Coach leaned forward. “Whatever’s going on with you, you need to get it under control. For your sake, for the team’s sake, and for those little girls of yours.”
The mention of his daughters struck a nerve. Liam’s shoulders tensed, then sagged, as if the fight had suddenly drained out of him.
“Take today’s practice off,” Coach said, his tone gentler now. “Cool down. Get your head straight. And I expect a full apology to Pasternak.”
Liam nodded stiffly, already rising to leave.
“And Liam?” Coach called as he reached the door. “Whatever it is you’re going through… there’s no shame in asking for help.”
He didn’t respond, pulling the door closed behind him with perhaps more force than necessary.
By the time Liam arrived home, the girls were already dressed for school, their high-pitched voices drifting from the kitchen where Sunny was making breakfast. He paused in the entryway, taking a moment to compose himself, to push down the turmoil churning inside him.
Deep breath. Mask on. One foot in front of the other.
“Daddy!” Hailey spotted him first, her face lighting up as she barreled toward him.
He caught her mid-leap, swinging her up into a hug that felt mechanical even to him. “Morning, pumpkin.”
Maddie approached more cautiously, her perceptive eyes studying his face. “Why are you home so early? Is practice canceled?”
“Something like that,” he replied, setting Hailey down and ruffling Maddie’s hair.
Over their heads, his gaze met Sunny’s. She stood at the stove, spatula in hand, her eyes clouded with concern. The sight of her — still beautiful despite the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight hollowness in her cheeks — sent a wave of emotion through him so powerful he had to look away.
“I made waffles,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “There’s plenty if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, but I already ate.” The lie came easily. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days.
“You need to eat something,” she insisted softly.
“I said I’m not hungry.” The words came out sharper than he intended, causing both girls to glance up at him in surprise.
Sunny’s face fell, but she quickly recovered, turning back to the stove. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”
Liam nodded curtly, then looked down at his daughters. “You two almost ready for school?”
“Mm-hmm,” Maddie mumbled around a mouthful of waffle. “Mrs Patterson says I can try out for the spelling team today.”
“That’s great, kiddo.”
“And I got to feed the class hamster yesterday!” Hailey added excitedly. “His name is Mr Whiskers and he has the tiniest little hands and…”
“Sounds fun,” Liam interrupted, his attention already drifting. “Listen, I’ve got some calls to make before you head out. Be good for Sunny, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward his home office, ignoring the flicker of hurt that crossed Hailey’s face at his abrupt dismissal.
Once inside, he closed the door firmly and leaned against it, exhaling heavily. The charade of normalcy exhausted him. Every smile felt like it might crack his face. Every casual touch was a reminder of how distant he felt from his own body, his own life.
It had been the same after Kate died — this gradual retreat into himself, this inability to connect with others, even those he loved most. The difference was that now he recognized the pattern even as he surrendered to it.
He was aware that he was shutting Sunny out, aware that his daughters were picking up on the darkening atmosphere in the household.
And yet he seemed powerless to stop it, like watching himself drown from outside his own body.
A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
“Liam?” Sunny’s voice was hesitant. “Can I come in?”
He moved away from the door, straightening papers on his desk that didn’t need straightening. “Yeah, sure.”
She entered, closing the door quietly behind her. Even with the physical distance between them, he could smell the faint vanilla scent of her shampoo, could see the slight tremble in her hands as she clasped them in front of her.
“Beth is taking the girls to school,” she said. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
Liam’s throat tightened. Talk. The one thing he couldn’t seem to do, especially about the one subject they needed to discuss most.
“Now’s not really a good time,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward his laptop. “I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”
“Liam, please. It’s been days, and we’ve barely spoken about what happened.”
“What’s there to say?” He kept his eyes fixed on his desk. “It happened. It’s over. We move on.”
A beat of silence.
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Moving on?”
The rawness in her tone made him finally look up. Pain was etched into her features. He knew that pain intimately — was drowning in it himself. And yet he couldn’t reach across the gulf between them to offer comfort, couldn’t find the words to express the yawning emptiness inside him.
“I’m trying,” he said finally. “The best way I know how.”
“By shutting me out? By acting like nothing happened?” Her voice cracked slightly. “Liam, I lost our baby too. I’m hurting too.”
The words hit him like a body check, driving the air from his lungs. Our baby. The tiny life they had created together, lost before it had truly begun. A future erased before it could take shape.
He stood abruptly, grabbing his car keys from the desk. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Liam—”
“I need to go. I have… things to take care of.”
He brushed past her, ignoring the hurt in her eyes, the outstretched hand that fell limply to her side as he walked away. It was cruel, he knew. Cowardly. But the alternative — facing that pain head-on, allowing himself to feel the full weight of their loss — seemed impossible.
Behind him, the door to his office remained open. He didn’t look back.
The mindless rumble of his SUV’s engine accompanied Liam as he drove aimlessly through the city streets.
Traffic moved around him in a blur of color and sound, none of it penetrating the fog that seemed to envelop him.
His phone buzzed repeatedly in the cup holder — Sunny, most likely. He ignored it.
He found himself pulling into the parking lot of a nondescript sports bar on the outskirts of town. At 9:30 in the morning, the place was practically deserted — perfect for someone seeking anonymity.
The bartender, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, barely glanced up as he slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar.
“Little early, isn’t it?” she commented, wiping down the counter in front of him.
Liam shrugged. “Coffee, black.”
If she recognized him, she gave no indication. Just nodded and filled a mug with the day’s first batch, sliding it across the polished wood.
His phone buzzed again. This time, he glanced at the screen. Not Sunny, but Mike — his agent. With a resigned sigh, he answered.
“Mike. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Mike’s voice was incredulous. “I just got off the phone with Coach Hendricks. You broke Pasternak’s nose?”
Liam took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the bitter, burnt taste. “He had it coming.”
“Jesus Christ, Liam. We’re months away from contract negotiations, and you’re starting brawls in practice? What the hell were you thinking?”
“He said something about Sunny.”
A beat of silence on the other end. “Look, I get it. The guy’s an ass. But you can’t let him get under your skin like this, not with your contract in the balance.”
Liam’s grip tightened on the mug. “Is that why you called? To tell me I’m risking my career?”
“No, I called because I’m worried about you,” Mike said, his tone softening. “Coach says you’ve been off your game. The team’s noticed. Management’s noticed. And after that stunt today…”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Will you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re doing anything but.”
Liam didn’t respond, staring instead at his distorted reflection in the glossy black surface of his coffee.
Mike sighed heavily. “Liam, whatever’s going on, you need to get it together. Fast. Management’s watching you like a hawk, and they’re not seeing what they like right now.”
The implication hung in the air between them. If Liam’s performance continued to suffer, if the distractions in his personal life continued to affect his game, his future with the Coyotes was in jeopardy.
“Is this about the nanny situation?” Liam asked, voice low. “Did they say something?”
“They didn’t have to. The whole world saw those photos from Saint Lucia. Management made their position clear: they want a focused, drama-free team leader, not tabloid fodder.”
“And if I’m not that?”
“Then they’ll find someone who is.” Mike’s bluntness was part of why Liam had hired him — no sugar-coating, just straight facts. “Look, I’ve got your back. You know that. But I need you to meet me halfway here.”
Liam nodded, though Mike couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I hear you.”
After ending the call, he sat nursing his coffee until it grew cold, the pounding in his head a counterpoint to the dull ache in his chest. His phone showed three missed calls from Sunny. He scrolled past them and dialed the number for the team instead.