Liam
Alex Pasternak sat across the table, his nose splinted, dark bruises blooming beneath both eyes. Their gazes locked briefly before Alex looked away, the cocky smirk replaced by something closer to wariness.
Coach Hendricks entered last, dropping a stack of folders onto the table with a thud that startled several players. “Alright, let’s get started. First order of business — the exhibition game against Denver next week.”
“Anderson!”
Coach’s sharp voice yanked him back to the present. Every head at the table was turned toward him, expressions ranging from concern to curiosity to outright amusement.
“Sorry, what?”
Coach’s face tightened with irritation. “I asked if you had any input on the forward play formation, since you’ll be anchoring the first unit.”
“Oh. No, the setup looks good.” He hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what setup Coach was referring to, but admitting that would only make the situation worse.
Coach’s skeptical expression suggested he wasn’t fooled, but he moved on, redirecting the team’s attention to the whiteboard where plays were diagrammed.
From across the table, Alex muttered something to the teammate beside him, eyes flicking derisively in Liam’s direction. Though the words were indistinct, the snide tone carried clearly.
“Got something to share with the whole team, Pasternak?” Liam challenged, his voice cutting through the room.
Alex straightened, adjusting his splint with exaggerated care. “Just wondering if you’re actually present for this meeting, or if you’re too busy thinking about your babysitter back home.”
A charged silence fell over the room. Several players shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Coach’s marker stilled against the whiteboard.
“You really want to go there again?” Liam’s voice was dangerously quiet. “After what happened this morning?”
“Enough,” Coach barked. “Both of you. This stops now.”
Alex smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking. Anderson’s checked out. His mind’s not on hockey anymore, not since he started screwing the help.”
Liam was halfway out of his seat before he felt a restraining hand on his shoulder. The team captain, Tyler Reynolds, shook his head slightly.
“Not worth it,” he murmured. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”
With supreme effort, Liam sank back into his chair, fists clenched on the table before him.
The rest of the meeting passed in a tense blur. When Coach finally dismissed them, Liam was the first out the door, striding rapidly toward the exit. He’d nearly reached his car when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
“Liam! Hold up.”
Tyler jogged to catch up with him, concern etched on his weathered face. At thirty-five, the captain was one of the few players older than Liam, a veteran presence respected throughout the league.
“What?” Liam snapped, not slowing his pace.
“Look, I know it’s none of my business—”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“—but as someone who’s been where you are, I thought maybe you could use a friendly ear.”
That stopped Liam in his tracks. “What do you mean, ‘been where I am’?”
Tyler glanced around the parking lot, ensuring they were alone. “My wife and I… we lost a baby. Before Emma was born.”
The admission caught Liam off guard. Tyler Reynolds — steady, reliable Tyler, with his picture-perfect family featured on the team’s holiday card each year — had experienced the same devastating loss that was currently tearing Liam’s world apart.
“How did you…” Liam trailed off.
“Get through it?” Tyler supplied. “Not easily. And not alone.” He studied Liam’s face for a moment. “That’s what’s happening with you and the nanny, isn’t it? You lost a baby.”
“How did you know — that was what I was going to ask,” replied Liam.
“I recognized that look in your eyes. I’ve seen if before, in the mirror,” said Tyler. “It’s a special kind of hell.”
Liam swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. “Yeah. It is.”
“If you ever want to talk—”
“I don’t.” The words came out harsher than intended. “But… thanks.”
Tyler nodded, accepting the rejection without offense. “Just remember, whatever you’re going through, pushing everyone away only makes it worse. Trust me on that.”
As Tyler walked back toward the facility, Liam’s phone buzzed yet again. Sunny’s name flashed on the screen, accompanied by a text message:
The girls are asking about you. Will you be home for dinner?
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a long moment before he finally replied:
Don’t wait up. Team stuff.
Another lie. But easier than facing the quiet concern in Sunny’s eyes, the questions he couldn’t answer, the comfort he couldn’t accept.
It was nearly midnight when Liam finally returned home. The house was dark and silent, with only a single lamp burning in the foyer — Sunny’s way of welcoming him home, even in her absence. The gesture, so simple and thoughtful, sent a pang through his chest.
He moved through the darkened house with quiet familiarity, heading upstairs toward the bedroom he now shared with Sunny. The door was ajar, the room beyond it empty. The covers on her side of the bed were turned down but undisturbed.
He moved to the connecting bathroom, hoping to wash away some of the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled into his body. As he splashed cold water on his face, his gaze fell on Sunny’s medicine cabinet, slightly ajar.
Inside, tucked behind a bottle of her vanilla-scented lotion, was a small plastic stick.
With trembling fingers, Liam lifted it out. The two pink lines were still visible in the small window, faded but unmistakable. He stared at the plastic stick, this small harbinger of joy turned monument to loss, his calloused thumb passing over the smooth surface.
For a fleeting moment, time seemed to fracture.
In the space between heartbeats, he saw what might have been — Sunny’s belly swollen with their child, his large hand splayed protectively across the roundness.
The girls painting a nursery wall together, arguing over whether the baby would prefer yellow or green.
A tiny bundle cradled in his arms, eyes unfocused but searching, with Sunny’s delicate nose and maybe his stubborn chin.
Christmases and birthdays. First steps. First words. Another voice calling him “Daddy.” A family rebuilt from the broken pieces of his heart — larger, different, but whole again.
The vision seared through him like a hot blade, leaving him raw and gasping.
A low sound escaped him, something between a groan and a whimper, as reality reasserted itself.
Those two pink lines weren’t a promise anymore.
They were a ghost, a haunting reminder of futures that would never materialize.
“It wasn’t even real yet,” he whispered to himself, the lie bitter on his tongue. Because it had been real — in his heart, in Sunny’s tears, in the plans they’d begun to sketch in hushed, excited conversations. Real enough to leave this gaping wound where possibility once lived.
His fingers tightened around the test, knuckles whitening. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement that felt like tearing away a piece of himself, he dropped it into the waste bin beside the sink. The small clatter it made seemed impossibly loud in the silent bathroom.
Let it go. Move on. Forget.
But even as he issued these silent commands to himself, Liam knew that this loss — like Kate’s — would carve its place in him, another scar to carry, another ghost to haunt his dreams.
When he looked up, his reflection stared back at him from the mirror — hollow-eyed, stubble darkening his jaw, shadows carving deep lines around his mouth.
He barely recognized himself. This haggard stranger with the haunted eyes bore little resemblance to the man he had been just a week ago, when he had held Sunny in his arms and asked her to marry him.
The memory of her face in that moment — radiant with surprise and cautious joy — twisted like a knife in his chest. He had promised her forever, had imagined building a family together. Now that dream lay in ruins, and he was systematically destroying what remained.
A soft sound from downstairs drew his attention. Leaving the bathroom, Liam followed the noise, moving back down the staircase. The sound led him toward the girls’ room.
“No, sweetie, it was just a bad dream. You’re safe.”
Sunny’s gentle voice drifted through the partially open door. Inside, she sat on the edge of Hailey’s bed, stroking the little girl’s hair as she hiccupped through the last of her tears.
“But the monster was so big,” Hailey whimpered, clutching her stuffed rabbit tightly. “It was chasing me and Daddy wasn’t there to help.”
“Your daddy would never let anything hurt you,” Sunny assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “He loves you more than anything in the whole world.”
“Then why is he always gone?” Hailey’s small voice was plaintive. “Why is he mad all the time?”
Liam froze in the hallway, his daughter’s words striking him like a physical blow.
Sunny was quiet for a moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. “He’s not mad at you, sweetie. Sometimes grown-ups get sad, and it comes out looking like anger. But it doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”
“Is he sad because of what happened at the doctor?” Hailey asked, her perceptiveness startling Liam. “When you were sick?”
Sunny’s sharp intake of breath was audible even from the hallway.
Hailey nodded solemnly. “You were crying. And Daddy looked scared.”
“Yes,” Sunny admitted softly. “We were both very sad about something that happened. But that’s not your worry, okay? Your daddy and I will be fine.”
“Can I have Daddy tuck me in?” Hailey asked, her voice small. “I miss him.”
Liam stepped into the doorway then, his heart constricting at the sight of his daughter’s tear-streaked face. “I’m right here, pumpkin.”
Hailey’s face lit up, then clouded with uncertainty, as if she expected him to refuse.