Chapter 5 #4
"She's also kind, brilliant, and somehow makes those standard-issue polo shirts look like..." Chase trailed off, a flush creeping up his neck as he realized how much he was revealing.
"You're not exactly subtle."
"Neither is your dislike of her sister, which makes things awkward since I'm hoping to ask Jane to dinner."
Liam frowned. "I don't dislike Libby Bennet-Cross. I don't know her."
"Yet you've read every word she's written about the team," Chase observed. "Including the parts that suggest you're only captain because your family owns the franchise."
"I monitor all team coverage," Liam said stiffly.
"Sure," Chase nodded, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "Just like you 'monitored' my skills session this morning from the hallway after you finished with the rookies."
Liam's head snapped toward his friend. "I was checking on Keller's progress with the new defensive alignment."
"From behind the equipment lockers? With a clear view of the reporter in the stands?" Chase grinned. "Very performance-focused of you."
"I was concerned about what she was writing," Liam said, the excuse sounding weak even to his own ears.
"Of course," Chase agreed, still grinning. "Just like you were 'concerned' about what she was asking in the press conference, which is why you actually gave her a real answer instead of your usual pre-programmed response."
Liam returned his attention to the game footage, unwilling to acknowledge the accuracy of Chase's observations. "She's temporary coverage while Jackson recovers. Her opinion of me is irrelevant."
"Yet you care enough to be irritated by it," Chase pointed out. "Look, I'm not saying you need to charm the media. Just suggesting that allowing one reporter to see beyond the D'Arcy mask might result in more balanced coverage."
"The last time someone close to our family had media access, they used it to destroy Georgia," Liam said, his voice dropping. "So forgive me if I'm not eager to trust reporters with anything real."
Chase's expression sobered immediately. "Libby's not like that. Jane says she's principled, genuinely loves hockey, and actually cares about getting the story right."
"Didn't you tell me Jane sees the best in everyone?" Liam asked. "Professional optimism is one thing, but her sister seems determined to see the worst in me specifically."
"Maybe," Chase conceded. "But consider this—Libby's already forming opinions about you. The question is whether those opinions will be based on what she actually observes or what others tell her."
The implication hung in the air. Liam's jaw tightened. "Wickham."
"Security saw them having coffee together after the last game," Chase confirmed. "Looking pretty friendly for a player and reporter who just met."
A familiar cold weight settled in Liam's stomach. Gray Wickham's talent for charming his way into people's confidence was matched only by his ability to twist the truth. Whatever he was telling Libby Bennet-Cross, it wouldn't be the complete story—or possibly any version of the truth at all.
"I don't have time to launch a charm offensive during playoffs," Liam said finally. "If Ms. Bennet-Cross wants to believe Wickham's version of events, that's her choice. I'll let my play speak for itself."
"Your call," Chase shrugged. "Just thought you should know she'll be at the charity event Friday night. Might be an opportunity to show a different side. One that doesn't require full sentences or prolonged eye contact, even."
Despite his frustration, Liam felt his mouth quirk. "Your concern for my public image is touching."
"Just looking out for team chemistry," Chase replied. "And selfishly hoping your brooding doesn't complicate my attempts to spend time with Jane."
"I don't brood," Liam objected.
"You're literally sitting in a darkened video room analyzing game footage at 7 p.m. while scowling about media coverage," Chase pointed out. "Dictionary definition of brooding."
Liam couldn't help the small laugh that escaped. "Point taken."
As Chase returned to his game notes, Liam found his thoughts returning to Libby Bennet-Cross. Her direct questions. Her perceptive analysis. The challenge in her eyes when she'd asked which was the real Liam D'Arcy.
It was a question he sometimes asked himself, the line between public persona and private self increasingly blurred after years of media training and protective distance.
The charity event would put them in the same social space, away from the formal structure of press conferences and locker room interviews.
Perhaps Chase was right. Perhaps it was time to show a different side—not to charm the media, but simply to correct a false narrative before it solidified. If Wickham was feeding her lies, she deserved the opportunity to hear another perspective.
Not that it mattered what one temporary reporter thought of him. Liam had faced media scrutiny his entire career without letting it affect his performance. Libby Bennet-Cross's opinion was professionally irrelevant.
So why did it bother him so much?
Liam pushed the question aside, focusing again on the game footage. The playoffs demanded complete concentration. Media perceptions were a distraction he couldn't afford.
Even if those perceptions came from the most perceptive brown eyes he'd encountered in years.