Chapter 7 #3
"Portland's changed their entry pattern," Liam explained without preamble, rewinding the sequence. "They're using a delay on the weak side that opens up cross-ice passing lanes."
Libby leaned forward, studying the screen. "But only when your second defensive pairing is out. With your top pair, they revert to the standard setup."
Liam turned to look at her, something like surprise flickering across his features. "You noticed that?"
"I've been covering playoffs intensively," she reminded him. "I pay attention to more than just who's dating whom or which player has the best social media presence."
"I'm aware," Liam said, turning back to the screen. "Your article about our penalty kill efficiency was particularly insightful. Though you missed the adjustment we made to the diamond formation in February."
"I didn't miss it," Libby countered. "I just thought it was less significant than the change in gap control."
Liam pulled up another sequence. "Look at this play from March third. The diamond adjustment creates—"
"A better angle for Jensen's stick positioning, I know," Libby interrupted, pointing at the screen. "But that only works if Portland's shooter is left-handed. Against right-handed shots, the gap control is more important."
They were both leaning toward the screen now, Libby unconsciously matching Liam's intensity as they debated defensive positioning. She pointed at a specific player movement. "Can you rewind to that sequence?"
Liam rewound to exactly where she meant, somehow knowing which play she wanted to see. "There—see how Mitchell shifts his weight? He's telegraphing the pass before he makes it. Your defensemen could anticipate if they—"
"Watched his hips instead of the puck," Liam finished. "You're right."
The admission hung between them. Libby realized they were sitting closer than necessary, drawn together by their shared focus on the tactical discussion. She could smell his cologne—something expensive and understated—and see the faint stubble along his jaw that his morning shave had missed.
"We should probably discuss strategy for tonight," she said, leaning back to create some distance. "The team dinner."
"Right." Liam saved his notes and turned to face her properly. "It's fairly straightforward. We arrive together, sit together, engage in appropriate couple behavior without being ostentatious."
"Appropriate couple behavior?" Libby repeated. "Is there a manual for that?"
"Casual physical contact, engaged conversation, shared attention," Liam listed, as if reading from an internal playbook. "Nothing excessive, just... natural interaction."
"Natural," Libby echoed skeptically. "Right. Because fake couples always debate defensive zone coverage for fun."
"No," Liam agreed. "But we seem capable of natural interaction when discussing hockey."
"So we just talk about hockey all night?"
"It's what we do well together," Liam pointed out pragmatically.
Before Libby could respond, Varlenko burst through the door. "Liamik! You are still here with tape? Is playoffs, not film school!" He spotted Libby and his grin widened. "Ah, but you have better company than usual. Much prettier than Jensen."
"Andre," Liam said with clear warning.
"What? Is compliment! I like journalist girlfriend. She makes you less boring." Varlenko winked at Libby. "At dinner, you sit with fun people. Not Liam and his statistics."
"I like statistics," Libby said, surprising herself by defending Liam.
"Of course you do!" Varlenko laughed. "That is why you are perfect match. Both very serious about hockey numbers." He made a heart shape with his giant hands that was so ridiculous Libby couldn't help but laugh.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Liam asked pointedly.
"Yes, dinner! Which you will be late for if you keep watching tape." Varlenko headed for the door, calling back: “Five minutes, Captain Serious, or I tell everyone you are making out in film room!"
The door slammed behind him, leaving a mortified silence.
"I apologize for Andre," Liam said stiffly. "He has no boundaries."
"It's fine," Libby said, though her cheeks were warm. "We should probably go anyway. Being late would draw more attention."
Liam nodded, closing his laptop and gathering his notes with practiced efficiency. As they walked to the parking garage, he maintained a careful distance, though Libby noticed his hand hovering near her back when they navigated doorways—protective but not quite touching.
"You really did notice the defensive adjustments," he said as they reached his car—a predictably pristine black SUV.
"Is that so surprising?"
"Most journalists focus on narratives over tactics."
"Most players assume journalists don't understand the game," Libby countered.
"Fair point," Liam conceded, opening her door for her. The gesture was automatic, she realized, not performed for any audience.
The drive to the restaurant was surprisingly comfortable, filled with continued tactical discussion.
Libby found herself leaning forward, gesturing as she made her points, completely absorbed in the debate.
She told herself the energy between them was just the excitement of finding someone who actually understood hockey analytics at her level. Nothing more.
The private dining room was already half-full when they arrived. Players, coaches, and support staff mingled with drinks, the atmosphere relaxed but underlaid with playoff intensity. Conversations quieted noticeably when Liam and Libby entered together.
"Here we go," Libby murmured.
Liam's hand finally made contact with the small of her back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of her blouse. The gesture was subtle but clear, a public acknowledgment of their supposed relationship status.
Chase approached first, his grin barely suppressed. "So nice of you two to join us. Liam, did you actually leave the film room voluntarily, or did Libby have to drag you?"
"I came willingly," Liam replied dryly.
"That's a first," Chase said. "Usually we have to send a search party before team dinners."
"I'm very persuasive," Libby offered.
The words hung in the air for a beat too long, the implication hitting her a second after she'd said them. Heat flooded her cheeks. "About hockey. I mean. Persuasive about leaving the film room. For team events." She was making it worse. "I'm going to stop talking now."
"Please do," Chase said, clearly struggling not to laugh. "Before you dig yourself any deeper. Jane's already here, by the way. She saved you seats—far enough apart that you won't have to be too persuasive."
They found Jane at a table with several players and their partners. She'd managed to position herself strategically—close enough to Chase to be appropriate, but not so close as to be obvious. The woman was a master of subtle relationship navigation.
"Everyone, this is Libby," Liam said simply as they sat down, his hand briefly touching her chair back as he pulled it out for her.
A blonde woman across the table leaned forward with obvious curiosity. "I'm Natalie, Jensen's wife. So you're the one who finally cracked the D'Arcy code!"
"I wouldn't say cracked—" Libby began.
"He's never brought anyone to team events," Natalie continued, clearly delighted by the gossip potential. "We had a betting pool going about whether he was secretly dating someone or just allergic to relationships."
"Sorry about this," Jensen interjected with an apologetic look. "The wives had their monthly brunch today. They've been drinking mimosas since noon."
"We have not been drinking since noon!" Natalie protested, then paused. "It was eleven-thirty." She turned back to Libby and Liam, undeterred. "Anyway, how did you two actually meet? Was it during an interview?"
"Umm... kind of," Libby said carefully, aware of multiple ears listening.
"But you've only been covering the team for what, two weeks?" another woman asked. "That's some fast work, Liam."
Libby felt Liam tense slightly beside her. Before she could formulate a response, he spoke.
"We met before she started covering the Steel," he said, so matter-of-fact that it took a moment for people to realize he was actually answering.
"I reached out after reading her mid-season analysis of the Springfield Falcons' defensive restructuring.
Her breakdown of their penalty kill adjustments was. .. illuminating."
"You read my articles?" Libby asked, genuinely surprised.
"All of them," Liam replied, meeting her gaze. "Your breakdown of our power play evolution was particularly good. Though you did miss—"
"The adjustment to the umbrella formation, I know," Libby interrupted. "I had a word count limit."
"Wait," Natalie said, looking between them with delight. "You fell for each other while arguing about hockey strategy?"
"Is very romantic," Varlenko boomed from across the table. "Like Romeo and Juliet, but less stabbing!"
The table laughed, and Libby felt some of the tension ease. As dinner was served, she found herself relaxing into the rhythm of team conversation. Liam remained quieter than most, but his presence was steady beside her, occasionally offering dry observations that made her laugh despite herself.
During the main course, Jensen called down the table. "Liam, what's your take on Reeves's glove side? Coach thinks we should go high, but I'm not seeing the opening."
"It's not about going high," Liam replied, already reaching for the salt shaker to demonstrate. "His shoulder drops when he's tired. Third period, you aim for—"
"That's completely wrong," Libby interrupted without thinking.
Everyone turned to stare at her, but she was already grabbing the pepper mill.
"Look, his shoulder doesn't drop—his whole stance shifts.
Watch." She positioned the pepper mill as the goalie.
"When he's tired, his weight transfers to his right skate, which opens up the five-hole, not the glove side. "