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“What, Katarina? I seem what?”

She takes a step back, and I hate myself for the way her face shutters. “Upset. Angry. I don’t know, just... not yourself.”

“Maybe this is myself. Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

It’s a low blow, and we both know it. The hurt that flashes across her face nearly breaks me.

“Liam, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know anymore.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” I step closer, backing her against the wall. “What’s wrong is that I can’t think straight when you’re around. What’s wrong is that I’m more worried about your feelings than my fucking career.”

Her breath catches. “That’s not—”

“It is.” I lean in, close enough to smell her shampoo. Close enough to remember how she tasted last night. “You’re a distraction, Kat. And I can’t afford distractions.”

“So what are you saying?”

The words stick in my throat like broken glass. But Coach Dawson’s voice is louder than my conscience.

“I’m saying this—whatever this is—it’s over. The fake dating, the dinners, all of it. I’ve got a career to think about. And this optics bullshit is only destroying me”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her building walls in real time. The same walls I’ve watched crumble these last few weeks.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

Just like that. No fight, no tears, no begging me to reconsider. Just okay.

It should feel like a relief.

Instead, it feels like I just took a skate blade to the chest.

I turn and walk away before I can take it back.

Before I grab her and tell her I’m fucking drowning without her. That her voice in my ear and her mouth on me last night is the only thing I’ve thought about since the second I left.

Before I admit that I’ve never wanted anything this badly in my entire goddamn life—and that terrifies the hell out of me.

She makes me soft in all the places I’ve kept stitched shut. And the second I let that softness show, I know this league will eat me alive.

I tell myself walking away is the smart move. That if I just keep my head down, grind it out, win games and keep quiet, I’ll earn the spot I bled for.

Coach thinks it’s about hockey.

But deep down I know the truth. Hell, maybe I want to believe it is too. Maybe I let everyone think I’m chasing clean lines and the cold structure of the game. That I’d rather lace up than unravel. That the future I bled for is still the only thing that matters.

But I know better. The truth is quieter. Meaner.

I’m not walking away for hockey.

I’m walking away because whatever this is—this thing with her— it’s already under my skin.

And if I stay, I won’t just want her.

I’ll need her.

And that kind of need doesn’t just end seasons.