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Chapter ten

Liam

I ’m three beers deep and watching my teammate live my fucking dream.

The bar’s loud as hell—music pounding, voices competing over clinking glasses and the hockey game playing on every screen.

But all I can focus on is Aiden’s arm draped around Aurora like he owns her, which, let’s be honest, he does.

She’s laughing at something he whispered in her ear, and the way she looks at him makes my chest tight with something I refuse to call envy.

“Dude’s got it made,” Trent says, following my gaze. “Perfect girl, captain’s C, house in the hills. What else does a man need?”

“Fuck if I know,” Brody mutters into his beer. “Aurora’s a goddamn ten. I’d sell my soul for a girl like that.”

I take another long pull from my bottle, the beer doing nothing to cool the heat in my gut. “Must be nice,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “But relationships are distractions. Can’t afford that shit when you’re trying to prove yourself.”

I say it like I believe it—but the burn in my throat says otherwise.

Trent raises an eyebrow. “Distraction? Man, if I had someone looking at me the way she looks at him, I wouldn’t give a fuck about anything else.”

I shrug, staring at the label I’m methodically peeling off my bottle. “Different priorities, I guess.”

What I don’t say is that I’m jealous as hell. Not just of what Aiden has, but of how easy it looks for him. How natural. I’ve never had that—someone who looks at me like I hung the fucking moon instead of like I’m their next mistake.

“Come on, Liam,” Brody presses. “You’re telling me you’re too busy for fun? For a little—” He makes some crude gesture with his hands that has the table erupting in laughter.

I don’t laugh. Instead, I grip my bottle tighter, feeling the old ache creep back in.

There was a time when distractions were all I had.

A rotating cast of women who were happy to help me forget my problems for a few hours.

The clubs, the parties, the kind of places where masks meant you could be anyone you wanted.

Where rough hands and harder words were exactly what everyone came looking for.

Especially that night—the one that rewired my whole goddamn brain.

It plays on repeat like a cursed highlight reel every time I try to sleep.

Golden hair tangled in my fists, soft moans that turned into desperate cries, the way she surrendered completely to everything I gave her.

The way she made me feel like a fucking king before disappearing like smoke.

I’ve jerked off to that memory more times than I care to admit, but it’s never enough. Nothing else even comes close.

“You know what your problem is?” Trent leans forward, pointing his bottle at me. “You’re overthinking it. Not every girl wants to walk down the aisle after one night, and thank god for that.”

“Some of us just want to get our dicks wet,” Brody adds with a grin.

“Exactly,” I lie, even though the truth—that I want what Aiden has so bad it’s rotting me from the inside—is clawing to get out. “Girls that hang around hockey players are trouble. They’re looking for a paycheck or Instagram followers. Fake as hell.”

Even as I say it, I’m thinking about her again. The mystery woman who felt real in a way that scared the shit out of me. Who challenged me instead of just agreeing with everything I said. Who left without a word, taking a piece of me I didn’t know I could lose.

“Sounds like you’re talking yourself out of getting laid,” Brody observes.

“Sounds like I’m being smart.” I drain the rest of my beer. “I’ve got enough shit to deal with without adding relationship drama to the mix.”

The truth is, I don’t want just anyone anymore. I want her. The woman whose face I never saw but whose body I mapped with my hands and mouth until she was shaking underneath me. The one who got away before I could fuck it up like I always do.

Watching Aiden with her is like being benched during overtime—I’m close enough to see what I want, but not good enough to have it.

Aiden’s laugh carries across the bar, and I watch Aurora’s face light up in response. They’re in their own world, completely absorbed in each other, and for a second I imagine what it would feel like to have that. To be someone’s entire focus instead of their biggest regret.

My phone buzzes—another missed call from Coach Dawson. The old bastard’s been trying to reach me since practice ended, probably wanting to lecture me about my attitude or my performance or whatever stick he’s got up his ass today. I decline the call and shove the phone back in my pocket.

“You good, man?” Brody asks, noticing my mood shift.

“Perfect,” I say, signaling the bartender for another round. “Just thinking about how much I love my fucking life.”

The guys laugh, thinking I’m joking. If only they knew how close to the edge I am—how every day feels like I’m one bad play away from losing everything I’ve worked for. How the only thing that made sense in months was a woman I can’t find and probably wouldn’t want me if I could.

I raise my fresh beer in a mock toast. “To distractions,” I say. “And all the ways they’ll fuck you over.”

The guys drink to that, but I’m already somewhere else. Somewhere dark and desperate, wondering if I’ll ever feel that alive again or if I’m destined to watch other people live the life I want from the sidelines.

Either way, I’m one hit away from cracking wide open—and I don’t know if anyone will notice when I do.