Page 21

LIAM

T he morning after Derek's ambush meeting dawns gray and miserable, perfectly matching my mood as I lace up my skates for our home game against Hartford.

"You look like hell," Ryan comments, dropping onto the bench beside me in the locker room.

"Thanks," I mutter, yanking my laces tight enough to cut off circulation. "Just what I needed to hear."

"She tried to call you five times last night," he continues, ignoring my tone. "I heard your phone buzzing through the wall."

I say nothing, focusing on adjusting my pads.

"You could at least hear her out.” My teammate-slash-World’s-Most-Annoying-Roommate shrugs. “Maybe there's an explanation?—"

"She had months to explain.” I stand abruptly. "Let's just focus on the game."

But focusing proves impossible.

On the ice, my movements feel mechanical, disconnected from the instincts that usually guide me.

I miss passes, fumble checks, and skate like I'm underwater…all while Coach Murphy's face grows increasingly purple on the bench.

By the second period, we're down by two goals, and my teammates have stopped looking to me for defensive support.

When Hartford's center—a smug senior with a penchant for dirty checks—smirks after blowing past me for the third time, something inside me snaps.

The next time he approaches, I don't just check him—I slam him into the boards with enough force to rattle the plexiglass.

He responds by swinging his stick dangerously close to my face, and seconds later, we're both dropping gloves, helmets, and all goddamned semblance of sportsmanship.

My fist connects with his jaw as his catches my cheekbone.

The officials blow whistles frantically, trying to separate us as teammates from both sides join the fray.

"Sullivan! Box! Now!" Coach roars from the bench, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Five minutes in the penalty box stretches to a game misconduct.

I watch from the sidelines as Hartford scores twice more, securing their victory while my teammates struggle to compensate for my absence.

In the locker room afterward, Coach's lecture is scathing but brief:

"Whatever's going on with you, Sullivan, fix it before Brampton or don't bother showing up."

The team disperses to the showers in somber silence, our loss hanging heavy in the air. Derek disappears immediately, not even looking in my direction. The atmosphere is thick with disappointment—not just in the game, but in me.

Each man in uniform gives me breathing room—and then some—as I change silently, the loss and my shitty attitude creating an invisible fence around me that damn near feels electric.

Touch it and get burned to Hell.

Turns out only one person is brave enough to get fried to a crisp.

Kellan approaches, brows furrowed, blue eyes locked like a missile on my face.

The smell of captain authority is practically wafting from him as he drops onto the bench while I sit staring at my skates, still fully dressed while everyone else is changing.

He leans over, as if sharing state secrets.

"That was the worst game I've seen you play since freshman year," he says quietly. "And I'm pretty sure that guy's jaw is fractured."

"He deserved it," I mutter, though we both know that's not true.

“Ah, so I’m guessing this isn't just about hockey, is it?" He searches my face. “Or even about Piper's New York plans."

I look up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I recognize self-sabotage when I see it." His usually playful demeanor is replaced by something more serious. "You're not just angry she kept secrets. You're convinced this proves you two never had a future."

"We didn't," I say flatly. "I was planning everything around Boston—looking at apartments in the city, researching media jobs near the local teams, thinking we could build something here after graduation. Meanwhile, she was planning an entirely different life without bothering to mention it."

"She's waiting outside," Kellan says after a moment. "And for what it's worth, Wren says she's devastated. Says Piper was convinced you'd never want to follow her to New York, that you'd resent giving up better opportunities elsewhere."

"She never gave me the chance to decide that for myself," My voice is scratchy, nearly scraped raw. "She just assumed."

Kellan stands, clapping my shoulder. “Sometimes we don’t give people the chance because we’re already bracing for the heartbreak."

His words linger as I finally drag myself to change, the team's disappointed silence speaking volumes.

When I finally emerge, the locker room is nearly empty, just Ryan lingering by the door.

"We good?" he asks, a loaded question.

"No," I admit. "But the team didn't deserve that game today. That's on me."

He nods, accepting the closest thing to an apology I can manage right now.

Outside the arena, the early March evening has turned chilly, a light drizzle falling as if the weather itself is trying to wash away the day's disasters.

Piper stands under the overhang, her slim figure tense with apprehension, silky brown hair curling slightly in the damp air.

"Liam.” She steps forward when she sees me. "Can we talk?” Another step. “Please?"

My pulse beats inside my own throat. "About what? Your secret New York plans or how you never bothered to mention them?"

Her gaze lowers. “I-I was going to tell you. I was literally making dinner to tell you when Derek texted."

"After what—three months of us being together? The fellowship has been your goal since before we met. You could have mentioned the taking-off-to-New-York part any time."

"I know.” She reaches for my arm. "I should have. I was scared."

"Of what?" I pull away from her touch. "That I'd ask you to choose? That I'd stand in your way?"

The locker room door opens behind us as several teammates exit, including Ryan and Kellan.

They slow, watching. Waiting.

"I was afraid of exactly this," Piper says, gesturing between us. "Of complicating everything, of making plans that would inevitably change."

"Because you never took us seriously," I say, the pain in my chest hardening into something bitter. "This was always temporary for you. A college fling with the hockey jock."

“God, that’s so unfair.”

"Is it though? You mapped out your entire future without once considering where I might fit in it."

"And you're so different?" she challenges, color rising in her cheeks. "When were you going to mention Philadelphia? Or Chicago? Or Calgary? Ryan told me about the scouts."

"I was looking at apartments in Boston!" The words burst out before I can stop them. "Planning to stay local, thinking you'd be here too. Because unlike you, I actually saw us having a future."

Her expression falters "Liam?—"

"But hey," I interrupt, retreating behind the joking persona that's protected me for years, "no big deal, right? Just an experiment gone wrong. 'Love Lab' failure. Data inconclusive."

"Don't do that," she says quietly. "Don't trivialize what we had."

"Why not? You did." The hurt transforms into cruelty I instantly regret but can't seem to stop. "Maybe your mom was onto something, keeping her options open instead of being tied down."

She recoils as if slapped, and I immediately hate myself for the low blow.

"At least I'm not living in my dead brother's shadow," she fires back, tears now visible in her eyes. "Trying so hard to be him that you've never figured out who you are."

The teammates watching wince collectively.

Ryan steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, man, let's go inside. Cool down."

"No need," I shrug him off, my jaw clenching hard enough to snap. I swallow, glancing down at Piper. "We're done here,“ I snort. “Good luck in New York, Thompson,” I reply, voice flat. "I'm sure you'll get everything you planned for."

She turns and walks away, shoulders rigid, head still held high.

As for me? I stand—frozen to the spot, unable to move an inch as Piper disappears into the rain.

From ten feet away, Ryan exhales, and the February chill around us feels even more bone-cold.

"That was rough…” he whispers.

I nearly tell him that “rough” doesn't begin to cover it. Nothing does when it comes to Piper.

Because in the span of ten minutes, I've managed to destroy the only “real” relationship I’ve ever had, not to mention airing every article of my dirty laundry to half my team.

I shrug, the weight of my shoulders suddenly much too heavy to move. “Just another failed experiment, right? No big deal."

But as I head back inside, the silence following me tells me that no one believes me…

Least of all myself.

Tossing clothes, I head for the showers, ready to wash off the scent—or even the memory—of Piper Thompson off as fast as I can.