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LIAM

T uesday afternoon brings a perfect hockey sky—crisp and clear, with just enough bite in the air to remind you why you love the game.

It’s the kind of October day that makes you forget about accidental podcasts and brown-eyed journalism majors who have a habit of getting under your skin.

There’s only one thing I’m ready to do today.

Focus entirely on hockey.

No distractions. No fucking up.

Not when it comes to practice. Or thinking about Piper Thompson.

And so far, my ‘hockey-focused’ ass is crushing it.

Two days of solid practice have almost erased the memory of Sunday's disaster.

My eye has faded from purple to a sickly yellow, and Coach Murphy actually complimented my defensive work this morning—the coaching equivalent of a Nobel Prize.

"Looking sharp, Sullivan," Ryan calls as I step onto the ice for afternoon practice, the familiar rip of blades against fresh ice centering me immediately.

"Feeling sharp," I call back, taking a few warm-up laps. "We've got weeks to prepare for Brampton, but I plan to be ready."

For the next two hours, I'm completely in the zone.

Blocking shots. Executing perfect passes. Even landing a slap shot from the blue line that makes Coach grunt in approval.

Not a single thought about podcasts or journalism fellowships or the word "spreadsheet."

"Whatever got into you last week is officially gone," Kellan says as we finish our cool-down stretches. "You're back, man."

"Just needed to prioritize.” I unlace my skates. "Hockey first, everything else second."

"Speaking of everything else..." Ryan's voice drops to a whisper as he nods toward the bleachers. "Don't look now, but uh…we’ve got company waiting by the exit."

My head snaps up automatically.

Piper stands near the arena doors, wearing a burgundy sweater and jeans, her chestnut hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.

She's scrolling through her phone with that focused expression that means she's probably making a list of some kind.

"I thought you were all about hockey first?" Kellan smirks, catching my stare.

"I am.” I tear my eyes away, shrugging. "She's probably here for Derek anyway."

"Derek left fifteen minutes ago for his economics study group," Ryan says. "And she's been checking her watch every thirty seconds since she arrived."

"How long have you been watching her?"

"I notice things. It's my superpower."

"Well, whatever she wants, I'm not interested," I shove my gear into my bag. Hard. “I’ve got a game to focus on."

Kellan and Ryan exchange skeptical glances.

"What?"

"Nothing," Kellan says, shrugging. “Just... remember the sister rule."

"There's nothing to remember because nothing is happening.” I hoist my bag onto my shoulder. "I'm going to walk past her, say a polite hello, and continue with my hockey-focused day."

"Fifty bucks says you agree to whatever she's asking," Ryan whispers.

I sniff. “You're on.”

We fist-bump before I head towards the exit.

I make it halfway there before Piper spots me, straightening up and tucking her phone away.

The stubborn set of her slender shoulders tells me this isn't a casual visit.

"Sullivan," she greets, all business.

"Thompson," I reply, matching her tone. "If you're looking for Derek, he's?—"

"I'm not here for Derek. I’m here to talk to you."

I blink. “About?"

She takes a deep breath. "The podcast."

"Ah." I shift my gear bag. “What about it?"

"The station wants us to continue. Weekly slot, potential sponsorship." She says this like she's presenting facts in a debate. "It would be mutually beneficial."

"Mutually beneficial," I repeat, amused by her formality. "That's your pitch?"

"I have a three-point presentation prepared if necessary…”

I can't help it—I laugh. "Of course you do."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just very... you." I glance over my shoulder to where Kellan and Ryan are very obviously pretending not to eavesdrop. "Look, can we talk about this somewhere else? I need to shower, and half the team is watching us right now."

She nods briskly. "I can wait."

Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and wearing clean sweats, I find Piper sitting primly on a bench outside the locker room, a color-coded folder open on her lap.

"You really do have a presentation," I observe, peering over her shoulder at what appears to be a pro/con list.

She snaps the folder shut. "I believe in being prepared."

"Right." I swipe a hand across my damp hair. "Before we get into your three-point plan, there's something you should know."

"What's that?"

"I know you're Derek's sister."

Her expression freezes, then shifts to resignation. "Ah. So that's why you're hesitating."

"Among other reasons…Your brother has a very specific rule about teammates and his sister."

"The ridiculous 'sister rule,'" she sighs. "Ryan mentioned it."

"It's not just that," I continue, falling into step beside her as we walk toward the exit. "I have Brampton coming up, NHL scouts watching, and classes I'm barely passing. A weekly podcast commitment isn't exactly a priority."

"It could be beneficial for your career…” she keeps going as we push through the doors into the crisp afternoon air.

Students mill about the quad, many of them doing double-takes as they spot us together.

"Public speaking experience. Media presence.” Her dark brown eyes blink up at me. “Believe or not, those things matter to professional teams."

"True," I concede.

"And" she continues "it would demonstrate that you're more than just a hockey player. You have range."

"Range," I repeat. “Go on."

"The first episode already has record downloads." She pulls out her phone to show me a graph with an upward trajectory. "The station manager says we could have actual sponsors by the third episode."

We reach the campus coffee shop, and I hold the door open for her without thinking.

She hesitates before entering, as if weighing the implications of being seen in public with me.

"I'm not going to spontaneously ask you on a date in front of witnesses," I assure her. "This is just easier than standing in the cold."

"I wasn't—Fine."

We find a table in the corner, and I'm about to continue our discussion when a voice calls out, "Liam! Piper!"

Wren waves at us from across the café, where she's sitting with Kellan, surrounded by what looks like paint samples spread across their table.

"Crap," I mutter.

"We can get outta here,” Piper suggests.

"Too late." I plaster on a smile as Kellan and Wren make their way over.

"Well, this is unexpected," Kellan comments, looking between us.

"It's not what you think," I reply quickly.

"We're discussing the podcast," Piper adds, holding up her folder as evidence.

"Right.”

Wren elbows him. "Leave them alone. The podcast was amazing." She glances at Piper this time. “Kellan and I have been arguing about it all week. He thinks Liam's approach makes more sense."

"Because it does," Kellan insists. "You can't schedule chemistry."

"No, but you can create conditions that foster it," Wren counters, gesturing with a paint swatch. "Like choosing the right environment. Which is why the living room should be Autumn Ember, not Tactical Tan."

"The living room gets northern exposure," Kellan argues. "It needs a warmer tone."

"That's literally what Autumn Ember is—a warm tone!"

"But it's too orange!"

As they bicker about paint colors, Piper and I exchange glances, a moment of unexpected solidarity in the face of their domestic dispute.

"Anyway," Wren says, turning back to us, "don't let us interrupt. We were just heading out to argue about curtains next."

"Good luck with that," I reply, watching as Kellan gathers their paint samples.

"Remember the sister rule," he mutters as they leave, quiet enough that only I can hear.

When they're gone, Piper clears her throat. "They seem..."

"Disgustingly in love? Yeah, it's been nauseating to watch. Kellan used to be cool before Wren's apartment flooded and she temporarily moved in with us last year. Now he has opinions about throw pillows."

A small smile quirks the corner of her mouth. "Sounds terrible."

"It's a cautionary tale. Now, about this podcast..."

She straightens.” Yes. Will you continue or not?"

I study her for a moment, noting the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she's trying too hard to appear casual about my answer. "It matters to you. More than you're letting on."

She hesitates, then nods. "It does."

"Because...?"

"Professor Bennett thinks it could help with my fellowship application. And honestly? I could use the income from sponsorships."

"For grad school?" I guess.

"Among other things." Something flickers across her face. "So, are you in or out?"

I weigh the options.

On one hand, Derek will have a conniption.

On the other hand, the exposure could be good for my hockey career, and there's something undeniably compelling about verbally sparring with Piper each week.

And if I give in, I owe Ryan fifty bucks.

Fuck me.

"I'm in," I decide. "With conditions."

“I should have seen this coming…” Piper’s brown eyes—warmer than her brother’s—turn to ice. “What conditions?"

"One, we keep it strictly professional. No hangouts outside of podcast prep and recording."

"Obviously.”

"Two, we don't tell Derek. At least not yet."

She frowns. "I don't like lying to my brother."

"Not lying, just... strategic information management. Isn't that what you research types do?"

“Are you naturally this big a pain in the ass, or does it take practice?”

“Comes organically. But thanks for asking.”

She frowns, a line forming between her perfect eyebrows. She looks away before staring back at me. “Okay, fine. Temporarily."

"And three," I hold up three fingers, “we need a neutral space to prep. Somewhere Derek won't stumble across us."

"My apartment is out. Abigail has no concept of discretion."

"And mine is definitely out, since I live with your brother."

We sit in momentary stalemate until my phone buzzes with a text from Ryan:

RYAN

Did you say yes yet? I need that $50 for beer.

An idea strikes me. "What about Ryan's old office at the student activities center? He still has keys from when he worked there last year."

"Would he let us use it?"

I text him quickly.

Need a favor. Can we use your old office for podcast prep?

The reply is almost instantaneous.

RYAN

Hell yeah. Gimme that $50.

RYAN

I want you to know…

RYAN

That I take credit, debit, cash and Venmo

RYAN

And yes, office is yours.

RYAN

Keys are on my desk. Take it as my blessing on your forbidden fling

NOT a fling. An arrangement, that’s all

RYAN

Sure, sure. Well, ARRANGE my fifty bones, and I'll run interference with Derek…

RYAN

I’ve got your back.

RYAN

For fifty dollars more, I’ll have your front, too. Just saying…

I look up at Piper. "We've got a space."

"So…” she inhales deeply. “I guess this means we’re doing this.”

"We're doing this…” I snort, fighting a grin. “No matter how wrong you are about relationship formulas and communication protocols."

"You mean no matter how much you refuse to acknowledge the statistical validity of relationship research…”

“Same difference.” I extend my hand across the table. "Partners?"

She takes it, her palm warm against mine. "Partners."

As we shake on our agreement, I mentally shoulder-check the voice in my head asking what exactly I've just gotten myself into—and why the prospect of arguing with Piper Thompson every week is suddenly the most exciting thing on my calendar.

Even more exciting than preparing for Brampton in the coming weeks.

And that's saying something.