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Page 24 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO (Second Chance Hockey Players #1)

I suppress a sigh. It seems like everyone is in on some kind of unspoken joke. With no other choice, I head toward the back of the bus. Liam is sitting with his head against the window, eyes closed, earbuds in. He does not acknowledge me as I slide into the seat beside him.

The bus starts moving, and the hum of the engine fills the air.

The players chatter and laugh, the energy high after their victory.

I let my camera rest on my lap for a moment before deciding to get to work.

Standing carefully to avoid bumping into anyone, I start snapping pictures, then I zero in on James, slouched in his seat, his head lolling back, and - true to Katie’s prediction - his mouth wide open.

I stifle a laugh as I get the perfect shot.

“Gotcha,” I mutter under my breath.

Suddenly, the bus jolts, and I lurch sideways. Before I can catch myself, an arm loops around my waist, steadying me.

“Careful,” Liam murmurs, his voice low. I glance up, my heart skipping a beat as I meet his sharp blue eyes.

Well, isn’t this just cliché?

I start to pull away, muttering a quick “Thanks,” but then he adds, “hate for you to take out half the team with your graceful moves.”

I straighten quickly, brushing his hand away and shooting him a glare. “Thanks, Liam. Your concern is overwhelming.”

“Just doing my civic duty,” he quips, leaning back against the window, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “But maybe hold onto something next time. Although, if you wanted to get closer, you could have just asked.”

I roll my eyes so hard, and it is a miracle they don’t get stuck. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Next time, I’ll let you fall.”

“Next time, I won’t be anywhere near you,” I shoot back, adjusting my seat belt and pretending to be entirely focused on my camera settings. “Also, don’t strain yourself trying to be nice.”

“I don’t think we’re there yet,” he fires back, closing his eyes and adjusting his earbuds like the conversation is already over.

Finally, we arrived at Lakeview Park, and as it was five years ago, it is now.

Absolutely beautiful. The park is lit with twinkling string lights and scattered with food stalls, game booths, and donation stations, while a small stage hosts live music.

The cool evening air is filled with laughter and the sweet aroma of caramel popcorn.

I have to admit, I miss events like these here and the togetherness between everyone. Every event in Autumn Cove, big or small, feels light and carefree like the world’s troubles are far away.

I wander through the crowd with my camera, snapping pictures of kids playing ring toss and families lining up for cotton candy. The team is scattered, mingling with fans and participants.

Suddenly, a small cry cuts through the noise. I turn to see a little boy, no older than five, sitting on the ground, clutching his knee.

Before I can think, I am moving toward him.

“Hey, are you okay?” I kneel beside him, my voice soft.

The boy sniffles, tears streaking his cheeks. “It hurts…”

“Let’s see,” I say gently.

A shadow falls over me, and I glance up to see Liam crouching down. His expression is calm but focused.

“Hey, buddy,” Liam says, his voice low and steady. “That is a tough scrape. You are brave for not crying louder.”

The boy blinks at him, his tears slowing. I pull out a tissue from my bag. “Here, let’s clean it up.”

The boy sniffles but allows Liam to take the tissue and carefully dab at the scrape. “See? Not so bad,” Liam says with a small smile. “You’re tough.”

The boy looks up, his tears slowing. “Really?”

“Totally,” Liam says, lowering his voice like he is sharing a secret. “When I was your age, I scraped my knee so badly I cried so loud the neighbors thought something was wrong.”

“Oh, that’s not all, you know, this big baby still cried when he injured his knee when he was 17 years old,” I say, glancing at Liam, who stops and stares at me. I turn to the boy and continue, “You are braver than he is and was back then.”

The boy giggles, and the tension melts away. Liam works quickly to clean the wound, stop the bleeding, and apply the ointment I gave him from my bag.

“Does it still hurt a lot?” Liam asks, distracting the boy with a smile.

The boy nods and then shakes his head, but a small smile peeks through.

“We’ve got this,” I say, smiling at the boy. “You are in good hands. Here, let me blow a kiss on it to make it better.” I start blowing air on it.

A few minutes later, a woman rushes over - it is his mother. “Oh, thank you so much,” she says, scooping him up.

“No problem,” I reply, standing.

Liam nods at her. “He is a tough kid. He will be fine.”

As they walk away, I look up at Liam, a strange mix of emotions swirling in my chest.

“You remembered my injury at 17?” Liam asks suddenly, his voice tinged with surprise. His brows are slightly raised.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “There are lots of things I remember.”

His gaze lingers on me like he is trying to figure out exactly what that means, but I don’t elaborate.

“Huh,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “like what?” He asks.

I glance at him, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Don’t push your luck, Liam.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but then he nods. We fall into silence, the noise of the event buzzing around us.

“Do you still feel pain in that knee?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He looks at me, his brow furrowing slightly as if he is trying to figure out why I care. “Haven’t for three years,” he says, the surprise in his voice almost imperceptible.

I nod, not meeting his eyes.

Why did I even ask? Because… because no matter how much I try to kid myself, I still care.

And that terrifies me.

Because caring means my heart, and I am not sure I have the strength to go through that again.