Page 8 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO (Second Chance Hockey Players #1)

Chapter six

Liam

H azel McKee.

Her name is a whisper in my mind, an echo that grows louder no matter how hard I try to silence it. I grip the steering wheel tighter as I drive home, the city lights blurring into streaks against the windshield.

It has been five years. Five long, carefully constructed years since she disappeared. Since I told myself, I had moved on.

But seeing her today... It is like a dam broke.

Driving so fast I could probably give Mario Andretti a run for his money - and maybe even take second place - I pulled into my driveway in record time, tires screeching as I slammed the car to a stop.

The second I got inside, I headed straight for the bathroom, barely pausing to toss my keys onto the counter.

I felt hot - angry hot, weirdly hot, flustered hot.

Even nostalgic hot. A jumbled mess of emotions churned in my chest, refusing to settle.

I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto my face, hoping to douse the fire.

It did not help. The heat was not just in my skin; it was deeper - something I could not scrub away, no matter how hard I tried.

This was not just anger. It was her. Hazel.

How dare she? How dare she?

I grip the edge of the sink in my bathroom, staring at my reflection.

The man looking back at me seems calm and composed, but my knuckles are white, and my jaw is locked tight.

I have spent years mastering this facade - perfecting the art of being untouchable.

But one glance at Hazel, and it all came crashing down.

The careful walls that I built? Useless.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. And why in the hell do I care?

When she bumped into me, and I saw that it was her, it was like time stopped. As much as I hate her, it took everything in my power not to, at least, touch her.

I am pissed off…, at her, but most importantly, I am pissed off at myself for feeling a twinge of excitement or the way my heart turned to butter when I saw her face.

I am pissed off that I felt a tiny bit giddy about hearing the voice of the person who broke every piece of me before, when, and after she left.

Damn it.

The way she looked…, it wasn’t fair. Hazel always had this way of stealing the air from a room, but tonight, it wasn’t just the shock of her presence.

She is sharper now, more refined, more confident, especially in the way she carried herself.

Her hair…, still that striking auburn shade…

, was tied back in a way that made her look effortlessly put together.

And her eyes…, they were the same. The same piercing, almost defiant gaze, and spark that used to drive me mad in more ways than one and could cause me to lose myself.

I do not even realize I am gripping the sink so hard until my knuckles ache.

Her smile, that polite, distant thing she flashed me, made my jaw tighten. How could she stand there, so cool and composed, when I felt like I had been sucker-punched? But the thing that got me? The way she looked at me. Like I was nobody.

“If we’ve met, you clearly didn’t leave an impression.”

That damn line has been echoing in my head ever since she said it, clinging to me like a burr I cannot shake off.

It followed all through the night, taunting me through the silence of my empty house, and now it is still there, rattling around my skull like a bad song stuck on repeat as I slam my locker shut at practice the next morning.

The metallic clang reverberates through the room, drawing a few sideways glances from my teammates. I ignore them, shoving my water bottle into my bag with a little more force than necessary.

“Alright, what’s got your panties in a twist this early, man?” Logan asks, leaning against the next locker, arms crossed.

“Nothing,” I snap, even though my tone says otherwise.

“Yeah, right. You have been scowling like someone stole your dog since you walked in here,” he presses, “come on, spill?”

The laugh that escapes me is sharp and bitter. “Hazel’s back. In town. And is one of the photographers we hired for the campaign..”

That gets a reaction. His eyebrows shoot up, and he whistles low under his breath.

“Wow…, that’s…,” he is cut off by Matt, who enters the room.

“Yo, Callahan, you gonna stand there brooding, or are you actually gonna join us?”

“On it,” I bark, grabbing my helmet and heading to the rink.

He exchanges a glance with Logan, who shrugs. “He is wound tighter than a spring today. What is up? You know? Scratch that, you will always know…”

“Hazel is back in town, and she is one of the photographers for the campaign. That means, she is back in Liam’s life…, workwise…”

I ignore them, focusing on the drills. Or trying to. Every pass, every tackle, every sprint feels mechanical. I cannot shake her from my mind. It is infuriating. I push harder, running drills at full speed, and the burn in my muscles is a welcome distraction.

It has been just a day, a freaking day, and it is ridiculous how much she affects me…, still affects me. The moment I saw her, I was right back to where I was five years ago. But that version of me does not exist anymore. I have moved on. Or at least, I thought I had.

I have moved on. My brain is still accepting the thought of seeing her again, but after today, I have let her into my system again.

Coach whistles low as I slam into the tackling dummy, sending it flying. “Okay, what the hell is going on with you? You are playing like you are trying to exorcise a demon.”

I glare at him, wiping sweat from my brow. “Maybe I am.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Do not glare at me, young man. Just get your head in the game.”

The rest of practice blurs by, but the ache in my chest does not ease.

****

Back at the office, I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the proposal in front of me. The words are a jumbled mess, meaningless. All I can see is Hazel’s face, her smirk, the way her eyes narrowed just slightly when she delivered that line.

I grab my phone and dial Rachel.

“Yes, Mr. Callahan?” She answers promptly.

“Get me the campaign team lead. Now.”

There is a pause, then the line clicks over.

“Mr. Callahan, this is Simon. What can I do for you?”

“I want Hazel McKee replaced,” I say, my voice cold and even.

Simon hesitates. “I am sorry, sir. Replaced? May I ask why?”

“That is not your concern. Find someone else.”

He clears his throat nervously. “With all due respect, Mr. Callahan, Hazel is one of the top photographers in the country. Her work is unmatched. We specifically brought her on for this campaign because of her reputation for capturing authenticity. Replacing her would be…, difficult.”

I grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. “Difficult is not impossible. Do it.”

Simon sighs. “Sir, if I may - she is already under contract, and the campaign timeline is tight. We would be risking delays and compromising quality if we bring someone else in now.”

My jaw tightens. “But make sure she understands her role. I do not want any unnecessary interaction. Keep her out of my way.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon says, his tone cautious.

I hang up, tossing the phone onto the desk. It does not help. The frustration, the anger, the…, whatever this is, it does not go away.

The rest of the day crawls by in a haze of half-hearted work and simmering agitation. By the time evening rolls around, I have had enough of my own company. So, when Ethan, who just got back from his conference, texts me about meeting up at The Rustic Roost bar, I jump at the offer.

The bar is buzzing with its usual night crowd.

The low hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and occasional bursts of laughter surround me as I sit in our usual corner booth.

The place has not changed - dim lighting, the faint smell of bourbon and fried food, and a playlist that’s forever stuck in the early 2000s.

I am spinning the drink in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light, my thoughts far from the conversation at the table.

“So, a little birdie told me that Hazel McKee is back in town…. True?” Ethan asks, and my grip on the glass tightens.

I glance up at him.

“Yeah, she’s back.”

“And working for you?” Ethan adds, raising an eyebrow.

I set the glass down with a little more force than intended. “Yes, and?”

Matt exchanges a look with Logan before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You okay, man?”

“I’m more than okay,” I snap a little too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

They don’t buy it. Not for a second. The three of them exchange knowing looks, the kind that grates on my nerves.

Right. Because running into your ex after five years is totally no big deal.”

“Don’t,” I warn, my tone sharp enough to make him raise his hands in mock surrender.

Ethan shakes his head. “You forget who you are talking to. We were there when she left, Liam. We saw how it messed you up.”

“That was then,” I bite out, my jaw tightening. “I am not messed up, now. I am fine.”

“And I will go live in space tomorrow.” Matt sighs, his tone is gentler than the others. “Look, no one is saying you are not fine now. But do not act like seeing her did not stir something up. It is Hazel, man.”

Glaring at him, my jaw tightens in response.

I lean back, running a hand through my hair and glaring at the table. They are not wrong, but admitting it feels like conceding defeat.

“So, seeing her again didn’t stir up…, anything?”

“Nothing,” I lie, my voice flat. “If anything, I’m pissed.”

“She acted like she didn’t even remember me,” I mutter, more to myself than to them.

Ethan leans forward; his tone serious now. “And that’s what’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”

I glare at him, but he does not back down. Damn, Ethan and his ability to cut through the bullshit.

“And you’re not happy about it,” Logan states.

“Of course, I’m not,” I snapped.

“She’s under your skin.”

“She’s not,” I argue, though the words feel hollow even as I say them.

Alex snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the King of England.”

“Shut up,” I snap, but the words are weak, even to my own ears.

Matt places a hand on my shoulder, his voice calm. “Look, Liam, no one is saying this is…, well. Maybe this is a chance to….”

“It’s not,” I cut him off, standing abruptly. “This is not a chance for anything. She is here for work, and that is it. I am calling it a night.”

“Dude,” Logan starts, but I cut him off with a sharp look.

“Don’t.”

The cool night air hits me like a slap as I step outside. For a moment, I stand there, breathing deeply, trying to steady the storm raging inside.

Hazel McKee. Five years, and she still has the power to throw my world off balance.

And damn it, I hate her for it.