“Jesus, Anderson,” Coach Hendricks called from the bench. “You trying to kill yourself before the season even starts?”
Liam ignored him, focusing instead on the puck at his stick.
“Anderson! Get over here. Now.”
The authoritative bark in Coach’s voice finally penetrated Liam’s fog. With reluctance, he skated over, chest heaving.
Coach’s eyes narrowed as he took in Liam’s appearance — the dark circles under bloodshot eyes, the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. “How long have you been here?”
Liam shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Couple hours.”
“Bullshit. Sullivan says he saw your car in the lot when he arrived at four.”
“Just getting some extra practice in.”
Coach’s weathered face softened slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you—”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“—but whatever it is, it’s obvious you’re distracted.” Coach lowered his voice. “Management’s been asking questions. About your focus. About your… situation at home.”
The implication hung in the air between them. The tabloid scandal had died down after the Caribbean trip, but rumors still circulated. Management’s concerns about his “involvement” with Sunny remained, though they had no idea about the pregnancy or the loss.
“My situation at home is fine,” Liam growled, jaw clenching.
“Is it? Because you look like hell, and you’re skating like a man running from something.”
Liam’s grip tightened on his stick. “I said I’mfine.”
Coach opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Alex Pasternak’s arrival. The younger player sauntered over, confident smirk firmly in place.
“Working overtime, old man?” he taunted. “Trying to keep up with the rest of us?”
Liam ignored him, turning to head back onto the ice.
“How’s the hot nanny doing?” Alex called after him. “Still warming your bed, or has she moved on to someone whose ‘hockey stick’ can—”
The rest of his sentence was cut off as Liam whirled around, dropping his gloves and stick in one fluid motion. His fist connected with Alex’s jaw with a satisfying crunch. The younger player stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock, blood already streaming from his split lip.
“You son of a bitch!” Liam roared, closing the distance between them.
His second punch landed squarely on Alex’s nose. The third was blocked as Coach and several teammates rushed to pull them apart.
“That’s enough!” Coach bellowed, positioning himself between the two men. “Pasternak, get yourself cleaned up. Anderson — my office. Now.”
Alex spat blood onto the ice, eyes blazing with humiliation and rage. “Psycho,” he muttered, touching his swollen lip gingerly. “No wonder your wife—”
“Finish that sentence,” Liam snarled, straining against the teammates holding him back, “and I’ll make sure you can never play again.”
The deadly calm in his voice silenced even Alex, whose face paled slightly before he was led away by the team medic.
In Coach’s office, Liam paced like a caged animal, knuckles throbbing, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
“Sit down,” Coach ordered.
Liam remained standing.
“Goddammit, Anderson! Sit your ass down or I’ll bench you for the next three games.”
