“Mike. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Mike’s voice was incredulous. “I just got off the phone with Coach Hendricks. You broke Pasternak’s nose?”
Liam took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the bitter, burnt taste. “He had it coming.”
“Jesus Christ, Liam. We’re months away from contract negotiations, and you’re starting brawls in practice? What the hell were you thinking?”
“He said something about Sunny.”
A beat of silence on the other end. “Look, I get it. The guy’s an ass. But you can’t let him get under your skin like this, not with your contract in the balance.”
Liam’s grip tightened on the mug. “Is that why you called? To tell me I’m risking my career?”
“No, I called because I’m worried about you,” Mike said, his tone softening. “Coach says you’ve been off your game. The team’s noticed. Management’s noticed. And after that stunt today…”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Will you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re doing anything but.”
Liam didn’t respond, staring instead at his distorted reflection in the glossy black surface of his coffee.
Mike sighed heavily. “Liam, whatever’s going on, you need to get it together. Fast. Management’s watching you like a hawk, and they’re not seeing what they like right now.”
The implication hung in the air between them. If Liam’s performance continued to suffer, if the distractions in his personal life continued to affect his game, his future with the Coyotes was in jeopardy.
“Is this about the nanny situation?” Liam asked, voice low. “Did they say something?”
“They didn’t have to. The whole world saw those photos from Saint Lucia. Management made their position clear: they want a focused, drama-free team leader, not tabloid fodder.”
“And if I’m not that?”
“Then they’ll find someone who is.” Mike’s bluntness was part of why Liam had hired him — no sugar-coating, just straight facts. “Look, I’ve got your back. You know that. But I need you to meet me halfway here.”
Liam nodded, though Mike couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I hear you.”
After ending the call, he sat nursing his coffee until it grew cold, the pounding in his head a counterpoint to the dull ache in his chest. His phone showed three missed calls from Sunny. He scrolled past them and dialed the number for the team instead.
Liam
The conference room at the team facility was tense with anticipatory silence as Liam entered. Conversations halted mid-sentence, heads turning to track his progress to an empty chair at the far end of the table. He ignored the stares, the whispers, focusing instead on maintaining the mask of indifference that had become his armor.
Alex Pasternak sat across the table, his nose splinted, dark bruises blooming beneath both eyes. Their gazes locked briefly before Alex looked away, the cocky smirk replaced by something closer to wariness.
Coach Hendricks entered last, dropping a stack of folders onto the table with a thud that startled several players. “Alright, let’s get started. First order of business — the exhibition game against Denver next week.”
As Coach launched into strategies and line combinations, Liam felt his attention drifting. The voices around him faded to a distant buzz as his mind wandered back to the hospital room, to Sunny’s tear-streaked face.
“Anderson!”
Coach’s sharp voice yanked him back to the present. Every head at the table was turned toward him, expressions ranging from concern to curiosity to outright amusement.
“Sorry, what?”
Coach’s facetightened with irritation. “I asked if you had any input on the forward play formation, since you’ll be anchoring the first unit.”
“Oh. No, the setup looks good.” He hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what setup Coach was referring to, but admitting that would only make the situation worse.
Coach’s skeptical expression suggested he wasn’t fooled, but he moved on, redirecting the team’s attention to the whiteboard where plays were diagrammed.
