Libby was struck by the absence of his usual terseness. His instructions were clear and specific, his feedback immediate. When another rookie struggled with the timing on a complex set play they were implementing for the playoffs, Liam spent five minutes breaking down the sequence, demonstrating the precise positioning and weight transfer needed to execute it againstelite defensemen. He walked through each step with patient repetition until the young player finally executed it correctly.
"There it is," Liam said, the corner of his mouth lifting in what might almost be called a smile. "That's exactly it. You felt the difference?"
"Yes sir," the rookie nodded eagerly.
"Not 'sir,'" Liam corrected mildly. "Just Liam."
Libby jotted notes furiously, observing the subtle leadership dynamics at play. This wasn't the rigid, closed-off figure from press conferences. Here, without cameras or recorders, D'Arcy was engaged and articulate, generous with both criticism and praise.
"Keller," he called to the third rookie, a defenseman who looked barely out of his teens, "how's your mom doing? Surgery was last week, right?"
The young player looked surprised at the personal question. "She's good. Thanks for asking. The flowers from the team meant a lot."
"Georgia picked those out. She has better taste than our PR department."
The comment earned a laugh from the rookies, and Libby found herself revising her mental image of the Steel's star center. The man Wickham had described wouldn't remember a rookie's mother's surgery, wouldn't correct "sir" to "Liam," wouldn't spend extra time with young players before team practice.
Unless, of course, it was all calculated image management.
Her skeptical train of thought was interrupted when Liam suddenly looked up, his gaze finding her in the shadows. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Libby felt that same unexpected jolt she'd experienced during their first visual encounter. Then his expression cooled, the open teaching demeanor replaced by the familiar reserve.
"That's enough for today," he told the rookies. "Main practice in fifteen minutes."
As the younger players filed off the ice, Liam skated toward the stands. Libby stood and moved to meet him at the boards, that invisible thread between them pulling taut. Up close, the contrast between his intense eyes and controlled expression was even more pronounced.
"Ms. Bennet-Cross," he said, his voice neutral. "This session isn't open to media."
“Chase Bingley suggested I might find it interesting," she replied, holding her ground. "He was right."
Something rippled over his expression—surprise, perhaps, or suspicion. "Chase should know better."
"Your assistant coach apparently thinks my coverage needs more context. He volunteered the information."
"And what context did you gain from watching that?"
The question was mild, but they both knew what he was really asking—whether this observation would change the subtle criticisms in her coverage, the questioning of his position and influence that he hadn't missed.
"I'm just doing my job," Libby said. "Covering all aspects of the team."
"Including aspects you haven't directly observed?"
The challenge was quiet but unmistakable. Libby felt her defenses rise.
"I observe plenty," she countered. "Including the difference between how you work with rookies and how you interact with the media."
"Different contexts require different approaches," he said simply.
"And which is the real Liam D'Arcy?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could consider its professional appropriateness.
For a brief moment, his mask slipped, and Libby caught a glimpse of something raw and genuine—frustration, perhaps, or simple weariness. They held each other's gaze, the air between them charged with an intensity that had nothing to do with journalism or hockey. The world seemed to narrow to just this moment, just the two of them, the question hanging between them like a challenge and an invitation all at once.
Her phone buzzed loudly in her pocket, shattering the moment. Libby glanced down automatically, breaking the spell, giving them both an escape from whatever had just crackled between them.
"I doubt that's relevant to your coverage, Ms. Bennet-Cross," he finally said, his composure returning, though his voice carried a slight roughness that hadn't been there before. "But I am curious who's been providing you with such detailed insights into my leadership style after just three days of coverage."
Before she could respond, the doors opened, and several coaches entered to collect the rookies for the main practice session in the primary rink.
"Time to join the others," one of them called.
