"Having our relationship go viral during the playoffs wasn't exactly ideal timing," she said carefully.
"I was surprised when I heard," Wickham said, sitting back to study her. "Liam doesn't seem like your type."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that you seem... I don't know, too alive for someone like Liam. He's all control and calculation. You're all fire and instinct."
Don't ask him. Don't engage. This is about hockey, not personal history.
"You grew up with him, didn't you?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
"Same prep school, same summer hockey camps, same circles." His smile turned rueful. "Though the D'Arcys were always in a different stratosphere. Old Boston money, you know? The kind of family where rebellion means choosing Yale over Harvard."
Libby thought of her own state school education, the scholarships and part-time jobs that got her through. "Must have been quite an experience."
"It was. Is." Wickham's fingers drummed against the table.
"You must know Kate Davenport's daughter." The question escaped before Libby could stop it.
Wickham's eyebrows raised slightly. "Anne? Of course. Why do you ask?"
"Her name has been brought up a few times."
"That's not surprising." He leaned forward slightly. "Anne and Liam... they have quite the history. The D'Arcys and Davenports have been thick as thieves for decades. Same circles, same expectations."
Each word felt like a small cut. "They dated?"
"If you can call it that. It was more like..." he paused, searching for words. "Imagine two dynasties planning a merger. They were together through prep school, into college. Everyone assumed they'd end up married, producing athletic genius babies with perfect genetics and trust funds."
"But they broke up."
"Did they?" Wickham's smile was sad. "I mean, they're not together right now. Anne's been in Paris for the art scene, Liam has been focused on hockey. But that's not really how their world works. It's more like... a pause. These families, they think in generations, not moments."
He leaned forward again, voice gentle. "Anne understands his world in a way that... well, in a way most people couldn't. The expectations, the pressure, the way every decision affects not just you but your family's reputation, their business interests, their social standing."
In a way you never could.The unspoken words hung between them.
"You think they'll get back together."
"I think Anne's betting on it. And the D'Arcys... well, they've never been subtle about preferring her to anyone else Liam has dated." He paused. "Not that there have been many. Liam doesn't do casual, and he doesn't do different. He needs someone who won't challenge his perfectly ordered world. Someone safe."
Safe.The word echoed in her head, bringing with it the memory of Liam this morning, the careful distance he'd maintained, the way he'd immediately shut down whatever was between them after Portland.
"I always thought they'd end up together," Wickham added with a wry smile. "Perfect breeding stock, those two. Can you imagine the wedding? Harvard Chapel, string quartet, Anne in her grandmother's Cartier diamonds, Liam looking like he's doing his duty to the bloodline." He laughed, not kindly. "They probably scheduled their breakups around tax seasons. With Anne, he's exactly what his parents ordered—stable, suitable, safe. Boring as watching paint dry, but hey, some people like that."
The fact that Wickham wasn't surprised—that he'd expected this—somehow made it worse. Everyone could see it but her, the silly reporter who'd let herself believe that comfortable night in Portland meant something more.
"I should go," Libby said, reaching for her bag. "Need to prep for tonight's game."
Wickham's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make her freeze.
"Not so fast." His charming smile had an edge now. "I thought we had an understanding."
"Excuse me?"
"Information for information." He didn't release her wrist. "I just gave you quite a bit about Liam's romantic future. Seems only fair you share something useful in return."
Libby carefully extracted her wrist from his grip. "I already told you—he's playing tonight with no known injuries."
