“Oh, speaking of practice,” Eliana says, glancing at her watch. “I'm heading over there in about thirty minutes to get some content for social media. Want to come?”
“Sure,” I say. “That would be helpful.”
Thirty minutes later, we're heading toward the practice facility with Eliana chattering about content strategy while I try to calm my racing heart. I'm being ridiculous. I've watched practice before. I've seen Liam on the ice.
This is no different.
Except it is different, because now I know what he looks like first thing in the morning with his hair messy and his voice rough with sleep. I know how he takes his coffee and what makes him laugh.
Players are already on the ice, running drills while Coach barks instructions from the bench.
Eliana immediately pulls out her phone, angling for good shots. “This is gold for social media. Fans love behind-the-scenes practice content.”
I scan the ice, trying not to be obvious about looking for one player in particular.
And then I spot him.
Liam is in full gear, skating backward while handling the puck, laughing at something.
Practice runs for another forty-five minutes, and I spend it trying to look like I'm observing everything while actually just watching Liam.
The way he commands the ice, the natural leadership that emerges when he's playing, the focus and intensity that make him so good at this.
Finally, Coach blows the whistle, and the players start skating off the ice. Eliana positions herself near the tunnel, camera ready.
“The guys always look best right as they're coming off,” she explains. “Still in the zone, but starting to relax. It makes for great authentic shots.”
Cole files past, followed by the others. Eliana captures them all, calling out greetings and getting back natural smiles.
And then Liam emerges.
His helmet is off, and when his eyes land on me, his whole face transforms. His eyes light up, and his expression goes from generic friendliness to pure happiness in a heartbeat.
Eliana captures the moment. “Oh, that's perfect,” she murmurs, checking her screen. “Look at this, Avery.”
She turns her phone toward me. “His expression is so genuine here. Like he's actually happy to be here instead of just going through the motions.”
I force myself to look at the photo analytically, professionally. “It's a good shot. Very natural.”
“Right?” She's already editing it, adjusting the lighting. “I'll post this to Instagram with something about dedication and passion for the game. Fans will eat it up.”
A minute later, my phone buzzes.
Liam: You came to practice.
Me: Eliana invited me. Work purposes.
Liam: Sure. Work purposes.
Me: Behave.
Liam: Where's the fun in that?
I slip my phone back into my pocket, hyperaware of Eliana standing right beside me, still reviewing her photos.
“You know what's funny,” Eliana says conversationally, “I've been covering the Renegades for two years now, and I've never seen Liam look this happy at practice. Whatever you're doing to manage him is seriously working.”
“Just doing my job,” I say automatically.
