We hold on for the win. When the final buzzer sounds, the celebration is explosive. Guys pile onto each other, yelling, already thinking about how close we are to the Finals.
Four games. We're four games away from the Stanley Cup Finals.
But first, media obligations.
The press room is packed with reporters, all of them shoving microphones in our faces the second we sit down at the table. Cole is in the middle, as captain. I'm on his right, and Jake is on his left.
“Congratulations on the win,” someone says. “You're now four games away from the Finals. How does that feel?”
Cole handles it with calm professionalism. “We're taking it one game at a time. Minnesota's a great team. We're not looking ahead.”
More questions about the game, about strategy, about upcoming matches.
Then a reporter in the third row catches my eye.
“Liam, there's been a lot of discussion on social media about your changed personality this season. Some fans are saying you're not the same player anymore, that you've lost the edge that made you exciting. Are you worried about no longer being the darling of the fans?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My mind goes blank, all the social media comments from earlier. flooding back.
You're boring now. You've lost your edge. We want the old Nova back.
“I—” I start, but my voice sounds uncertain even to my own ears.
Cole jumps in before I can spiral.
“Liam's maturity has made him a better player,” he says firmly. “He's focused, disciplined, and playing the best hockey of his career. If some fans don't appreciate that, that's theirproblem. We're winning games because of players like Liam, who are willing to put the team first.”
The reporter isn't done, though.
“But Liam, aren't you concerned that you're losing what made you special? That by playing it safe, you're risking your fan base?”
My throat feels tight. Every doubt I've been pushing down for weeks rises to the surface.
Am I losing myself? Am I playing it too safe?
“Personal growth doesn't mean losing yourself,” Cole says, still covering for me. “It means becoming the best version of yourself. Next question.”
But the reporters smell blood in the water now.
“Liam, is there a specific reason for the change? Are you losing your love for the game? Are you being forced to change by management?”
I hate that they're getting to me. “I'm just growing up. That's allowed, isn't it?”
“But at what cost?” another reporter pushes. “Your fans fell in love with the bad boy image. Without that, what makes you different from any other player?”
Cole's jaw tightens. “Liam doesn't need a bad boy image to be valuable. His skill speaks for itself. And anyone who can't see that isn't paying attention. We're done here.”
He stands, ending the press conference abruptly. Jake and I follow, grateful for the escape.
Back in the locker room, Cole pulls me aside.
“Don't listen to them,” he says quietly. “They're trying to get in your head.”
“They succeeded.”
“Then get them out.” His hand grips my shoulder. “You're playing the best hockey of your career. You just scored the game-winning goal in a playoff game. Don't let anyone make you doubt that.”
I nod, but the doubt is already there, burrowing deep.
