Page 34 of Keeping Score

The interviewer relaxed a bit as I leaned forward into the mic, apparently knowing I was going to give him what he was looking for.

“Crazy shit out there, right?” I commented, knowing everyone wanted to hear the scoop of the fight. “Stevenson’s not a bad guy, but he’s been a bit too clumsy on the ice, if you know what I mean.”

“Clumsy?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be body-checking our captain the last few games we saw him. Can you?” I smirked. “I certainly would know better than to get in Brynn’s way, so it’s either clumsiness or stupidity. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I’ll stick with clumsiness.”

The media team laughed.

“I guess we’ll see next time we’re against the Jets, though.” I clicked my tongue. “If it’s a repeat event, then I might have to change my answer.”

We bantered back and forth for a few minutes until the conversation came to a natural close. The media team gathered up their equipment and left, satisfied and with plenty of content. I shook my head, blowing a breath of relief once they were gone. Liam was still fuming somewhere, but at least I’d taken care of his media obligations.

Putting one fire out at a time—that’s all I could do.

It was worse than I expected.

Liam was sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, staring out the window as if the city lights held the answers to all the horrendous contemplations I imagined were swirling through his head.

“Don’t you knock?” Liam growled as I strode into his space.

“That’s the beauty of connecting rooms,” I smirked. “I don’t need to.”

He rolled his eyes before grabbing the television remote and clicking it on.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

“Do you want to go out with the team?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m thirty-two and want to go to sleep.”

“But we’re in Vegas!” I exclaimed, taking the liberty of throwing a light punch at his shoulder.

He turned to shoot me an incredulous look.

“We’ve been in Vegas before. About a hundred times.”

“And every time, you choose to stay in your room,” I pointed out.

He said nothing, just continued to click through the stations.

I moved in front of the screen, making myself unavoidable.

He sighed before flicking his attention back to me.

“What’s going on, dude?” I asked, scanning him head to toe as if I could diagnose whatever was going on inside of him.

“I told you. I want to go to bed.”

“No—what’s going on with you?” I asked. “You’re in a shit mood. And not your usual one either. This is worse.”

He was silent for a minute, eyes practically glazed over with detachment until he finally heaved a sigh and shrugged.

“I just think I’m getting too old for this.”