Page 55 of The Overtime Persuasive

Liam

Done. I’m glad you’re coming.

Those five simple words do far more inside me than five simple words have any right to do. I set the phone face down before I can stare at them until I miss yoga entirely.

“Okay. That’s settled.”

Mitch jumps from the counter and trots toward the bedroom.

“Good talk. Thanks for your support.” I shake my head. “Try to contain your excitement.” Glancing at the time, I hurry after him, pulling on leggings and a sweatshirt and twisting my hair into something that will hopefully survive the first downward dog.

By the time I sling my yoga mat over one shoulder and grab my water bottle, I have less than a minute to get out the door.

I make it halfway through the apartment before taking my phone back out of my bag to read Liam’s last message one more time.

I’m still smiling as I lock the door behind me.

CHAPTER 13

LIAM

The sound of a packed house leaks through concrete walls. Arenas can be loud, but tonight, I swear with my hand on my heart, the Birdcage is trying to shake itself apart.

The ceiling vibrates, and there’s an energy pulsing beneath my skates as I tighten the laces. Music pounds through the arena. Every few seconds, another roar rises from the crowd, called up by whatever is happening on the video board outside or the Jumbotron in the arena.

Around me, the locker room is a study in controlled chaos. Tape tears. Sticks hit the floor. Sawyer is talking too loudly about something no one is listening to, while Owen sits in front of his stall with his mask balanced on one knee, staring straight ahead.

Coach walks into the middle of the room, and the conversations die off. He doesn’t need to say much. This is the first game, not the last. The banner waiting above the ice belongs to last season, and if we spend too much time looking at it, another team will be happy to put us on our backs while we’re distracted.

“Enjoy the ceremony,” he tells us. “Then forget everything you know so far. What happened last year doesn’t win tonight’s game.”

He looks around the room, gaze landing on each of us.

“Start fast. Stay connected. Make them chase us.”

Sticks knock against the floor.

“Alright, you heard the man.” Campbell stands. “Let’s go.”

The noise waiting outside surges the second we file into the tunnel. I roll my shoulders and bounce once on the blades of my skates, trying to contain the restless energy beneath my skin.

Tripp is ahead of me, his stick tapping the rubber mat. He turns, catches me looking, then glances down at the Dominion crest on his chest. “Hope there’s an A on this shirt soon.”

“Awww, Mercer,” I say in my most condescending tone. “Pining for a scarlet letter?”

He doesn’t have a chance to return the barb before the gate opens.

The arena explodes when we pour onto the ice beneath sweeping navy-and-gold lights. The music is loud enough to reverberate through my bones. The crowd is on its feet, cheering as we spread out for warmups.

This is the part of the job I love every time. The rush of cold air when it hits my face. The first cut of my blades into clean ice. The ruckus of thousands of people screaming for us like tonight is the only thing in the world that matters.

I take a puck from the pile, circle behind the net, and send it up the boards before joining the line again.

I should be watching the ice, but instead, I look toward the family section.

Dad is the easiest to find. He’s on his feet in an old Dominion jersey, one hand clapping the glass and saying something to Lucy that she either can’t hear or has chosen to ignore. Beside him, Lucy waves when she sees me, but it’s the person standing next to her that I really want to lay eyes on right now.

And she is gorgeous.