Page 93 of The Overtime Persuasive

“You also talked about my family and belonging.”

Tripp skates toward the puck pile. “This conversation is over.”

“This is horrible,” I tell him, following him to the pile. “We’re having feelings on the ice. I think I preferred it when you were a threat.”

“Yeah? I like you better when you keep your mouthguard in.”

He sends a puck my way, and I settle it on my blade.

“There is one thing I need cleared up,” I say.

Tripp groans. “What now?”

“Eva.”

He starts laughing before I finish. “Because you think I moved into her building because I liked her?”

I narrow my eyes. “Clearing the air, Mercer,” I remind him.

Tripp laughs harder. “No, Liam. I don’t want Eva.”

The relief is immediate and so complete I’m glad my helmet hides part of my face.

“You’re sure? She’s beautiful.”

He laughs. “She is, but she’s not my type.”

The certainty in his voice finally quiets the last territorial, irrational part of me.

“Feel better?” he asks.

I shrug. “A little, except for the part where I’ve admitted every vulnerable thing that I keep hidden from everyone to you. Other than that, yeah, I’m good.”

Tripp rests his stick across his shoulders. “So, where does this leave us?”

I look toward the banners hanging above the rink before skating toward him and holding out my glove.

“We start over. No cheap shots. No trying to make the other guy look bad. And when it comes to the alternate spot, we show Coach what we can do, and if it comes down to us, the best man gets it.”

Tripp nods, and grips my hand. We shake once and let go before Tripp pushes toward center and taps the ice with his stick.

“Again?”

I collect a puck behind our net, and he starts forward. I don’t watch him this time like I’m waiting for a mistake. I watch the turn of his shoulders, the angle of his blade, the lane opening ahead of him.

Then I send the puck exactly where he needs it.

Tripp catches the pass in stride and puts it into the net.

For the first time, it doesn’t feel like he scored against me.

CHAPTER 22

EVA

The crowd is still chanting Dad’s name when Liam follows me into the greenroom. The look on his face falls somewhere between stunned and euphoric. His hair is disheveled from running his hands through it during the encore, and he’s speaking before the door closes behind us.

“That was unbelievable.”