Page 12 of Over the Line

He nodded as he crunched on the cracker. After he’d taken a swig of water, he said, “The first week or two was pretty bad. Then it was more annoying than anything, and I still can’t sleep on my left side. But it’s getting better.” He laughed dryly. “It gets seriously bitchy when I practice.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. But you’ll be reactivated soon? You said four instead of six weeks?”

Liam nodded. “I’ll probably go down for my conditioning loan in another week or so. Then I’ll be back here.” He gazed out at the ice below us. “Finally.”

“Stir crazy?”

“So much.” He picked up a piece of cheese and bit off the corner. “I lose my mind during the off season anyway, and then what do I do?” He flailed his hand. “Get hurt right when the new season starts.” He rolled his eyes. “Fuck my life.”

I gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that must be frustrating.”

“All part of getting old.” He popped the rest of the cheese into his mouth. “One injury and I’m down for ages.”

“A separated shoulder would take most players down, wouldn’t it?”

“I think twenty-five-year-old me would’ve bounced back a little sooner.”

“Okay, fair.” I opened my Coke and took a drink. “I don’t suppose anyone’s warned you that it gets worse, have they?”

“They have. I swear, every reporter talks about me now like I’m six weeks away from going into a nursing home.” He scoffed. “I’m old, but I’m not that old.”

I snorted. “You are not old.”

“Maybe not in human years. In hockey player years?” He made a face. “I’m thirty-seven—I’ve got one foot in the damn grave.”

Chuckling, I nodded. “Okay. Maybe. But in human years, wait till you hit forty. That’s when the warranty expires and the wheels fall off.”

“So I’ve heard.” His brow pinched. “Is it really that bad?”

“It’s worse,” I grumbled.

“Greeeaaat.” He went for his water. “Can’t fucking wait.”

I just laughed.

Twenty minutes of play, four scrums, six penalty minutes, and three goals later—two for Pittsburgh, one for Detroit— the buzzer sounded for the final time. Liam and I both sat back in our chairs and exhaled.

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “How do you handle the adrenaline when you’re”—I flailed my hand at the ice—“down there?”

Liam chuckled as he reached for his drink. “I mean, at least down there, I can do something. Up here…” He gestured helplessly with his water bottle. “All I can do is yell.”

“It might’ve helped.” I half-shrugged. “We all yelled ‘shoot,’ and they finally fucking shot.”

He laughed, and oh God, I still couldn’t quite breathe when he smiled like that.

Then I realized I’d been holding his gaze a beat or two longer than necessary. Before I could do anything, he broke eye contact, some color rising in his cheeks.

Panic surged through me. Shit, had I made things weird somehow? Had I⁠—

“You want to head to the locker room?” He faced me again, still smiling but seeming a little… shy? Was that it? Clearing his throat he gestured at the door. “It’ll be a while before we can go in, but we can head down whenever you’re ready.”

“Sure. Sure. Yeah.” I hoped my own smile didn’t give away how utterly awkward I felt. “Lead the way.”

CHAPTER 4

LIAM

I was losing my mind.