Alle Kapitel von Off the Ice: Kapitel 41 – Kapitel 50

The heavy door to the visitor’s locker room clicked shut, swallowing the boisterous, deep-voiced echo of the New York Warriors’ defensive line. Just like that, the corridor was plunged back into a cold, clinical quiet, leaving Liam alone under the buzzing glare of the fluorescent lights.He stood frozen against the cinderblock wall, his breath hitching slightly as his fingers slowly descended from his lips. The skin there felt hot, tight, and painfully sensitive—dyed with the physical memory of Jaxson’s mouth crushing into his just moments ago on the wet asphalt. It wasn’t just the sting of the cold Boston air; it was the visceral, terrifying realization that the captain’s words were entirely accurate.He hadn’t been acting. When the cameras flashed and the world went wild around them, Liam hadn't been thinking about his four-thousand-dollar bank account, or the residency contract, or the corporate handlers watching from the press box. He had simply been holding onto the heavy wool of

The sound of the final buzzer echoing through the rafters of the TD Garden was a physical blow, a low, mechanical scream that signaled the end of the second period. The New York Warriors spilled off the ice in a chaotic flurry of scraping steel, heavy breathing, and the sharp, rhythmic *clack-clack* of thick sticks slamming against the rubber-matted tunnel floor.Liam stood in the shadow of the auxiliary Zamboni entrance, his arms crossed over his chest to shield his left shoulder from the biting draft. He was dressed in his black team jacket, his blond hair immaculately styled, but beneath his pristine exterior, his muscles were coiled like a spring. He had finished his own qualifying skate hours ago—placing second overall despite the ragged alignment of his taped collarbone—but he hadn't gone back to the hotel. He couldn't.He was trapped by the sheer, magnetic pull of the game happening on the main sheet.Jaxson was the last to exit the ice. The captain’s gold-and-black jersey was

The darkness of the bedroom was a total contrast to the blinding stadium lights, but the heat inside it was suffocating.Jaxson didn't lay him down with a polite, staged gentleness. He set Liam on the edge of the mattress, his massive hands instantly shifting to the hem of Liam’s white undershirt. His movements were frantic, driven by the raw momentum of a three-period game and a week of suffocating restraint. He peeled the damp cotton over Liam's head, his dark amber eyes tracking the pale, lean contours of the skater's torso in the dim amber glow filtering through the drapes.When his fingers brushed the edge of the black athletic tape stabilizing Liam’s left collarbone, Jaxson stopped.A heavy, ragged breath escaped the captain's lips. He dropped to his knees on the carpet between Liam’s legs, his broad shoulders blocking out what little light remained in the suite. He reached up, his large, calloused thumbs tracing the border of the tape with an agonizingly slow, reverent touch th

The boardroom on the executive suite level of the TD Garden was a masterclass in corporate sterility. A massive, polished mahogany table dominated the center of the room, reflecting the harsh, overcast light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the gray Boston skyline. The air smelled of expensive espresso, ozone from the high-definition presentation screens, and the distinct, cold scent of high-stakes anxiety.Liam sat rigidly in an ergonomic leather chair, his hands clasped tightly over his knee to prevent them from shaking. He had traded his training gear for a tailored, navy blue wool suit that cost him more than he could reasonably afford, but the fabric felt like an armor that was rapidly disintegrating. Beneath the crisp white collar of his shirt, the black athletic tape on his left collarbone felt like a brand, tightening every time he took a shallow breath.To his right, Jaxson was a vision of pure, concentrated menace. The captain hadn't bothered wi

The transition from the blinding glare of the competitive rink to the heavy shadow of the Kiss and Cry area was a sensory blur. Liam’s skates dragged against the thick rubber matting, each step sending a dull, sickening throb directly through his left collarbone. The adrenaline that had carried him through the impossible recovery of his quadruple jump was rapidly draining, leaving behind a cold, trembling exhaustion that seeped deep into his bones.He slumped onto the padded bench, his breath blooming in ragged, uneven white puffs against the frigid air of the lower arena.Sarah was already waiting for him, her iPad lifted like a shield, her eyes darting between the digital screen and the high-up executive boxes where the national selectors were still debating. She looked intensely focused, her sharp features locked into the cold, calculating expression of a seasoned executive watching a volatile stock option mature in real time."They're adjusting the technical deductions now," Sarah