Chapter 82 Plan To Be
LIAM
The door shut behind us with a soft click that echoed louder than the arena ever had. It sounded final. Official. Like a judge’s gavel coming down.
I stood straighter than I did during the national anthem.
Coach sat behind his desk, hands folded, posture calm and controlled. The same man who once benched me for rolling my eyes during drills. The same man who trusted me to carry his team through a season that could have broken us. He looked less like a hockey coach and more like a mob boss deciding whether to keep me on payroll or feed me to the sharks.
And I genuinely did not know which direction this meeting was going.
Ava sat beside me, rigid as steel wire. I could feel the tension radiating off her. Not the fun kind. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your pulse pound in your ears. She was chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she slipped into when she was overwhelmed. Every few seconds she glanced at me, like I might pull some miracle out of thin air.
Spoiler. I had nothing.
Coach leaned forward slowly, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes moved from me to Ava and back again. Measuring. Calculating.
Still calm.
Way too calm.
“So,” he said finally, voice even. “Now everyone knows.”
My throat went dry. My palms were sweating, and I would like the record to show it was not nerves. It was respect. Very sharp, fear flavored respect. Ava looked like she might pass out right there in the chair.
“What’s the plan?” Coach asked, letting out a slow breath.
“The… what?” I blinked, because surely I misheard him.
He turned to his daughter instead of me. “Ava. You’re the professional here. Do you still want to work with Liam? With the team? Or do you think it’s best to step away?”
My brain short circuited.
He was not yelling.
He was not reaching for a hockey stick.
He was not threatening to make me skate suicides until I collapsed.
He was giving us a choice.
“Wait,” Ava breathed, her jaw dropping slightly. “You’re giving us the option?”
“It’s your call,” he said simply, eyes steady on her.
Before I could jump in. Before I could say we would keep it professional. Before I could promise boundaries, discipline, structure, whatever he needed to hear. Before I could even form the words I love your daughter.
Ava blurted, “We’re pregnant.”
Silence.
Not awkward silence. Not tense silence.
The kind that steals oxygen out of a room and locks it away.
I froze.
Coach did not move.
His expression did not change. No twitch. No flare of nostrils. No dramatic inhale. He simply stared at Ava. Then at me. Then back at Ava.
Slowly, deliberately, he pushed his chair back and stood.
Oh no.
“Liam fucking Carter,” he said, and his voice rose like a tidal wave building momentum. “You got my daughter pregnant?!”
“Run,” I muttered under my breath, turning to Ava.
She did not hesitate. She shot out of her seat like someone had lit it on fire and bolted for the door. It slammed behind her a second later.
And then it was just me.
Me and the grandfather of my unborn child.
Fantastic.
“You. Got. My daughter. Pregnant.” His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were pale.
“I mean, yes, technically, but—”
“She’s my baby, Carter! My kid!”
“I’m aware. Very aware. Extremely aware.”
“I trusted you!”
“And I didn’t exactly schedule this!” I shot back before I could stop myself. “It just happened!”
“You think that makes it better?!”
“No! No, sir. I just— I love her!”
That did it.
He stopped.
Not dramatically. Not explosively.
Just… stopped.
He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Not as his captain. Not as the guy who scored the winning goal tonight. Not as the idiot he caught half naked in a therapy room.
As the man standing between his daughter and the rest of her life.
I did not look away.
“I love her,” I repeated, quieter now. Steadier. “More than anything.”
His jaw tightened. And for a split second, I saw it. Not just anger.
Fear.
The kind that lives in fathers when they realize their little girl is not little anymore. When they realize they cannot shield her from everything. When life moves forward whether they are ready or not.
“Coach,” I said carefully. “I know this isn’t ideal. I know the timing is messy. I know it complicates everything. But I’m not walking away. Not from her. Not from the baby. I’m here.”
He exhaled harshly and sank back into his chair like the anger had drained straight out of him, leaving something heavier behind.
“I’m going to be a grandfather,” he muttered, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed him.
“Yeah,” I swallowed.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
He rubbed a hand down his face slowly. “She better not name that kid after you.”
“She was floating ‘Liam Junior,’ actually,” I said, unable to stop the faint grin tugging at my mouth.
“Get the hell out of my office.”
“On it.”
I stood, relief and adrenaline tangling in my chest. I reached the door, hand on the handle, then paused.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, glancing back at him, “I still want to win for you. For the team. But now… I’ve got one more reason.”
He did not look at me. Just waved a hand in my direction like I was an irritating fly he did not have the energy to swat.
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
As it shut behind me, I could have sworn I heard him mutter under his breath,
“You better be worth it, Carter.”
A slow grin spread across my face as I walked down the hall, like i was the happiest man alive, maybe i was.
I planned to be.