Chapter 67 His Girl
LIAM
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs as I watched Ava through the window.
She was standing in the backyard, phone pressed to her ear, head tilted as she talked. Probably to her mom.
She had that soft smile on her face. The one she only wore when she wasn’t trying to be strong. When she wasn’t trying to hold everything together. One hand tucked into the sleeve of my hoodie she’d stolen, bare legs brushing against the grass like she didn’t have a single worry in the world.
It was one of the things I loved about her, no matter how much shit she had to deal with, she still made time for the people who mattered.
Even when she was exhausted. Even when her head was full. Even when her father made things harder than they ever needed to be.
"You look like a man who’s already lost," Mom’s voice pulled me back inside.
"And what exactly have I lost?" I smirked, turning to her.
She was watching me the way she used to when I was a teenager pretending I didn’t care about something I very clearly cared about.
"Your heart. Your sanity. Your ability to function like a normal person." She chuckled, sipping her tea.
"I was never normal." I huffed out a laugh.
That much was obvious. I played a sport that required willingly throwing myself into walls for fun.
"True," she said, raising a brow. "But you’re worse now."
I didn’t even argue. Because she was right.
Ava had me fucked up. In the best way.
She had crawled under my skin without even trying. Turned every quiet thought into something that revolved around her. Whether she’d eaten. Whether she’d slept. Whether she was okay.
"How’s the game prep going?" Mom glanced outside again.
"Good," I said, running a hand through my hair. "We’re in the final stretch. This next weekend is crucial. I have three more local games and a three weeks to prep for the big one"
The words came out steady, practiced. I’d said them a dozen times already this week to reporters, teammates, sponsors.
"Are you nervous?" She studied me for a second.
She knew the tells. The tight jaw. The restless leg. The way I’d go quiet before something big.
"Not anymore." I shrugged casually, rolling my shoulders.
I had spent every waking day being nervous, but now, that was the last thing I was.
Not because the pressure disappeared. It hadn’t. If anything, it doubled the closer we got. But it didn’t crush me the way it used to.
"I can only imagine why." Her lips curled.
I followed her gaze to Ava, who was laughing softly into the phone, completely unaware of how ridiculous she made me. Yeah. That was why.
Before I met her, I carried the weight of every game like it was life or death. Every mistake sat on my chest for days. Every loss replayed in my head until I couldn’t breathe.
Now? It still mattered. But I had something bigger. Someone bigger.
When I stepped onto the ice now, I wasn’t trying to prove I was enough. I already knew I was. Because she looked at me like I hung the damn moon.
"She keeps you grounded," Mom said, as if reading my thoughts.
"Yeah." I nodded.
Grounded. Centered. Human.
"I’m glad you both are good together." She sighs in relief
There was something in her voice. Something deeper than casual approval.
“Well, her father doesn’t think so” I shook my head
The tension slid back in immediately.
“Isn’t he your coach too? Why isn’t he?”
I gave her the rundown, his overprotectiveness, his bullshit threats, how he thought he could control Ava’s life like she was still a damn teenager. And like I expected, Mom was not happy.
I told her about the warnings. The closed-door conversations. The way he watched us at practice like I was a liability instead of his best damn player.
"Who the hell does he think he is?" Her expression turned sharp.
There it was. The protective streak. The one I inherited.
"Mom."
"No, really, Liam," she scoffed. "Does he not see how much she loves you? How much you love her?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
I exhaled slowly, already used to this reaction.
"He sees it," I muttered. "He just doesn’t care."
Or maybe he cared too much. About control. About image. About being right.
Mom pressed her lips together, looking like she wanted to march over to his house and set him straight herself.
Honestly? I wouldn’t have stopped her.
"It’ll be okay." I reached over and squeezed her hand.
Because it had to be. There wasn’t another option in my head.
"And if it’s not?" She didn’t look convinced.
"Then we make it okay."
I’d fight for her. For us. On the ice. Off it. Wherever it needed to happen.
"You’re too stubborn for your own good." She sighed, shaking her head.
"I get it from you." I grinned.
That made her laugh, and just like that, her anger eased.
The tension melted from her shoulders, replaced by something softer.
"How’s your brother? Haven’t seen that knuckle brain in months" She sipped her tea, then changed the subject.
"Still traveling and stressing my life. But good, nonetheless." I rolled my eyes.
He had a talent for chaos. And dramatic voice notes at three in the morning.
"I miss him." She chuckled.
“He misses you too, he’ll be here when he can’t miss you anymore. Then you’ll call me to come take him cause you’re fed up” I laughed. It was their usual routine.
It always ended the same way. Him eating everything in the fridge. Mom pretending to complain. Me playing referee.
“I miss him, but he better not come here. He always finishes my good wine and peanut butter” she complains, making me laugh
“Priorities,” I muttered.
We talked a little longer, shifting through casual topics, until she set down her cup and looked at me with that knowing look.
The one that meant she was about to say something real.
"I really like her for you," she said.
Simple. But loaded.
I met her gaze, my throat tightening.
Because liking her wasn’t even the half of it.
And then, without hesitation, I said, "Not as much as I love her."
The words felt steady. Certain. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just true.
She smiled, warm and full of something I couldn’t quite name.
Pride, maybe. Or relief.
And at that moment, I knew she saw it, that it wasn’t just some fleeting thing. That Ava wasn’t just a girl I was with.
She was the girl and nothing…not her dad, not the world, not even hockey, was going to change that.
Because for the first time in my life, winning didn’t mean anything if she wasn’t in the stands afterward.