Nate POV

I don’t know why I even showed up today. The game’s a disaster from the start, and I play like shit. Every pass I make is off, and every move I try feels like I’m skating through mud. I can’t focus. Not on the puck. Not on the game. Not on anything but the mess I’ve made of Riley.

When the coach pulls me off the ice in the second period, it’s almost a relief. It’s like he’s taking the weight off my shoulders, but the sting of embarrassment sinks in deep. I try not to look at the bench. I try not to think about the way the guys are glancing at me, and I especially try not to think about the fact that I’m the reason we’re losing.

They’re all in their zone, focused on the game. They don’t know. They can’t know.

And that’s when I realize: I’m not just fucking up in the game. I’m fucking up my entire life.

After the final buzzer, the locker room is dead quiet. The kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. The only sounds are zippers, Velcro, and the occasional sigh sharp enough to cut bone. Everyone’s either pissed or trying to drown it out with small talk. My skates scrape across the floor as I drag myself to my locker. I strip off my gear like it’s been dipped in lead, each piece hitting the floor with a dull thud. The sweat stinks, but it’s the shame that suffocates.

No one says it, but I know. I let them down. Every movement feels heavy, like I’m suffocating in my own mistakes.

I don’t even bother showing up to practice the next day. I can’t bring myself to show up. I can’t put on that stupid jersey and pretend like everything’s okay when I’m falling apart inside.

I stay in my apartment, in the dark, with nothing but the sound of my thoughts. My phone’s buzzing, messages I don’t have the energy to read, calls I don’t want to answer. The last one from Riley keeps flashing in my mind, and the pain is like a live wire in my chest.

I know I deserve this. I know I fucked up.

But it doesn’t make it any easier.

The door slams open, the sound harsh against the silence. I don’t even look up. I already know who it is.

Liam stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “You’re really gonna do this, huh?” His voice is low, tight with anger.

I don’t respond.

“Skipping practice? What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Liam’s steps are heavy as he strides over to my couch, and he throws himself down with a grunt. The weight rattles the frames. “We just lost the game, and now you’re not even showing up for the team?”

“I’m not in the mood for this,” I mutter, staring at the blank screen of my TV.

“You’re not in the mood?!” Liam’s voice rises, the frustration clear in every word. “You’re not in the mood to show up for your fucking team? What about the rest of us, huh? You think we’re all just gonna pick up the pieces while you sulk in here?”

I don’t say anything.

“You really gonna throw away the one person who saw you as more than a jersey?” Liam’s words are sharp, and I feel the impact like a punch to the gut.

I turn my head then, looking at him for the first time. The anger in his eyes is real, and the disappointment stings worse than anything I’ve felt in a while. “What the hell do you know about it?” I snap.

“I know you’re a damn idiot,” Liam growls. “Riley’s not like the others. She saw the real you—the guy under the jersey. She saw you, Nate. And now you’ve fucking blown it.”

I swallow hard, the guilt hitting me like a ton of bricks. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to face what I’ve done. But Liam’s right. I did blow it.

I rub my hands over my face, trying to chase away the exhaustion, the anger, the ache in my chest. “She’s not gonna forgive me, man.”

“You haven’t even tried to fix it. You’re here, moping around like you’re the victim. What, you think she’s gonna come running back when you act like this?”

I grit my teeth. “I can’t fix it, Liam. I lied to her. I kept the truth from her.”

“You didn’t just lie to her, you lied to yourself,” Liam shoots back. “You wanted it to be real. But now you’re letting it slip through your fingers ’cause you’re too scared to own up to it.”

I don’t know what to say to that. The weight of everything presses in on me, suffocating.

“I can’t just...” I start, but Liam cuts me off.

“Yeah, you can. And you will. If you want to fix this, if you actually care about her, you’ll pull your head out of your ass and fight for it.” He stands up and points a finger at me. “But if you keep running from this? You’re gonna lose her. For good.”

I stare at the empty space he left behind, heart pounding like it’s trying to shake the truth loose. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve spent so long pretending I don’t need anyone that I forgot what it feels like to be seen. To be known.

I could keep pushing this down, keep pretending like it doesn’t matter. But I can’t. Not anymore.

Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and running.