Keeping My Distance
1442 Words
The rooftop conversation lingered between them long after it ended.
Ava remained where she was until the terrace door clicked shut behind Liam. Only then did she allow herself to breathe, the cold Boston wind stinging her cheeks. It did nothing to cool the ache spreading through her chest.
“Stop looking at me like I’m still the love of your life.”
“I’ll try.”
It should have comforted her.
Instead, it hurt.
Because for the first time since their reunion, she realized something unsettling.
She hadn’t wanted him to promise he’d stop.
She’d wanted him to tell her he couldn’t.
⸻
By the time Ava returned to the hotel lounge, the celebration had mellowed.
The music played softer now, conversations replacing the earlier laughter. Half the players had already retired for the night, leaving only a handful of teammates, coaches, and sponsors scattered around the room.
She quietly slipped back to her table, hoping no one would notice she’d been gone.
No such luck.
“There she is.”
Melissa appeared beside her carrying two glasses of sparkling water.
“I was beginning to think you’d escaped through the fire exit.”
“I considered it.”
Melissa laughed.
“You okay?”
“I’m just tired.”
“You’ve said that every day since arriving in Boston.”
Ava forced a smile.
“Maybe playoff coverage is aging me.”
“Or maybe it’s something else.”
Before Ava could answer, Melissa’s attention shifted toward the entrance.
“Oh, perfect.”
Ava followed her gaze.
Liam had just walked back into the lounge.
Their eyes met for barely a second before he deliberately looked away.
No lingering glance.
No quiet smile.
Nothing.
He walked straight toward Coach Daniels without acknowledging her again.
Melissa frowned.
“Did something happen?”
Ava looked down at her untouched drink.
“No.”
She wasn’t lying.
Technically.
Nothing had happened.
That was precisely the problem.
⸻
Across the room, Liam accepted a fresh glass of sparkling water from one of the sponsors, barely hearing the chatter around him. Instead, his attention drifted—almost magnetically—toward the windows. Toward Ava.
She was talking to Melissa, laughing politely at something her friend had said. A faint, reflexive smile touched his lips before he caught himself. We need boundaries. The smile disappeared, and he forced himself to look away.
Coach Daniels noticed immediately. “You look like someone just benched you.”
Liam let out a dry, quiet laugh. “I’ve had worse.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” The older man followed Liam’s gaze across the room, understanding settling over his weathered face. “Ah. You planning to go over there?”
“No,” Liam said, his jaw tightening slightly.
“Why not?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
Coach Daniels studied him for a long moment, the ambient noise of the lounge fading into the background between them. “That’s got to be killing you.”
Liam looked back at his drink, a faint, humorless smile playing on his lips. “You have no idea.”
⸻
Ava was halfway through answering one of the sponsors’ questions when Ethan drifted over, a quiet, knowing look in his eye.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, pitching his voice low enough to stay between them.
She looked up, grateful for the interruption. “Should I be worried?”
“Not unless you enjoy being photographed.” When she groaned dramatically, he held up his phone with a faint laugh. “Too late. The team’s social media manager wants everyone downstairs for a group picture before people start heading out. I thought I’d rescue you before you got cornered.”
“I thought journalists were supposed to be invisible,” Ava murmured, stepping slightly away from the center of the room.
Ethan tilted his head, his gaze casually dropping to where Liam stood across the room before returning to her. “You stopped being invisible the moment Captain Hayes started tracking you like a radar.”
She shot him a sharp, warning glance. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying, the tension in here is thick enough to cut with a skate blade.” Melissa excused herself to greet another sponsor, leaving a sudden, heavy pocket of privacy between them. Ethan quieted, his tone shifting from playful to genuinely curious. “Have you two known each other long?”
The question landed gently. No accusation, just the quiet observation of someone who worked with stories for a living.
Ava looked toward the windows, watching the harbor lights bleed into the dark water outside. “We went to college together.”
Ethan remained quiet, letting the silence invite her to continue if she wanted to.
“We were together for almost five years,” she admitted softly, the truth slipping out before she could stop it.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he kept his voice steady. “I didn't realize. Nobody on the beat mentions it.”
“Because he wasn’t famous yet.” She offered a small, melancholic smile. “We were just two kids trying to figure out how to pay rent and pass finals.”
“And then he got drafted,” Ethan guessed quietly.
“And then hockey happened,” she corrected, her voice tight. “Sponsors, interviews, travel, a city three time zones away. I kept telling myself things would calm down after the season ended.” She let out a slow, breathy laugh that held no real humor. “They never did.”
Ethan didn’t push. He didn’t ask if she still cared, or why it ended. He just looked across the room to where Liam was nodding politely at something Coach Daniels was saying—surrounded by a crowd, yet looking entirely isolated.
Ethan looked back at Ava, noting the way her fingers tightly gripped the edge of her glass.
“It’s hard,” Ethan said softly, his voice full of unspoken understanding. “Watching someone live the life that took them away from you.”
Ava didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The way her gaze lingered on Liam before she forcibly snapped her eyes away told him everything he needed to know.
Before the silence could stretch too thin, applause broke out across the lounge...
The social media manager stood near the staircase.
“Everyone! Group photo!”
People slowly gathered together.
Players.
Coaches.
Sponsors.
Media staff.
Ava instinctively stepped toward the back of the group.
Somewhere she wouldn’t be noticed.
She almost succeeded.
“Miss Bennett?”
The photographer smiled apologetically.
“Could you move a little closer to the center?”
She obeyed without thinking.
Only after she’d taken her place did she realize who was standing beside her.
Liam.
Neither of them spoke.
The photographer adjusted his camera.
“A little closer, everyone.”
The group shuffled together.
Someone bumped Ava lightly from behind. Before she could stumble, a warm hand settled against the small of her back—steady, familiar, and anchoring. Liam. The touch lasted less than two seconds, but the sudden rush of heat burned through the fabric of her dress. The moment she regained her footing, the warmth vanished as he stepped back into the crowd.
No lingering contact.
No apology.
As though it had simply been instinct.
The camera flashed.
“Perfect!”
Another flash.
“One more!”
Throughout every photograph, Liam kept his eyes on the camera.
Exactly as she’d asked.
Exactly as he’d promised.
No lingering glances.
No unspoken confessions.
No boundaries crossed.
Yet somehow…
The absence of his attention hurt more than the attention itself.
⸻
Much later, after everyone had gone to bed, Liam stood alone on the balcony outside his bedroom.
The city had finally grown quiet.
Boston glittered beneath the night sky, peaceful in a way his mind refused to be.
He leaned both hands against the railing.
She’d asked for distance.
He could give her that.
She’d asked him to stop looking at her like she was still the love of his life.
He could try.
Because if respecting her wishes was the only way to keep her in his life…
He would do it.
Even if it meant pretending not to love her.
He closed his eyes.
That was the cruelest part.
Keeping his distance should have made things easier.
Instead…
Watching another man make her laugh without allowing himself to cross the room felt worse than every loss he’d ever suffered on the ice.
For the first time in his career…
Captain Liam Hayes had no idea how to win.
- Writer
