Chapter 35
TORI
Ileave the arena with a giant pit in my stomach. I can’t sit there and watch Bennett unravel in real time.
It hurts too much.
Knowing I failed — at everything.
The fund.
Bennett.
I was supposed to help him keep it together.
Instead, I unwound him inch by inch, until all that’s left is rage and regret.
Somehow I made everything worse.
On the way back to my apartment, I watch the game on my phone. The small screen glows in my hand in the pitch-black backseat, the lights of the city whizzing by. Bennett sits the bench the entire second period. Morrison scores and the teams are tied by the time I’m dropped off.
I hurry up to my apartment and flip the television to the game, sitting on my sofa in the dark.
The camera pans to the Crushers bench, Coach saying something inaudible to Bennett.
The commentators chirp about his probation earlier in the season and I close my eyes.
I hope Bennett doesn’t watch the broadcast later tonight.
The third period starts and Bennett’s back on the ice. The puck drops and he explodes, taking control and kicking it to Weston. He slides it to Morrison and I dig my nails into my palm, holding my breath as Morrison approaches the goal. One glance, and then he snaps a shot.
Thwack.
The Sounders’ goalie makes the save and I pound the sofa cushion.
“Damn it!”
The Sounders grab the rebound and they’re already breaking out the other way.
Number 32 — the same asshole who taunted Bennett — chips it up the boards.
A Sounders forward picks up the chip and dumps it deep.
The puck cycles back to 32 and I don’t even see the shot — the red light flashes and my stomach drops.
Goal.
Sounders lead 2-1.
Callum never had a chance.
Numb, I watch the rest of the game in disbelief. The Crushers try to rally but never get anything going. Bennett manages to stay in the game but he can’t save it.
It’s too late.
Final score 2-1, Sounders.
I click the television off and sit in the dark, the muted sounds of the city punctuating the silence.
Buzz, buzz.
I lunge for my phone, praying it’s Bennett.
Email notification from an LP.
With shaky hands, I click into the message.
Subj: Pause on investment
Tori –
Given the recent noise and the optics around leadership focus, we’re pausing pending internal review. Our team has flagged reputational concerns we need to diligence. Please provide a consolidated update and any steps you’re taking to address the situation.
Regards,
Lucas
Fuck.
The phone slips out of my fingers and I don’t chase it. I have nothing to say.
For the first time in my professional career, I have zero good answers. I’ve always had a lever — positioning, liquidity, messaging. But this isn’t market risk. It’s trust.
And I can’t price it, can’t control it, can’t make it behave.
This is a spiral.
Once it starts, you can’t stop it.
I stare out the window, the bright lights of the city blurring through my tears.
I lost Bennett trying to protect the one thing that’s mine. And now that’s imploding too.
Buzz, buzz.
Another message. I ignore the phone, knowing it won’t be him.
Buzz, buzz.
The phone lights up, vibrating the sofa cushion.
Buzz, buzz.
For fuck’s sake. This must be important.
Daddy: Are you at the arena? Call me
Daddy: Where the hell are you? Bennett’s out of control
Daddy: You’re supposed to be managing him
Managing him.
Like he doesn’t have a coach, a therapist, an entire organization surrounding him.
Bennett was never supposed to be my responsibility in the first place. My father put me in an impossible situation.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, blocking everything out.
My father, the fund.
Bennett.
I can’t manage him.
Right now, I can’t even manage myself.
By tomorrow, my father will want a plan for Bennett and Lucas will want a plan for the fund.
Tossing the phone on the coffee table, I lay down on the sofa and finally let myself cry.
I never should have gotten involved with Bennett Steele.
And after all of the risks I took, I lost him anyway.
I wake up on the sofa, the first beam of light cutting across the wood floor of the living room. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes and my neck’s stiff and achy from the awkward angle.
Yesterday comes crashing back.
The hockey game.
The emails about the fund.
My father’s angry texts.
Rubbing my swollen eyes, I reach for my phone and dial my dad.
He answers on the first ring.
“Tori — where the hell have you been?” His voice is scratchy, like he didn’t sleep.
“I’m at my apartment.”
“Why weren’t you at the game?”
I don’t bother telling him I was there but left early because I couldn’t bear to watch.
“I’m working. The fund’s rocky because of Eleanor MacDonald’s poisonous tongue.”
“Well, I need you to manage Steele. He’s out of control again. The plane’s taking off in an hour.”
I bite at my lip and stare out the window at the limestone buildings, hot anger churning in my empty stomach.
“I’m staying here, Daddy.”
“What? No. I need you in Florida.”
I sit up, planting my feet firmly on the floor. “No. I have to be here, managing the fund. Bennett has an entire team around him. He doesn’t need me.” My voice catches and I hate myself a little more.
“Tori—”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. But I need to stay.”
Without waiting for his response, I disconnect.