Chapter 18
Spike
The coffee pot incident at Patsy's Diner was grand. It was loud. It was messy.
But it wasn't enough.
I knew that as soon as the adrenaline faded. I was sitting in the booth across from Riley, watching her wipe spilled coffee off the table with trembling hands. She had stopped crying, but she hadn't said yes to the proposal. She hadn't even said yes to coming to Seattle.
She looked terrified.
"You can't just... buy the town," she whispered, wringing out a rag. "That's manic, Spike. That's the madness talking."
"It's not the madness," I insisted, reaching for her hand across the sticky table. "It's the money. I have too much of it and nothing to spend it on except you."
She pulled her hand away. "You have a career. You have a contract. You walked out on your team in Chicago. Do you know what the press is going to do with that? 'Rookie Sensation Goes AWOL.'"
"I don't care."
"You should care! You worked your whole life for this!" She stood up, untying her apron. "I'm not going to be the reason you throw it all away again. I did that once. I won't do it twice."
She walked toward the back of the diner. "I'm taking my break. Go away, Spike. Go back to Seattle."
I watched her disappear into the kitchen.
She didn't believe me. She thought this was just a moment—a chemical spike of emotion that would fade when reality set in. She thought I was still the boy who let her take the fall because he was afraid of losing hockey.
I had to prove to her that hockey was nothing compared to her.
I pulled out my phone. It was shattered, but still working.
I dialed my agent.
"Spike!" He sounded frantic. "Where the hell are you? The team is in Calgary. You missed the flight. The GM is losing his mind. He's talking about suspension. He's talking about voiding the morality clause!"
"Listen to me, Jerry," I said calmly. "I need you to set up a press conference."
"A what? No. You need to get on a plane and apologize."
"A press conference," I repeated. "Tomorrow morning. In Columbus. At the High School gym. Tell the media I have an announcement regarding my future with the Krakens."
Jerry went silent. "Spike... what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to tell the truth."
"Don't do anything stupid," Jerry warned. "You have endorsements. You have a brand."
"My brand is a lie," I said. "Make the call, Jerry. Or I livestream it on Instagram."
I hung up.
I stood up and walked to the kitchen door. I pushed it open.
Riley was sitting on a milk crate by the back door, eating a pickle. Pregnant craving.
She looked up, startled.
"I thought I told you to go," she said.
"I'm going," I said. "But be at the high school gym tomorrow at 9 AM."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to fix it."
I turned and walked out before she could argue.
The next 24 hours were a blur of logistics.
Jerry, realizing I was serious, worked miracles. He got the gym. He got the press. The story of the "Runaway Rookie" was too juicy to ignore. Every sports network sent a crew. Local news vans filled the parking lot.
I spent the night in my rental car outside Riley's house. I didn't sleep. I wrote.
I wrote down everything. The truth about the grades. The truth about the cabin. The truth about my father.
At 8:30 AM, I walked into the gym.
It was packed. The bleachers were full of students who had skipped class to see the NHL star. The floor was crowded with cameras and microphones.
I walked to the podium. I was wearing the same clothes I had worn for two days—jeans and a flannel shirt. I hadn't shaved. I looked rough.
I scanned the crowd.
At first, I didn't see her. My heart sank.
Then, the back doors opened.
Riley walked in. She was wearing her oversized parka, her hands tucked in her pockets. She looked small amidst the chaos. She stood by the door, ready to run.
I locked eyes with her.
Watch me, I projected. Just like the night of the game. Watch me choose you.
I tapped the microphone. The room went silent.
"My name is Spike Thorne," I began, my voice echoing off the rafters. "And I am a liar."
Cameras flashed. Reporters murmured.
"Three months ago," I continued, "I was expelled from Ironclad Mountain University. Or I should have been. Instead, a student named Riley Bennett was expelled in my place."
I looked at the camera directly in front of me.
"The official story is that she coerced me. That she manipulated me into an inappropriate relationship to get money."
I laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.
"That is a lie. A lie constructed by the University administration to protect their asset. Me."
I took a breath. This was it. The point of no return.
"Riley Bennett didn't coerce me. She saved me. She tutored me when I was failing because I was too proud to ask for help. She kept me sane when the pressure of the draft was crushing me. And when we fell in love... yes, we fell in love... she took the fall to protect my eligibility."
I looked at Riley. She had her hands over her mouth. She was crying.
"I let her do it," I said, my voice breaking. "Because I was a coward. Because I was afraid that if I lost hockey, I would lose myself. I thought the game was the only thing holding me together."
I gripped the podium.
"I was wrong. Hockey didn't save me. She did."
I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. It was a copy of my contract.
"This is my contract with the Seattle Krakens," I said. "It has a morality clause. It says I have to uphold the values of the team."
I ripped the paper in half.
The sound was loud in the quiet gym.
"I violated that clause the moment I let an innocent woman take the blame for my mistakes. So, effective immediately, I am stepping away from the NHL."
Pandemonium.
Reporters were shouting. Flashbulbs were blinding. Jerry was screaming from the sidelines.
"I am stepping away," I shouted over the noise, "until Riley Bennett's name is cleared. Until she is reinstated at IMU. And until I figure out how to be a man worthy of the woman who sacrificed everything for me."
I stepped back from the podium.
I didn't wait for questions. I walked off the stage.
I walked straight through the crowd, parting the sea of reporters like Moses.
I walked to the back of the gym.
Riley was standing there, frozen. Her face was wet with tears.
"You idiot," she sobbed as I reached her. "You absolute moron. You ripped up your contract?"
"It was a copy," I admitted, grinning sheepishly. "But the sentiment was real."
"You... you quit?"
"I paused," I corrected. "If they want me back, they can have me. But only if you come with me. And only if the league publicly clears your name. I have a good lawyer now. We're going to sue the University, Riley. We're going to burn Henderson and the Dean to the ground."
"But... the money. The suppressants."
"I have savings. And Jerry says a 'redemption arc' book deal is worth millions."
I reached out and took her hands.
"I don't care about the money, Riley. I care about the fact that I woke up in a penthouse every day for three months and wished I was dead because you weren't there."
I looked down at her stomach.
"I care about the fact that there is a part of us growing inside you, and I almost missed it."
Riley let out a choked laugh. She pulled her hands free and threw her arms around my neck.
"I hate you," she whispered into my ear.
"No you don't."
"No. I really don't."
She kissed me.
Right there in the high school gym, with CNN broadcasting live and half the town watching.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was messy. It was desperate. It was a promise.
When we pulled apart, flashbulbs were popping in our faces.
"Get out of here?" I suggested.
"Please."
We ran. We burst out the back doors into the cold Ohio morning, hand in hand, laughing like lunatics.
We made it to my rental car. I peeled out of the lot before the news vans could block us in.
"Where are we going?" Riley asked, breathless, her hand resting on her stomach.
"Seattle?" I asked. "Or... we could go to that lake you talked about. Get a dog."
"Let's start with lunch," she said. "I'm starving. And the baby wants pickles."
"Pickles it is."
I drove. I didn't know if I still had a job. I didn't know if we would win the lawsuit. I didn't know if the madness would ever truly go away.
But looking at Riley in the passenger seat, glowing and laughing and mine, I knew one thing.
I was finally, truly, Unbound.
And for the first time, that word didn't mean broken.
It meant free.