Chapter 18
Elijah
Salt Lake City was a grid of wide, empty streets and mountains that looked like they were judging me.
I had been here for six hours. I hadn't slept in thirty-six. My suit—the Italian silk masterpiece I wore to the championship gala—was rumpled, stained with sweat and travel grime. My eyes felt like they were packed with sand. My hand throbbed in its brace.
But I kept moving.
I had a list of dance studios. A list of cheap motels. A list of diners.
I was hunting.
I sat in the back of a rental car, my laptop open, hacking into databases I definitely shouldn't have access to. I was using my father’s passwords. VanceEquityMain. He never changed it. The arrogance of the man was his firewall, and now it was my weapon.
I found a charge.
A single transaction on a debit card linked to the new account Angela had opened.
Joe’s All-Night Diner. 3:15 AM.
It was a fifteen-minute drive.
"Go," I told the driver, slamming the laptop shut. "Joe’s Diner. Now."
"Speed limit is—"
"I’ll pay the ticket. Double speed."
The driver looked at my face in the rearview mirror. He saw something there—desperation, madness, or maybe just the look of a man who had nothing left to lose. He floored it.
We tore through the streets. I watched the city blur past, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Please be there. Please let me fix this.
I thought about the last time I saw her. Standing in the elevator. The devastation in her eyes as the doors closed. The lie she told to save me.
I’m my father’s daughter. I always take the cash.
She wasn't her father’s daughter. She was better than all of us. And I had let her walk away because I was too stupid, too scared, and too much like my own father to see the truth.
I pulled out my phone. I had one text drafted to my agent.
Tell Chicago I’m out. Tell Boston I’m out. I’m taking a sabbatical. Personal reasons.
I didn't send it yet. But my thumb hovered over the button.
If I found her, and she told me to leave the NHL... I would. I would burn it all down.
The car screeched to a halt in front of a neon sign that buzzed ominously. JOE’S.
I threw a wad of cash at the driver and scrambled out.
I burst through the door.
The bell chimed. The smell of grease and old coffee hit me.
I scanned the room.
There were three people. A trucker. A cook.
And a waitress.
She was wiping down a table in the back. Her back was to me. She was wearing a faded pink uniform that was too big for her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, but I recognized the curls escaping at the nape of her neck.
I recognized the line of her shoulders. The way she stood—first position, even while cleaning tables.
"Angela."
My voice cracked. It was a rough, broken sound.
She froze.
She didn't turn around immediately. She gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.
"We’re closed," she whispered. Her voice trembled.
"You’re not closed," I said, walking toward her. My steps were heavy, echoing on the linoleum. "And you’re not a waitress."
She turned slowly.
When I saw her face, my heart shattered all over again.
She looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes that rivaled my own. She had lost weight—her cheekbones were sharper, her collarbones prominent above the ugly uniform. But her eyes... her eyes were still the same warm, defiant brown.
Except now, they were filled with panic.
"Elijah," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"
"I’m here for you," I said, stopping five feet away. I wanted to grab her. I wanted to pull her into me and never let go. But I didn't have the right. Not yet.
"Go away," she said, backing up until she hit the counter. "You shouldn't be here. You won. I saw on TV. You’re the champion. Go be the champion."
"The championship means nothing," I said. "I left the trophy in the locker room. I left the party. I left the scouts."
"Why?" she cried out. "Why would you do that? I gave up everything so you could have that moment! Don't you dare tell me I did it for nothing!"
"You did it for me," I said, stepping closer. "You took the money to pay for your mom’s surgery. I know, Angela. I tracked the wire transfer."
Her face crumbled. The mask of indifference she had been trying to hold up slipped.
"You checked?" she whispered.
"Of course I checked. I should have checked that night. I should have known. But I was... I was hurt. And I was stupid."
"It doesn't matter," she said, shaking her head. "I took the money, Elijah. I made a deal with your father. If I see you... if I talk to you... he ruins you. He pulls the funding. He leaks the photos."
"Let him," I snarled.
"No!" she yelled. "I won't let you throw your life away! Hockey is your life!"
"Hockey is a game!" I shouted back, startling the trucker in the corner. "It’s a game played on ice with sticks! It’s not my life, Angela. It hasn't been my life since the moment I met you in that hallway and you kneed a donor in the balls!"
I reached her. I grabbed her shoulders. She tried to push me away, her hands pressing against my chest, but I held on.
"Let me go," she sobbed. "Please, Elijah. Just let me go. I can't be the reason you lose."
"You’re the reason I win," I said fiercely. "Don't you get it? Without you, I’m just... mechanics. I’m just anger and technique. With you, I’m human. I need that. I need you."
"Your father..."
"My father is a bully," I said. "And I’m done being bullied."
I pulled out my phone. I held it up so she could see the screen.
I dialed a number.
"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes wide.
"I’m calling him," I said. "Put it on speaker."
I tapped the speaker button.
The phone rang twice.
"Elijah?" Cyrus Vance’s voice filled the diner. He sounded angry. "Where the hell are you? Markham is waiting. The press is asking questions. You walked out of your own victory party."
"I’m in Utah, Dad," I said, staring into Angela’s eyes. "I’m with Angela."
Silence on the line. Cold, heavy silence.
"You are making a mistake," Cyrus said, his voice dropping to that lethal whisper. "If you are with her, the deal is off. I release the photos. I tell the NCAA she was a paid escort. I burn her reputation to the ground. And yours."
Angela whimpered. She tried to cover the phone, but I moved it away.
"Do it," I challenged.
"Excuse me?"
"Do it," I repeated. "Release the photos. Tell the press. Tell them I paid for my girlfriend’s tuition because I love her. Tell them she used the money to save her dying mother. Tell them whatever you want."
I took a deep breath.
"But here’s what I’m going to tell them, Dad.
I’m going to tell them about the offshore accounts you use to dodge taxes on the team revenue.
I’m going to tell them about the bribes you paid to the zoning commission for the new arena.
I have the files. I have the passwords. I’ve been building a dossier since I was eighteen, just in case. "
Angela stared at me. Her mouth fell open.
"You wouldn't," Cyrus hissed. "That’s family money. You’d be destroying your own inheritance."
"I don't want your money," I said. "I have my own talent. I’ll play in Europe. I’ll play in the KHL. Or I won't play at all. But I am done being your asset."
I looked at Angela.
"I’m choosing my own asset now. And she’s worth more than the franchise."
I hung up.
I didn't just hang up. I threw the phone. It smashed against the wall of the diner, shattering into pieces.
Silence descended on the room.
Angela was looking at me like I was a stranger. Or maybe like I was a savior.
"You... you blackmailed your own father?" she whispered.
"I negotiated," I corrected. "I learned from the best."
I fell to my knees. Right there on the greasy floor of Joe’s Diner.
I didn't care about the suit. I didn't care about the trucker watching us with his mouth open.
I took her hands. They were rough, chapped from cleaning solution. I kissed her knuckles.
"I’m sorry," I said. "I am so, so sorry. I should have fought for you in the penthouse. I should have told him to go to hell then. I was a coward. I let you take the fall because I was afraid of losing the game."
I looked up at her, letting her see the tears in my eyes.
"But I’m not afraid anymore. The only thing I’m afraid of is waking up tomorrow without you."
"Elijah," she sobbed.
"Come back to me," I begged. "Come to Chicago. Or Boston. Or here. I don't care. Just... be with me. We’ll figure it out. We’ll pay back the money. I’ll work. You’ll dance. We’ll be broke and messy and happy."
She stared down at me. Tears were streaming down her face, cutting tracks through the exhaustion.
"You really blew it all up?" she asked, a watery smile tugging at her lips.
"Kaboom," I whispered.
She laughed. It was a wet, broken sound, but it was the best thing I had heard in weeks.
She dropped to her knees. She threw her arms around my neck.
I caught her. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her—coffee, cheap soap, and home.
"You idiot," she cried into my shoulder. "You wonderful, reckless idiot."
"I love you," I said, holding her so tight my ribs ached. "I love you, Angela."
"I love you too," she whispered. "Even when you’re being a dramatic alpha male."
I pulled back. I kissed her.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was frantic. It was desperate. It was a collision of two people who had been starving. I tasted her tears. I tasted her hope.
When we broke apart, we were both breathless.
"Okay," she said, wiping her face. "Okay. You win. I’m coming back."
"Good," I said. "Because this uniform is hideous."
She slapped my arm lightly. "Hey. It pays the rent."
"Not anymore," I said. I stood up and pulled her with me. "You’re retired from the service industry."
I looked at the cook behind the counter, who was watching us like we were a telenovela.
"She quits," I announced.
"I figured," the cook grunted. "Good luck, kid."
I grabbed her hand. I laced our fingers together. It felt right. It felt like the lock clicking into place.
We walked out of the diner.
The sun was rising over the mountains. It was a brilliant, blinding gold.
My phone was broken. My father was probably dismantling his empire to cover his tracks. My career was a giant question mark.
But I had Angela’s hand in mine.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't worried about the score.
Three Days Later
Chicago
The office of the Chicago Blackhawks General Manager was nicer than Miller’s. It had a view of the river and leather chairs that didn't squeak.
I sat across from Markham. Angela was sitting next to me. She was wearing a simple black dress, her hand resting on my knee.
Markham looked at the file in front of him. Then he looked at me. Then he looked at Angela.
"So," Markham said, leaning back. "Let me get this straight. You told your father to go to hell. You threatened to leak family secrets. And you disappeared for three days to find... her."
He gestured to Angela.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"And the rumors?" Markham asked. "About the paid tuition? The escort allegations?"
"They’re false," I said firmly. "I paid her tuition because she’s my partner. We intend to marry. It was a personal loan between future spouses. My father tried to weaponize it. I neutralized the threat."
Angela squeezed my knee. We intend to marry. We hadn't discussed that part explicitly, but hearing it out loud didn't scare me. It felt like a promise.
Markham studied me. He was a hard man. A hockey man. He respected grit.
"You realize this is messy," Markham said. "The press will dig. Your father might still retaliate."
"Let them dig," I said. "I have nothing to hide. And my father knows that if he pulls the trigger, he goes down with me. Mutually assured destruction. It’s a stalemate."
Markham smiled slowly.
"You play hardball, Vance. I like that."
He closed the file.
"We draft character," Markham said. "Usually that means 'safe.' But sometimes... sometimes it means a guy who is willing to burn the boats to protect his team."
He extended his hand.
"Welcome to Chicago, Elijah."
I shook his hand. My grip was firm. My right hand still hurt, but I didn't wince.
"Thank you, sir."
"Get your hand fixed," Markham ordered. "And get her a ring. If you’re going to cause this much trouble for a girl, you better make it official."
I looked at Angela. She was beaming.
"Yes, sir," I said. "First paycheck."
We walked out of the office. We walked out onto Wacker Drive. The wind was whipping off the river, cold and bracing.
Angela turned to me. She grabbed the lapels of my jacket.
"You did it," she said. "You actually did it."
"We did it," I corrected.
"So," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Future spouses? Was that a proposal, Vance?"
"It was a statement of intent," I smirked. "Phase Three of the plan."
"What’s Phase Three?"
"Phase Three," I said, pulling her close, "is the Happily Ever After. And lots of sex in our new apartment."
She laughed. "I can get on board with Phase Three."
I kissed her. Right there on the busy sidewalk in Chicago. People walked around us. Cars honked. The city was loud and chaotic.
But I didn't mind the noise anymore.
Because in the center of the chaos, I had found my quiet.
"Let’s go home," I whispered.
"Lead the way, Captain," she said.
And we walked into the future, hand in hand, ready for whatever game came next.