Chapter 16 #2
The rink feels the way it always does at that hour, cold and hollow. No crowd, no music. Just blades and breath and the low thud of pucks against boards. This is the part of the day I like.
I move through drills on muscle memory alone. Edges sharp, turns clean, everything where it should be. The ice doesn’t ask questions. It doesn’t judge or change based on where you were last night or who you let close. It only gives you back what you put into it.
My left shoulder flares when I drive hard into the corner. A dull, familiar burn. Nothing dramatic or unusual, just there.
By ten-fifteen, we’re done. I strip my gear and head straight for treatment. Same room, same table, same quiet understanding from the staff. Today it’s Erica.
She works my shoulder and upper back, fingers pressing into a knot that never fully loosens. Chronic inflammation, a partially healed AC joint separation that went untreated for too long. The kind of injury that should’ve been seen immediately, should’ve been rested, should’ve been protected.
It wasn’t. I tell people it came from junior hockey. A bad hit into the boards. Wear and tear.
The truth is simpler and uglier. It came from taking a beating, the ones that started when she left. From being thrown into a doorframe hard enough that something tore, and no one took me to a doctor because the one who cared enough was gone.
You learn fast what hurts less.
Erica tapes it and checks my range. “Same spot?”
“Same spot,” I say.
“You good?”
“I’m good.” Because I am, I learned how to be.
When I check her location this time, she’s at the tower.
Me:
Good Day?
My phone rings and I smile as I answer. “Hey.”
“I can type and talk at the same time, and I’m trying to get this report done, so.”
“Glad you called,” I say, leaning against the building. “Good day?”
“Oh, right. Yes. No issues.”
“Plans?”
“Reports, then, heading that way to get pictures of Claudia being her bad ass working mom self and surprising Noelle with lunch.”
“Then?”
“I like the bed at The Bridgeview. I think I’ll go check in with Dad and his staff, and,” she pauses. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to check in, the room’s yours as long as you need it. And you won’t have unexpected guests.”
“Um …”
“It’s set, you’re good.”
“You didn’t have to do that, I’m—”
“A bad ass working woman, carving out time for the people you care for. You’ve got to let people look out for you, too, Tsarina.”
“I’ve had a lifetime of people looking out for me. I think—”
“Looking over you, it’s different than looking out for you.” She doesn’t say anything for a bit, so I ask, “Does it feel different?”
“Yes,” she admits quietly. “But you don’t have to do that.”
I laugh, “I don’t want to replace the people who clean your toilet or bring you coffee at work or your girls, or anyone you love, I just really fucking like being your weighted blanket.”
She sighs softly and contentedly. “I like that too.”
“Good, after we win tonight, what do you say I blow off Icehouse and come play that role, because tomorrow, I’m gonna be sleeping with four men, and missing your little purrs and the way you find me in the dark.” Now I sigh. “I like that more than you know.”
“No blowing off Icehouse, but yeah, that sounds good.”
I sit on my bed and wait for the call, after receiving the message to expect it at one o’clock.
I look at her dot and see she’s at The Bridgeview, and remind myself we’re taking this slow, and that she’s safe.
Then my phone rings, I answer.
“This is The Legacy Ward division,” the man says calm and controlled. “You reached out regarding third-party private security.”
“Yes.”
“Before we talk services,” he says, “I need to ask how you were referred.”
“Dean Costello.”
“Understood,” he says. “And what is your relationship to the individual you’re inquiring about?”
“None that gives me authority,” I answer. “That’s why I’m calling.”
A pause and then, “We don’t initiate protection without consent. And we don’t act on fear alone. So, help me understand what you’re asking for.”
“Distance,” I say. “Assessment with quiet options. I don’t want someone breathing down her neck. I don’t want visibility. I want her to know that it exists if she wants it.”
“And if she doesn’t?” he asks.
“Then nothing happens.”
That earns me a breath on the other end. Approval, maybe?
“You’re aware that we’ll never approach her without disclosure. And we won’t accept third-party directives.”
“Yes.”
“And that your role would end the moment she says no.”
“Yes.”
Another pause and then, “Kilovac, the reason we ask these questions isn’t because we think you’re a problem. It’s because the only thing worse than no protection is protection used as control.”
“I agree,” I say.
“What’s driving the concern?” he asks.
“Visibility,” I answer. “Money, family dynamics, corporate exposure. People who don’t hear boundaries, unless someone else enforces them, like I had to last night.”
“That’s not paranoia,” he says.
“Exactly.
“Her name and the location?”
“Sofie Fairfax, New York City.”
“As in Fairfax Media?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Can I ask who that person with boundary issues is?”
“You can, but this is very new for me. I only know that she’s concerned about a leak, and that it’s making her doubt everyone, including the two people she says she’s always trusted. Her driver and her father’s assistant. Her father’s assistant crossed a boundary last night and —”
“His name?”
“Matteo.” When I hear someone sigh “fuuuuck” in the background, my body tenses.
“She asked him to leave when he showed up at a hotel room she rented to get away. He wasn’t given her location, so she clearly didn’t expect him to show up.
He lives with the family. She needed space.
He was a dick. If I wasn’t there.” I stop.
“I play hockey for the Brooklyn Bears. We have a game out of town tomorrow, and will be home for one night and out for six.”
“You started saying if you weren’t there, what is your concern?”
“He’s family to her; she loves the man.”
“So, you think she’s too weak to stand up to him.” He states.
“She stood up to him when he spewed off a bunch of shit about me in French.”
“So, you have no idea what he said?”
“I speak four fucking languages. I knew what he said, and I know her response —also in French.”
Someone in the background snorts, “Had to have pissed him off.”
“Who the hell is —”
“Sorry Killer, this is Matthew Abraham, my brother CJ and I started this company together. I’m not being a dick.” He chuckles.
“Yes, he is.” The other states. “But please tell us what happened next with Matteo.”
“He didn’t like it when I responded in a language, he thought he could get away with insulting me in.”
“He leave?” Matthew asks.
“Pretty sure he clocked that he didn’t have much of a choice.”
“So, Ms. Fairfax knows we’re speaking?” CJ asks.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, “No, but I’m planning to tell her tonight after the game.”
“How do you think she’ll react?” Matthew, or CJ… one of them asks.
“No fucking clue, she’s stubborn but not stupid or careless.”
“So, clarify something for me.” CJ this time for sure.
“Go ahead, ask anything.” I have nothing to hide.
“Her father’s personal assistant for years didn’t know she and you were together?” Matthew asks.
“We’re not officially together but—”
CJ cuts me off, “So, you’re willing to spend 8K a day for security for a woman you’re not officially with.”
“You bet your ass I am.” Then, without thought, add, “May need to double the coverage for another player’s family, too.”