Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Chapter Twenty- Two
Deacon
The steam follows me out of the bathroom like it is trying to remind me I should have stayed in there longer. I am dripping, towel low, hair pushed back like I am pretending I am fine even though the last thirty seconds in the shower were off.
I step into the hotel suite and stop when I see someone sitting on the couch.
Not a teammate. Not a trainer. Not a coach. Dean Costello, the owner of the Brooklyn Bears.
His arms are stretched across the back of the couch, perfectly calm, like this is totally normal.
“You good?” he asks in a voice that tells me he already knows the answer.
I blink twice. “Uh. Thought I was. But you being in my suite makes me question that. What is up?”
He finally turns his head toward me, eyes sharp and steady.
“Coach D checked in with me after this morning’s practice.
She mentioned there might be some lingering issues from the hit.
She did not say it out loud, but she is concerned, the trainers are concerned, and when my people are concerned, I check for myself. ”
I scrub my hand over my face. “I was cleared, thought I was fine.”
Costello motions at me with one hand. “Give it to me, tell me what is going on.”
“No secrets,” I say immediately. “Not with this. If my head feels off, I say it. I do not mess around with concussions.”
He nods once, like that was the exact answer he expected.
I run my thumb along my temple. “I got dizzy on the ice. Same kind of dizziness I felt yesterday for about ten seconds in the hallway. It passed quickly. No spinning. No nausea. Just… wrong.”
Costello does not flinch or react dramatically. He just shifts his posture forward, elbows on his knees. “Why did you not tell the trainers last night?”
“I thought it was travel fatigue,” I admit. “Or dehydration. But this morning it hit harder. Just now it took longer in the shower. I was waiting for the room to settle.”
He studies me carefully. I hate how good he is at reading people. Owners are not supposed to have insight. They are supposed to write checks and yell at refs from their seats. But he was a goalie in college, he gets it.
“You did the right thing saying it out loud,” he says. “I know you, Moretti. If your arm was dangling off, you would tie it back on with skate laces. But a brain symptom? You do not hide those.”
“I’m not losing my career over pride. If something is off, I want the medical team to catch it before it gets worse.”
Costello stands, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. “You’re sitting down for an evaluation with Miles. You tell him everything. Even the small stuff. Especially the small stuff.”
“I will,” I say. “I want answers. I want to know if this is normal or not.”
“It is not normal,” he says without kindness or cruelty. Just truth. “It is also not necessarily dangerous. But we do not take chances.”
“So, you think they are pulling me,” I state, knowing the answer already.
Costello inhales, slow and measured. “I think they will run you through a full VOMS screen and balance testing. If you pass clean, you play. If you do not, you sit. We’ve got use of the rink from Seattle, so let’s roll.”
I shake my head.
“What?”
“Johnson’s making them all play harder, and that’s not safe. He’s—”
“Assistant coach Dillard says otherwise.” He whispers.
“And Coach D?”
He shakes his head, “Forget I said a damn thing. That’s not your concern.” He smirks, “Or at least it shouldn’t be.”
“Forgotten, but everyone sees it.”
“Let’s focus on you. If your symptoms are what Coach D described, it is likely vestibular or oculomotor. Those are not season-ender. They are not career threats. They are setbacks. Annoying ones. About six games.”
I let out a slow breath I did not know I was holding. Six more games with the guys playing twice as hard. “Is that even manageable?”
“It’s manageable,” He states. “Now get dressed. I am walking you down, just to make sure you do not face plant before we get there.”
I snort. “I am not going to face plant.”
He gives me a look. “You leaned on a wall yesterday for three full seconds.” He types out a text and hits send. “Get dressed, they’re coming up to run through a few tests.”
Miles, our trainer, walks in and studies me like he’s taking a mental scan. Pupils. Posture. The way I blink.
“You look off,” he says bluntly.
I rub the back of my neck. “I feel good right now.”
“And yesterday,” he states.
My stomach tightens. “Yeah. Maybe five seconds. I thought it was travel.”
Miles does not buy that for a second. “Have a seat.” I sit on the couch. “Look at the X.”
Here we go.
He stands close enough to watch my eyes. “Keep your head still. Follow the dot with your eyes only.”
He moves the card slowly.
At first, I track fine. Then halfway through, the room flickers at the edges, like someone dimmed a light.
I blink hard, and Miles stops. “That happened just now.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “For a second.”
He moves to the next test. “Head side to side. Keep your eyes locked on the X.”
I do it. And three seconds in, the floor tilts left. Not a lot. But enough.
I grab the back of the seat, and Miles’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Okay. We are done.” His voice goes professional fast. “This is vestibular. Possibly oculomotor too.”
I swallow. My throat feels tight. “So I am scratched.”
“Probably the next few.” Miles steps back and makes a note on his tablet. “You were honest. That helps. But you are not playing until you pass this clean.”
The door opens again, and Coach D steps inside. Her eyes hit me first. Then the card in Miles’s hand.
“He failed VOMS. Twice. Vestibular involvement is likely.”
Coach D looks at me. Just looks. Not mad. Not disappointed. Worried.
“Deacon,” she says quietly, “you should have told us sooner.”
“He thought it was travel,” Costello tells her.
She nods once. “No skating until then. Sit with the scratches tonight.”
“He’s gonna hang with me,” Dean tells her. “He and I need to have a chat.”
“Alright, let’s roll,” Coach D says, and she and Miles leave.
As soon as the door shuts, Dean asks, “Why is Aldridge Shaw asking to meet with me?” Fuuucckkk. “You thinking of leaving the Bears?”
Now that makes me laugh, “Fuck no.”
“Then why?” I look down and exhale a deep breath as he sits beside me, “Anything to do with our new team psychologist?”
“She’s a good mom.”
“And stunning.” He smirks, and I say nothing. He leans back, linking his fingers behind his neck. “What’s the plan? You gonna tell him Dingy’s a piece of shit and should stay away from his daughter?”
Fuck it. “No, I’m going to make sure that he puts a leash on him, or I’ll walk through hell to ruin both of them. He didn’t want anything to do with Savannah until after he got with Emilia Shaw.”
He chuckles, “You got it bad.”
“I had it bad the first time I saw her, and that was before he did. I fucked up, and I need to make it right.” He holds a fist out, and I tap it. “No one knows this but you and Paul. Not even her friends.”
“And you think going to Aldridge is going to make that happen?”
“No, I didn’t contact him, I contacted Dingy.”
“Then how did Aldridge get involved?”
“Great question.”
I’m sitting in a suite beside Dean high above the arena, watching my team gain control of the puck at the drop.
“Alright, you sure about this?” Dean asks as he stands.
“A man like Aldridge Shaw will walk through an unlocked door if he wants answers. I want him to reveal himself.”
Dean nods, “He’ll only show his true colors if he thinks he has the upper hand. You scare him, you won’t see shit.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “You got this. I trust you to protect the people you care about. And I trust Aldridge Shaw to be exactly who he is when he thinks no one is watching.”
When he leaves, I stand here now in the dim light of the suite, the hum of the arena vibrating through the walls. Ten seconds pass. Fifteen. Twenty. One full minute.
And then it happens. A soft click. The door handle is turning. Aldridge Shaw walks into the suite without knocking, without hesitation, without even pretending to see if it is occupied. Of course he does.
He steps inside fully, scanning the room, and then his eyes land on me, and he closes the door behind him. This is confirmation.
“When you didn’t respond to my call, I wondered if you would actually be here,” he says.
I nod to the ice, “I’d be down there if I weren’t sucker punched by your boy.”
“He didn’t walk away unscathed.” He says as he walks up and stands beside me, hands in his suit pockets.
I turn and lean back against the glass, arms crossed, “I knew you would come.”
“I know,” Aldridge replies.
Aldridge studies me for a long moment. Measuring. Testing. Searching for weakness, he will not find.
“Let us speak plainly,” he says. “You reached out to Dingy. You rattled him. My daughter is now asking questions. And that puts my family, my franchise, and my future son-in-law in a precarious position.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like a problem on your end.”
He chuckles once. “Indeed. And that is why I am here. Because a man like you will tell me the truth even when it is inconvenient.”
I lift a shoulder.
“My daughter believes Dingy should step up for the child,” he says. “I was not aware of the situation when—”
“The situation? That little girl has a name.”
“Yes, she certainly does.”
My jaw tightens. “She’s his; he knew this and opted out.”
“And my daughter convinced him that a man should take care of his responsibilities.”
“If you think I hadn’t already summarized that, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“I’m exactly the man you think I am.” He snaps.
I want to tell him he has no idea what I’m thinking, but if I’m reading this right, he and I want the same thing.
“He doesn’t deserve her.”
Aldridge nods once. “Then we agree on that point. Good. Because I do not want him near that child. I don’t need the scandal or publicity. But you don’t seem to care either way. You know he’s impulsive. Unstable. But my daughter sees none of that.”
“You want me to send a copy of my medical reports for proof? You leash him. You make damn sure that he steps back and drops the visitation bullshit because we both know, he can’t be the father she deserves.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“She is blind to his flaws.”
He pauses. Lets the weight settle. Then finishes.
“So, Deacon. If stepping in was your first move, tell me your second. Tell me exactly what you are planning to do now.”
I hold his gaze without blinking.
“I am going to keep Claudia and Savannah safe,” I say. “With or without your influence.”
His stance tenses, that pissed him off. Good.
“And if I told you I am willing to remove Dingy from the equation entirely,” he asks, “would you step back and let me handle him?”
I answer without hesitation.
“I will step back. But if he goes near them again, I am stepping in, whether you like it or not.”
“I want assurance this doesn’t come back on my family. That this stays out of the press. That my daughter’s future husband’s image isn’t tainted by a woman looking for a payday or a child—”
“If you want to walk out of here without a busted nose, I suggest you shut the fuck up.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t make threats, and unlike your future son-in-law, when you turn and walk out, I won’t make a bitch move and hit you from behind. I’d make sure you saw whatever it is you have coming is seen.”
He doesn’t look afraid; he looks amused.
“Do you know her background?” he asks.
“You think you can rattle me?” I laugh. “You’re sadly mistaken.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “That high horse you stand on, do you know what’s buried beneath it? Because I do and I have pictures to prove it.”
His face doesn’t turn red; it turns purple. “You have nothing.”
“I know about your affairs, and I know Emilia has always worn a crown, even in her college years in videos she starred in, willingly.”
“You son of a —”
I step to him, my nose a hair from his, “You leash him, and no one will ever find out. He comes after Savannah, or even looks in her or Claudia’s direction, I will buy front row seats to you losing everything you claim to love.”
“You tell Costello to watch his back.” He hisses.
“Costello doesn’t know a damn thing about Emilia’s college years; the pictures were not that easy to find.
” I let that sink in and then give him another blow, “Or your infidelities. This is between you and me, unless of course, you can’t manage your players.
” I pull an envelope out of my pocket and hand it to him.
“The cherry, I don’t decide to have him arrested for assault once the ring goes on her finger. ”
“One thing gets leaked, and I will bring you down with me.” He threatens as he snatches the envelope.
“Dig as deep as you want, there is not a damming thing you can find on me.” I smile in his fucking face, and he turns to leave.
“One more thing.” He freezes, back straightening, but he doesn’t turn around.
“You run your mouth about the team or Costello again, you will learn exactly what a team and a true family feels like.”
And then… he leaves.