Chapter 57
Izzy
“Yeah, I’m sending over their portfolios now.” I hit send on the email open on my laptop, juggling my phone between my ear
and shoulder. “I think having the wedding video will be really fun. Imagine when Charlie gets old enough to watch it.”
“I know, right?” Bex says. “By the way, the Polaroid camera idea was genius. We definitely want to do it, and the photo booth.”
I open the notes app on my phone, jotting down reminders about both. “That’s so great. We don’t want the event to be overly
focused on football. It’s for both of you, it should represent who you are, too.”
“You’re so sweet,” she says. “And I think it’ll be fun to see what everyone decides to photograph, you know? I’m sure we’ll
all see the day differently.”
“Totally.” I get up from the kitchen table to refill my coffee mug. “Let me start pricing out the photo booths.”
“Awesome.” There’s a pause, and then a sigh. “Crap, I have clients coming in a couple minutes. Text me if you have any other
questions, okay? You’re killing it, Iz. Happy to hear about the volleyball, too.”
I check the time as I walk upstairs. Usually, Nik is up and about at this hour on Fridays, getting ready for his individual
training session with the assistant coaches, but I haven’t seen him since I rolled out of bed. I have a million things to
do before class later, but I don’t want him to be late if—highly unlikely, but still—he overslept.
I open the door to the bedroom slowly, poking my head in. “Babe? You up?”
He isn’t in bed, but the bathroom door is open, light spilling into the darkened bedroom. I’m about to head back downstairs
when I hear something clatter. I put my coffee on my desk, hurrying to the bathroom.
Nik’s standing at the sink, frowning at it. His toothbrush is in the basin. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy. He runs a
hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles.
“Hey, are you okay?” I frown, reaching over to turn off the faucet.
He shakes his head once, violently, as if to wake himself up. “Yes. Sorry. I’m just...”
I feel his forehead with the back of my hand.
“Wait. Nik. You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re absolutely not fine. You’re sick.” I tug him in the direction of the bedroom, but he digs his heels in. “You need
to go back to bed.”
“I need to get to the rink. What time is it?”
He tries to pull my phone out of my pocket, presumably to look at the time, but I slap his hand away. “You can’t be serious.
You look awful. No offense.”
He snorts. “I’ve skated through worse.”
“Well, not today.”
He manages to snag my phone, groaning when he sees the time. “Shit. I’m going to be late.”
“Just call your coach and tell him you’re sick. I’ll make you some breakfast. Do you want toast? We have rye bread.”
I block the doorway so he can’t slip past me to get dressed. My heart is fond, but my brain is ticked off. Not at him. I’d bet all the shoes in my closet that his father never let him have a day off. He’s practically swaying on his feet; there’s no way he doesn’t have a fever. He needs to rest, and yet by the way he’s glaring at me, he thinks he’s somehow capable of conducting a full workout right now.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I interrupt. “You don’t have to be on all the time. You’re allowed to take a sick day.”
“Isabelle. I need—” Whatever he might’ve added is lost in a bout of coughing.
I arch an eyebrow. “Back. To. Bed.”
When he finally nods, I let him pass. He slips into bed, on the side that has become his since he’s all but started living
here, and grimaces through another deep cough. It’s probably just a cold, but it doesn’t sound pleasant.
“Guys play through things all the time,” he says, scowling as I tuck a blanket around him.
“What about when you’re in California?” I touch his forehead again, wincing at the feel of his clammy skin. We probably have
some medicine around here. If not, I can run to the drugstore.
“You need to take care of yourself, so you play well,” I add, grabbing his water glass from the nightstand. I slip into the
bathroom to refill it. “And so they won’t get mad when you sneak away after East Coast games to see me, of course.”
It’ll be hard, once he’s in the NHL and I’m still at McKee, but it’s nice to think about. He’ll be doing what he loves, and
I’ll figure out ways to support him long-distance. And then when I graduate, hopefully we’ll be able to settle down together,
whether it’s in California or somewhere else. People get married everywhere; it shouldn’t be hard to establish myself once
I have a portfolio and more clients under my belt. If I can pull off James and Bex’s wedding successfully, Katherine might
let me take the lead on some meetings with vendors and potential clients this summer.
I smile as I set the glass down, hoping he’ll give me one in return, but instead, he grimaces.
The attempt at positivity slides right off my face. “What is it? Are you going to throw up? I can get you a bowl. I know,
gross, but babe, I really think if you just—”
“I’m not going to San Jose.”
I blink, whatever else I was going to say abruptly fleeing my mind. “What do you mean? Did they trade your rights to another
team?”
“Sit.” He pats the edge of the bed. “Please.”
“Why?”
“Sit, Isabelle.”
I do as he asks, even though the careful way he’s looking at me sends my stomach plummeting. He coughs again, a wet sound
that has me itching to hunt for NyQuil, but I don’t move. I compromise by taking his hand in mine. I don’t care if he’s contagious
and we’re both going to end up sick. I can tell when bad news is coming. If his father fucked something up for him—
“I—look. When I came to McKee, my grandfather and I, we made a deal.”
“A deal.”
“He pulled some strings to get me into McKee, and in exchange, I agreed to work for his company when I graduate.”
“Right after?”
His dark eyes are so serious. He nods.
“Which means...” I trail off as the enormity of what he’s saying sinks in.
“I’m not going to play hockey after this season. I’ve been putting off telling the organization, but—”
I yank my hand away. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s not like I’m happy about it.”
“You say that like you don’t have a choice.”
“You’re right. I don’t. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been able to finish my degree at McKee. Or any other school, for that matter. This was the only way for me to finish college.”
“Don’t you have a trust fund? You could have paid for it.”
“And who would have taken on someone who just got expelled, no matter how good he is?”
“You could have played hockey somewhere else. They have minor leagues.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Nik—”
“He helped us, okay?” The words burst out of him, as if they’ve been pent up a long time. “Years and years of watching my
mom endure shit from my dad, and then she finally called him, and he helped . I owe him, Isabelle, and anyway, he’s family. I can’t have my father, but he’s... he cares, in his own way.”
I breathe out hard through my nose. “That can’t... be what you want.” My mind races, trying to wrap around this clusterfuck
of a situation. I haven’t met his grandfather yet, although we’ve been talking about taking a trip into the city soon. Right
now, I’m glad I’m nowhere near him. I’d eviscerate him for forcing Nik into this.
He works his jaw. “It’s not about what I want.”
“Your life should be about that. Quite literally.” I huff out a breath. “Does Katherine know about this?”
He just nods.
“And what? She’s fine with her father strong-arming her son into giving up the thing he loves?”
“She understands the reasoning.”
Scratch that. I’d eviscerate his whole family, even Katherine, despite the fact she’s basically my boss. She always says she’s so proud of him, but all along, she’s known that he’s giving it up. I want to pace, maybe kick something, but instead, I crawl onto the bed next to him.
“So what? You win the Frozen Four with Cooper and the guys, hang up your skates, and learn the world of corporate real estate?”
“At least I’ll be in New York. I’ll be able to visit you here whenever.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s reality.”
“You can tell him you changed your mind. Why does he want you to work for him right now, anyway? You won’t be in the NHL forever.
You can do it after. If you want.”
He rests his hand on my knee, and despite the highly flammable mix of emotions pouring through me right now, I lace our fingers
together. He meets my gaze. There’s a tiredness in his eyes that isn’t from being sick. It’s deeper than that. It’s been there
so long, it’s nearly permanent.
“Hockey isn’t mine. It’s my father’s. And if there’s one thing I can’t be, it’s like him.” His voice is quiet, but intense.
“This is the way I prove that I’m not him.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay silent. My heart aches for him; I feel the pain in every word. I understand why
he wants to be nothing like his father—and he isn’t, even if he doesn’t let himself believe it—but even if he’s the one who
introduced him to hockey, that doesn’t mean he can’t love it on his own merits.
I’ve been around professional sports my whole life. It doesn’t matter how or why you fell in love with your sport. If the love is deep enough, you need it in your life no matter what, and if you’re able to make a career from it? It’s a privilege you hold on to for as long as you can. My dad did it, and James is doing it, and soon Cooper will be, too. It’s what Nikolai deserves, and his father has nothing to do with that. No wonder he’s been so adamant about getting me back into volleyball. He doesn’t want me to miss it the way he thinks he’ll be missing hockey, sooner or later.
“I was glad.” He presses fevered lips against my temple. “When he said he got me into McKee, I mean. All I could think about
was that I’d have a chance to see you again.”
Despite everything, my heart skips a beat. “I’m glad, too.” I should go make him some breakfast, see if I can find cough medicine,
but I stay put. “Thank you.”
He looks at me warily. “For what?”
“For trusting me with this.” I smile slightly, stroking my hand through his sweaty hair. Even sick, he’s too handsome for
his own good. “I know that opening up is hard for you.”
“I wanted to tell you sooner.” He traces over my fingers, my knuckles. I suppress a shiver. “It wasn’t about not trusting
you. I do trust you, Isabelle.”
“You just knew I’d hate it.”
He laughs shortly. “Can you blame me?”
“No. And for the record, I still hope you change your mind.” I pat his hand before sliding out of bed. “Let me make you some
toast. No sneaking out of the house. You’re staying put and resting.”
Once I’m out of the room, I stop in place, taking a couple deep breaths. I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and clear
my throat. In the kitchen, I give Tangerine a treat before putting on the kettle and pulling out the rye bread.
He might think this is what he has to do, but it isn’t. Not by a long shot. I’m sure that when he’s actually presented with
a contract, it’ll be different; he’ll realize he can’t say no. Giving up such a special future would be too hard. No one as
talented as him should have to think about doing anything but what he was born to do. And as long as the Sharks think he’s
still going to accept their contract, the possibility is there.
I just have to find a way to help him see it before it’s too late.