Chapter 11
CAYDEN
Parker is asleep upstairs. I’m in the library, the only room where the echo of my steps doesn't scream lonely.
The fire has slumped into glowing embers. I swirl the Scotch in my glass. It burns in the right places, but it doesn't douse the fire in my head. Jade sits opposite me, notebook on her knees.
“We start at the beginning,” she says softly. “Before the full stadiums. Before Hayes. Let’s talk about the boy from Thunder Bay.”
I take a sip. “That boy was an arrogant little bastard. But he could skate.”
J: You were a standout even in school sports. But your name wasn't just in the sports section. There’s a note in the high school files about an incident in the chemistry lab.
C: (I can't help a smirk) Chemistry wasn't my strength. I thought experiments were for seeing how far you could go before things exploded.
J: You broke into the magnesium cabinet and set off fireworks in the ventilation. During the final exams of the other class.
C: A necessary distraction. The exam was set too hard. I was providing a social service.
J: You were suspended for two weeks. Your father had to meet the principal. They say that was the first time your career was on the line.
C: My dad was livid. He said if I did it again, he’d sell my gear and I’d spend my life stacking boxes in the factory. That was the only time I was truly afraid. Not of the principal. Of my father’s look.
J: Yet the escapades continued. You were the star. Did that feeling of being untouchable pave the way for what came later?
C: Maybe. When you’re sixteen and scoring the goals that put your town on the map, people look the other way. The cop who caught me speeding wanted an autograph for his son instead of giving me a ticket. That’s poison for a boy, Jade. It teaches you that rules are for people who don't score.
J: Then the offer. First pro contract. Eighteen years old. The Royals drafted you in the first round. A million-dollar deal before you’d even graduated.
C: That’s when the game became a business. I signed and thought: I’ve made it. I’m rich, famous, and I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I bought a watch the next day that cost more than my parents' house. Stupid.
Jade lowers the notebook. “And what about the mayor’s statue?” she asks suddenly, a spark in her eye. “That wasn't in the files, but Hailey and I nearly died laughing.”
I laugh—a real, deep laugh that opens up my chest. “God, the bronze statue of Sir Archibald in the square.”
“You put an oversized Royals jersey on him and welded a hockey stick to his hand so tight the fire department needed a torch to get it off,” Jade grins. “And the pink flamingo floatie around his waist.”
“He looked too stiff for a city founder,” I admit, shaking my head. “I swore to my parents I was in bed. My dad even vouched for me with the cops.”
Jade laughs, and the sound is music in the heavy silence. “I knew it! I saw you and your friends sneaking away with the ladder. You had that look—like a dog that just stole a steak and hopes no one noticed.”
“Why didn't you tell on me?” I ask, leaning in. The mood is light now; the shadows of the Hayes meeting seem far away.
“Because you looked so alive that night,” she says softly. Her laugh fades, replaced by a dangerous familiarity. “You were just a boy who wanted to be loud one last time before the world demanded you become a monument.”
“I was just reckless,” I insist, but we both know better.
“You were free, Cayden. That’s what’s missing now.”
The air thickens. The fire pops one last time. I look at Jade—the woman who knew the boy before the world turned me into this shell of glass and success. I reach across the table. My fingertips brush her hand.
This time, she doesn't pull away.
Jade is the first to look away. She takes a shaky breath and pulls back, closing her notebook. “Okay... that’s enough for the interview today. I’ll check on Parker.”
She stands, smoothing her blouse, avoiding my eyes. I watch her walk to the door.
“Jade?” I say softly. She pauses but doesn't turn. “Good night.”
“Good night, Cayden,” she replies and vanishes into the hallway.
I’m left alone, staring at where her hand just was. The boy who dressed up statues would have stopped her. The man I am lets her go because every touch is another hole in my defense.
I drink straight from the bottle. Griffin was right. She’s a danger. But not to the deal. She’s a danger to the only lie keeping my life together: that I don’t need anyone.