Chapter Forty-Five A Good Man
HADLEY
I stare at my phone, resting on the kitchen counter, willing Julian to respond to my latest message. I’ve sent him about a dozen since I woke up this morning to find him gone from my bed.
Hadley: Hey, practice should be over by now. We were supposed to go get food when you were done, and I haven’t heard from you. Julian, seriously, you're scaring me. Are you okay? Please text me back when you get this.
No response. I don’t get it. Practice started at ten this morning, but he was gone before eight when I woke up. He didn’t even say goodbye. What’s going on?
The coiled knot of irritation in my stomach has slowly metastasized into worry.
Julian doesn't do this. He doesn't just disappear into thin air. Sure, he’s gone cool with his messages before, but he’s never outright ignored me.
I pace the length of the kitchen, my socks sliding against the floor, trying to talk myself down from a complete spiral.
Maybe there was a mandatory team meeting he didn’t know about.
Maybe he’s in the training room getting his knee taped.
Maybe he’s gotten into a car crash and is horribly hurt.
No! I can’t let my mind go down that road.
To force my hands to stop shaking, I walk over to the front door and pull it open, deciding to grab the mail from the wall slot down the hall just to give my brain a different task.
There are only two letters addressed to me. I make my way back inside the apartment and lean against the kitchen counter as I open the first one.
The first envelope bears the official blue-and-gold seal of Denver University. I frown. What could this be?
When I open the letter and pull out the paper inside, it takes me a few moments to comprehend what I’m seeing.
It’s an official financial award letter from the university’s internal scholarship committee.
Dear Ms. Sullivan,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as the sole recipient of the Chancellor's Experience-Based Bachelor's in Education Scholarship.
This scholarship provides full tuition coverage for the remainder of your undergraduate studies, effective once you officially declare your change of major to Education.
The only requirement for maintaining this scholarship is that you continue pursuing real-world teaching experience throughout your undergraduate career.
I stare at the paper until the letters start blurring together as hot, blinding tears fill my eyes.
Is this real? Part of my mind thinks this might just be some cruel prank someone’s pulling on me for no reason, but I reread the letter again and again.
A full ride. This changes everything. My dad can’t hold my tuition over my head anymore.
He can’t threaten to cut me off if I don't do what he wants.
I finally have something that belongs entirely to me.
As a tear slides down my cheek, an obvious question slams into my brain.
How is this possible? I didn't apply for this. With everything going on, I wasn’t going to look into switching majors and financial-aid options until after finals.
I never even knew this was an opportunity.
I know for a fact that no one in my family would do this for me.
Then who? The letter implied I have to keep my teaching job, probably at the ice rink. So who…?
Julian.
Did he do this? When? How?
I blink, stunned. My heart swells, but my anxiety only grows sharper. Where is he?
The joy of the letter evaporates, replaced by a growing panic. I grab my phone and fire off text messages to every single person on the Night Hawks roster I have a number for. Within ten minutes, the responses come back in a wave.
Jensen: Haven't seen him since he left the rink at noon, sorry!
Owen: Truck was gone when we left.
Jayce: He’s not answering his phone, Hads.
Carson: Sorry, Hads No clue where he is.
Zander: No idea. I’ll try reaching out to him and see if he responds to me.
Theo: He did seem off today, but he didn’t say anything about going anywhere.
Something’s wrong. I know it. I can't just sit here. I feel sick to my stomach, the walls of the apartment closing in on me until I can barely draw air into my lungs. I grab my keys and my jacket, running down to my car. My hands are shaking so badly I drop the keys twice before I can get the engine to turn over. There’s only one place I can think of that he might be, even if the other guys say they lost track of him.
The rink.
I quickly open the second letter, expecting it to be junkmail I can just toss, but when I see what’s inside, my jaw drops in shock.
What the hell? How…how is this possible?
Heart in my throat, I quickly fold the letter and stuff it back into the envelope.
I need to find Julian. Now.
By the time I pull into the security lot of the arena, the gray winter twilight has fully swallowed the city.
The arena is mostly dark, the massive glass entrance doors locked to the public, but I slip through the side athletic bay.
The concrete corridors are silent except for the deep, industrial hum of the refrigeration units keeping the ice frozen beneath the floorboards.
I push open the heavy double doors leading into the main bowl of the stadium.
The arena is cast in a deep shadow, lit only by the low-voltage amber safety lights hanging from the high rafters. The ice sheet below looks like a massive mirror, untouched and smooth.
I pause, sweeping my gaze over the space, and when I spot him, a wave of relief washes over me.
He’s sitting alone in the third row of the empty lower bowl stands, right behind the home bench.
He’s wearing his grey team sweatshirt and dark jeans, his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands clasped together as he stares out at the ice.
I walk down the concrete stairs, my boots making a scraping sound in the vast silence. The second my shadow breaks the amber light, his head snaps up.
Something in my chest tightens, a sharp pain lancing through my lungs when I see his face.
He looks miserable. His face is pale, his dark eyes hollowed out and rimmed with exhaustion. What’s going on? What’s happened since he left my apartment this morning?
I slide into the seat beside him, my heart hammering against my ribs. He doesn’t say a word. Maybe hearing my good news will help break the ice. I think of the second letter, and looking at his distressed demeanor, decide to wait to talk about it.
“Julian, I got a letter from school,” I murmur, my voice cracking. “I got a scholarship if I switch to Education. My full tuition paid for. Funny thing is, I didn’t apply for it. I know it was you. I know you did this for me, and I wanted to say thank you…”
I stop. The words die in my throat.
Julian swallows before turning to me at last, and a clearly forced smile touches his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes. They remain dead and flat.
Dread freezes the blood in my veins. I pull the letter back, my brow furrowing as I lean closer to him.
“Julian,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “What’s wrong? What happened? Please talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
He looks away again, hands tightening until his knuckles turn white. The silence stretches between us until the hum of the arena feels loud enough to split my head open.
Finally, he lets out a slow, ragged breath that sounds like it was dragged through broken glass. He turns his head, his eyes locking onto mine.
“I love you, Hadley,” he murmurs.
For a second, I forget how to breathe. My heart does an ecstatic leap, but the joy is overshadowed by the gravity of his expression. It doesn't sound like a declaration.
It sounds like a goodbye.
“Julian…” I reach out to grab his heavy forearm. “What’s going on?”
To my shock, he shudders and drops his face into his hands. When he speaks, his voice trembles.
“They have pictures of us, Hadley. They’ve been watching us, and they know exactly who you are. They know you’re Coach Sullivan’s granddaughter, that you’re twenty-one, that you’re connected to the team.”
I blink, totally confused. “What? Pictures? Who has them? I don’t understand?”
“The Ironclads,” Julian growls, raising his head again.
There’s a spark of fury flashing through his eyes.
“Williams is using them to blackmail me.
He sent his assistant here, and he told me if I don't fly to Chicago tonight and sit at a press conference tomorrow at two o'clock to announce a mid-season transfer, he'll release the photos to the national media tomorrow.”
I stare at him, my mind racing, trying frantically to understand why this is so devastating to him. “So what? Let them release them. Julian, we aren't doing anything illegal. We’re both consenting adults, we aren't…”
“You don't understand how this works, Hadley!” he snaps, his voice rising, echoing off the empty stadium seats before he catches himself. “They aren't going to spin it like a romance. They’re going to frame it as a scandal. A twenty-seven-year-old veteran player using the head coach’s young granddaughter to get special treatment. A conflict of interest. They’ll drag the entire Night Hawks organization into the dirt.
The sponsors will pull their endorsements.
The media circus will destroy the team’s focus while we’re sitting at the top of the standings.
All the guys will lose their season because of me.
It won’t matter that it’s all lies. The media will latch onto the story for the mere entertainment of it. ”
He shakes his head and stares at me. “And then there’s you... They will tear your reputation to shreds, Hadley. They’ll call you naive. A distraction. A puck-bunny looking to get her hooks in a player. I can’t let them do that to you, Hadley.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” I insist, my heart racing with desperation.
I grab both of his hands, my fingers squeezing his calloused knuckles with everything I have.
“We can fight this. We can go to my grandfather right now. We can tell the team. We can call their bluff, figure out a legal angle, find something else…”
“There is nothing else,” he chokes out, shaking his head again, his chest heaving beneath his sweatshirt.
“The friends you want me to tell? They don’t even know the half of my history.
And with Theo on the roster now. The front office brought him in because they knew my career was winding down anyway.
The team will be fine if I leave, and if I stay, I risk everything they’ve built.
I risk your future. I risk the money I need to take care of Mrs. Clay when I retire.
Everyone loses, Hadley. Everything gets fucked up because of me. ”
“That’s not going to happen!” I lean into his space, pressing my forehead to his. “My dad knows about us. Our friends know. You made a choice to stay here…with me. Now you’re just going to sit back and let them take you away? I don’t want any of this if you’re not with me.”
I can see the impact of my words in the way his shoulders shake. He lifts his head and looks at me, his gaze tracing every line of my face. I hold my breath as I wait for his response, praying he trusts in us. In me.
“I can’t,” he whispers, a single tear spilling over his dark lashes, tracking down his rough cheek and disappearing into his beard.
“Nothing good ever lasts for me, Hadley. People always leave. My mother left. My brother left. My father spent his whole life reminding me I was nothing but a broken piece of trash. A part of me never believed I deserved you in the first place. If I stay, I drag you down into it with me.”
“No, you won’t!” I nearly sob, my voice breaking as I squeeze his hands tighter. “Julian, look at me! I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much. We can figure it out together. Please, don't do this. Don't walk away from me.”
But he’s already shaking his head, his face contorting into an expression of agony…and defeat.
He lets out a ragged, choked sob, his head dropping onto my shoulder as he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me so tightly my ribs ache.
“I’m sorry,” he weeps into my neck. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Leaving you is the last thing I want to do. It’s killing me, but I won't destroy your life just to keep you. I won't do it.”
He pulls back, his trembling hands coming up to cup my face. He leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead. His lips rest against my skin like he’s trying to memorize the exact texture of me before he goes.
Then, he stands up.
“Julian, please,” I whimper, my hand flying out to catch his wrist as he steps into the concrete aisle. The urge to tell him about the second letter presses against my throat, but I can’t get the words out.
He stops. He looks down at my fingers wrapped around him.
For a fraction of a second, I see the hesitation flash through his eyes.
Tell him! Tell him about the letter! But it’s as if the words are stuck.
Fear of how he’ll react chokes me. Before I can say anything, he gently pulls his wrist from my grip.
He turns his back on me and walks up the concrete stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the darkness until the exit doors slam shut behind him.
I’m left all alone, my body curling into a tight, defensive ball against the plastic seat as I begin to wail. My voice echoes off the glass, a miserable, broken sound that carries into the dark corners of the arena.