Chapter 10 #3
"I know, but I've been on calls all afternoon with this hockey player who's going to transform my brand.
Gray Wickham from Portland—he has like 200K followers and he wants to collaborate!
" She finally noticed Liam and her eyes lit up with calculated interest. "Oh my God, you're Liam D'Arcy! Gray told me all about you two."
Libby felt her blood go cold. Gray Wickham. The name hit her like a slap. She'd never mentioned him to Lydia—never had reason to. Her mind raced: was this revenge for the press conference? A coincidence? Or had he targeted Lydia specifically because of the connection?
Liam's expression didn't change. "Did he."
"He said you were best friends in juniors! Until you got him traded because he was too much competition." Lydia slid into her chair, her eyes sharp despite her bubbly delivery. "But I'm sure there are two sides to every story."
"Lydia," Libby said slowly, trying to keep her voice neutral while her thoughts spiraled, "when did you start working with Gray Wickham?"
"Like three days ago! He slid into my DMs after that viral video from your press conference.
But he'd been watching my stories for weeks apparently—went back and liked posts from like two months ago.
Said he'd been 'studying my content strategy' and once he started watching my workout reels he couldn't stop.
" She let out a cheeky giggle. "Look, he's been commenting on everything. My engagement is insane."
The timing couldn't be coincidental. But Lydia seemed fine—annoying and vapid as always, not manipulated or hurt. Yet. Under the table, Libby found Liam's hand, interlacing their fingers. His grip tightened slightly.
"We were teammates," Liam said evenly. "Briefly."
"That's not how Gray tells it." Lydia was serving herself salad while still scrolling. "He says you two were inseparable until your daddy had to step in. Something about protecting the family investment?" She looked up with faux innocence. "But I'm sure he's just misremembering."
"How generous of him to share his perspective," Liam said, his tone so controlled it could have cut glass.
"He's actually been super helpful with my brand strategy.
Says with his connections, I could get sponsorships from all the major athletic brands.
He's already talking to his agent about getting me in on some of his deals.
" Lydia showed her phone to the table. "Look at these numbers—fifty thousand new followers in three days! "
"That's not even fair," Kitty said, her voice tight with envy. "I've been posting consistently for two years and I'm still at eight thousand."
"Quality over quantity, Kitty," Lydia said sweetly. "Gray says my content has that special something."
Beside her, Liam was ice forming on still water—perfect surface, dangerous underneath.
"He says he might be able to get me invited to team events and afterparties when the season starts again. My followers would literally die. Can you imagine? VIP access to where the players actually hang out?"
"Portland's season is over," Jane said gently.
"Well, he has connections everywhere. He's actually coming to Boston next week! We should totally all hang out. Like a double date situation!"
"That sounds..." Liam paused, clearly searching for a diplomatic response. "Unlikely."
"Why?" Lydia's eyes narrowed. "Did something happen between you two? He mentioned you got him traded or something?"
The silence that fell was deafening. Even Middleton stopped talking about himself, sensing drama.
"Gray Wickham," Liam said slowly, each word precise, "was traded because he violated team policies. Multiple times."
"What kind of policies?" Lydia asked, intrigued.
"The kind that exist to protect people," Liam said quietly, but there was steel in his voice.
Something in his tone must have finally penetrated Lydia's self-absorption, because she actually stopped scrolling.
"Dessert!" Linda announced brightly. "I made tiramisu. Store-bought ladyfingers but homemade mascarpone mixture. Liam, you must try it."
"I'll help with plates," Libby said, needing a moment to process.
Liam stood and followed her without a word.
In the kitchen, away from the audience, Libby turned to him. "I'm so sorry about Lydia. I had no idea she was in contact with him. And now he's using her to get to you again."
"It's not your fault." Liam leaned against the counter, suddenly looking tired. "Wickham has a pattern. Young women with social media presence, especially ones connected to me. He identifies targets, builds trust, then exploits it."
"Liam..." She moved closer, wanting to comfort but not sure how.
"They dated secretly for three months." His voice was flat.
"He convinced her the age gap didn't matter, that they were 'meant to be.
' She trusted him with everything. Her struggles with the pressure, the eating disorder she was fighting, the anxiety.
Two weeks after she broke up with him, it was all in the tabloids.
'Olympic Hopeful's Secret Struggle.' With photos from her lowest moments that only he could have taken. "
"Oh my God."
"The check from the tabloid cleared the same day the story broke." His jaw clenched. "Thirty thousand dollars. That's what her privacy was worth to him."
Without thinking, Libby reached up to touch his face, drawing his gaze to hers. "I'm so sorry."
He leaned into her touch for just a moment, his eyes closing briefly. Then he stepped back, putting distance between them.
"I should go."
"Oh." The word came out small. "Right. Of course."
He hesitated at the kitchen door. "Please tell your mother thank you for a lovely dinner." The words sounded hollow, automatic.
Before she could reply, he was gone. She heard him making polite excuses in the dining room, her mother's confused protests, the front door closing with quiet finality.
Libby stood alone in the kitchen, listening to his car engine fade down the street. Her palm still felt warm from where she'd touched his face.
Through the doorway, she could hear Lydia laughing about something on her phone, oblivious to what she'd just triggered. Her mother asking what happened. Her father's quiet observation that perhaps they should all give Libby a moment.
But all Libby could think about was the look on Liam's face when he'd stepped away from her. Like ice forming over water—perfect surface hiding whatever moved beneath.