Chapter 12 #3
"When he called me after the first period in an absolute spiral." Georgia's delight at her brother's plight was undisguised.
"Liam sent you here to check on me because I wasn't at the game?"
"Yes!" Georgia practically bounced with glee. Then she added casually, taking another sip of tea, "Oh, and to handle the Wickham thing."
"Oh, he knows about that?" Libby asked, feeling something cold and heavy settle in her chest.
Georgia's expression softened with sympathy.
"Libby—may I call you Libby? Okay, good, please call me George—everyone knows about that.
" She quickly covered Libby's hand with hers.
"But it's fine. We're going to handle this.
I have the lawyers on speed dial and carte blanche to do whatever needs doing. "
Libby felt her stomach drop. "Lawyers?" Of course.
The D'Arcys would protect themselves, distance themselves from the scandal.
"Of course." She'd known they'd have no choice but to take action against her, but naively, stupidly, she'd thought it would wait until Monday.
"Should—should my lawyer be present? My editor? HR?"
"Whatever for?" Georgia looked genuinely puzzled. "I mean, if you want your family lawyer present, we can certainly arrange that. But I'm not being arrogant when I say that we have the best legal team in the Northeast on this. If anyone can get you out of this, it's them."
"Get me out of this...?"
The cold knot in her chest rose into her throat. It was hard to breathe.
"He sent you to—to help me? Why would he do that?"
Georgia looked at her with those unsettling green eyes. "You really don't know?"
Before Libby could respond, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
Unknown
I can't reach Jane. Is she okay?
Unknown
This is Chase
Libby texted back quickly:
Libby
HR had her clean out her office. She's in Springfield.
On impulse, she added the address and her parents' old landline number.
Georgia pulled out a small notebook. "Alright, let's get down to business. The legal team needs to know everything." She clicked her pen with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before. "I know Wickham, unfortunately. But tell me about your sister Lydia."
Over the next hour, Georgia asked precise questions. Had Libby ever discussed team information with Lydia? Injury reports, lineup decisions, contract negotiations? Libby could truthfully say no to everything.
"I can speak for Jane too," Libby added. "She'd never disclose medical information. She's meticulous about HIPAA compliance."
"Good. That helps." Georgia made notes. "What about casual conversations? Anything Wickham could twist?"
"Nothing. Lydia and I barely talk about hockey. She finds it boring."
Georgia's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and smiled slightly. "The game's back on. Want to watch?"
Libby hadn't realized she wanted to until Georgia asked. They turned on Jane's TV, finding the broadcast just as the third period began. Montreal was up by one.
Liam was everywhere on the ice. Not desperate, not sloppy—the opposite.
He played with a concentration and fury Libby had never seen before, each movement precise and controlled, like he was channeling everything into the game.
He set up two scoring chances that his linemates couldn't convert.
He blocked a shot that should have put Montreal up by two.
"He's terrifying when he's like this," Georgia murmured. "All ice."
Montreal won on a penalty shot with three minutes left. A weak call that had the Boston bench erupting in protest. Liam didn't argue. He just skated to the bench, his face unreadable.
After the final buzzer, Georgia stood and gathered her things.
"I should go. The legal team will call you tomorrow to clarify any statements and go over next steps.
" She pulled out her phone and tapped quickly.
"Oh, and if the FBI calls, give them this number.
" Georgia pulled on her coat. "Try to get some sleep.
I know that sounds impossible, but you'll need your energy for what comes next. "
"Thank you," Libby said. "For all of this. For coming here."
Georgia smiled, and for a moment she looked remarkably like her brother. "Liam asked me to help. I don't say no to Liam when he uses that voice." She paused at the door. "Besides, I owed Wickham some payback. This was deeply satisfying."
After Georgia left, Libby sat alone in Jane's apartment, the TV still showing post-game analysis. The analysts were already dissecting Boston's loss, questioning coaching decisions and missed opportunities. But Libby, watching the highlights, saw something different.
She saw Liam playing like a man with something to prove.
She didn't know what to do with that information.
A knock on the door woke Libby from a fitful sleep in Jane's spare room.
She fumbled for her phone. 3:18 a.m.
Her first thought was that Jane had decided to come home and forgotten her keys. Libby padded to the door in an oversized t-shirt, still half-asleep. She checked the peephole and saw the fuzzy silhouette of a man.
Her heart thudded. This was getting ridiculous.
"Go away, Calvin!" she yelled through the door. "I'll call the police this time."
A pause. Then a familiar voice said, irritably, "It's not Calvin."
Libby's heart nearly stopped, then started up again in a furious rhythm. She scrambled for the door locks and flung it open.
"Liam," she breathed.
He came inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it, his eyes dark as he loomed in his wool coat.
Libby shook her head, trying to make sense of it. "How are you here? You can't be here. You're in Montreal."
"I'm here," Liam said as he took off his coat. His voice shifted, protective and angry—not at her. "Now tell me why you thought Middleton would be at your door at 3 a.m.”
"It's nothing... But Liam, what about Game 4? You can't be here."
"I'm aware of my schedule." His jaw was tight. "Your seat was empty."
Her eyes had adjusted to the faint light now, and she could see his gaze roam over her face, searching. "Georgia updated me," he said, his voice dropping. "This is my fault. My history with him..."
"Georgia told me. The lawyers... Liam, you didn't have to—"
"He won't hurt another person I care about."
The words hung in the air. Another person he cared about.
The flickering warmth in her chest since he'd arrived spread into a steady glow. I care about you too, she wanted to say. It took everything she had not to close the distance between them, to let herself believe this moment was real.
Instead, she turned toward the tidy kitchen. "Would you like some coffee? I can't sleep anyway."
"Coffee would be appreciated," Liam said. "It's been a long day."
As Libby made coffee, she was hyperaware of Liam in the space behind her.
He hadn't just flown back; he'd come here, to this apartment, in the middle of the night.
He'd clearly left the post-game obligations as quickly as possible—his suit sleeves were rolled up, his collar undone, his tie long gone.
He looked exhausted and rumpled and somehow more real than she'd ever seen him .
He leaned against the opposite counter, a large, solid presence in the small room. The silence was thick, broken only by the drip of the coffeemaker.
"Georgia updated me on the legal side," he said, his voice quiet. "Jane's suspension will be reversed. The lawyers are filing for fraud and impersonation charges against Wickham."
Libby's hands tightened on the mug she was holding. "That's... that's incredible news for Jane, Liam, but... it's worse than that right now."
His head came up, his gaze sharpening. "What do you mean, worse?"
"Lydia," Libby said, her voice trembling. "She's not at my parents' house. She's gone. She left a note... she left with him ."
The exhaustion vanished from Liam's face, replaced by that cold, terrifying focus she'd seen him use on the ice. He set his cup down and pushed off the counter in one fluid motion.
"She's with Wickham? Where?"
"We don't know. The note just said he was going to 'fix everything' and make her famous. She took her suitcase. She took her passport ."
"I knew," Libby whispered, the guilt she'd been holding back all day finally breaking through. "You told me what he was like. You told me exactly what he did to Georgia ." Her eyes stung. "I sat there at dinner, heard her say his name, and after you left... I did nothing ."
"Libby, you couldn't have known—"
"I should have!" she insisted, the shame flooding her.
"But I was so... I was so angry at you for leaving.
I was so wrapped up in why you'd gone cold, in what Kate said, in whether I was just some temporary 'rebellion'.
I was so focused on my ESPN interview and proving I didn't need this world , that I never once.
.. I never once stopped to think about what danger she was in.
I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I let him get his hands on my sister. And now she's gone."
Liam closed the distance between them in two strides.
His hand came up, gently but firmly cupping her jaw, his thumb stroking softly against her cheekbone, making her look at him.
His eyes weren't just intense; they reflected her own pain, mirroring the heartbreak and fear she felt.
The touch was tender, a stark contrast to the ice and fury simmering beneath the surface.
"Libby." His voice was low, a command softened by the raw emotion in his gaze. "Look at me."
She forced herself to meet his eyes, trapped by his touch, by the shared devastation reflected there.
"This is not your fault," he said, his voice a low, hard command, though his thumb continued its gentle stroke against her skin.
"This is his. This is what he does. He finds a vulnerability and he exploits it.
He did it to Georgia , and now he's using Lydia to hurt you, all because of me.
" He paused, his jaw working. "This stops. Now."
"But... the team..." Libby said, her voice small.
"The team will be fine," he said, the dismissal in his tone absolute.
He pulled out his phone.
"Who are you calling?" Libby asked. "The lawyers?"
"My head of security," Liam said, his thumb already dialing. "The man who found Georgia when she ran away. He'll find Lydia."
Libby's breath caught. He was bringing his own private, painful history into this, using it to help her.
He put the phone to his ear. "Mark, it's me. I need a location on Gray Wickham... Yes, that one... He's with a twenty-year-old female, Lydia Bennet-Cross... She has her passport, so check all private and commercial flight manifests out of Boston and New York, starting last night."
He listened for a moment, his eyes locked on Libby's. "Find her. I need to know the second you have anything."
He hung up. The kitchen was silent again, but the air was different. It wasn't awkward or uncertain anymore. It was charged, focused. He hadn't just promised action; he'd initiated it, right here, with her.
"We'll get her back, Libby," he said. It wasn't a platitude. It was a vow.
He gently took her hands. They were ice-cold. "You're shaking."
"I... I rejected your call," she confessed, the shame flooding back. "Before the game. You should have been focused on Montreal, not... not dealing with this mess. I thought you were calling to say you couldn't be involved, that you needed to distance yourself... to cut ties."
"Libby." His grip tightened. "When I get on the ice, I do a final check. I look for my family. I look for my coach." His eyes held hers. "And I look for your seat. It was empty. The game didn't matter after that."
He let that hang in the air, a confession more potent than any kiss.
"Now," he said, releasing one of her hands to run his own through his exhausted hair.
"My flight back isn't for another three hours.
I have to be on the ice in Montreal tomorrow for Game 4.
But right now, we use this time. We work with Georgia, coordinate with Mark, brief the lawyers.
We figure out the next steps together." He met her eyes again, his gaze fierce.
"Then I go win a hockey game. And then I come back. "
He was right. This wasn't about them, not now.
It was about Lydia. But as she started to talk, to lay out all the details Mary had found, showing him the screenshots on her phone, she realized that in the midst of her family's complete implosion, for the first time all day, she wasn't alone.
He hadn't just shown up; he was staying, shoulder-to-shoulder with her in the crisis, until the moment he absolutely had to leave. And he'd promised to come back.