Chapter 19 #2
"I'm happy," I said. "That's probably what you're seeing. It's unfamiliar to you."
"Are you here to beg?" he asked. "Did the mechanic run out of money already?"
"I'm here to warn you," I said.
"Warn me?" He laughed. "You have nothing, Sofia. I took it all."
"You took the money," I said. "But you didn't take my voice."
I pointed to Mark Salinger, who was sitting three rows down.
"That's the Blackhawks scout," I said. "He likes Liam. He wants to sign him."
"I know," Marcus said. "I'm going to have a little chat with him during the intermission. Tell him about Liam’s academic issues. His character flaws. Make sure he knows what a liability he is."
"If you do that," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "I will go to the press."
"With what? A sob story?"
"With the ledger," I said.
Marcus froze.
"What ledger?"
"The one you keep in the safe in the penthouse," I lied. I had never seen a ledger. But I knew my father. He kept records of everything. Every bribe. Every payoff. Every corner cut.
"I took photos," I lied smoothly. "Before I left. Of the offshore accounts. The payments to the NCAA officials to overlook recruiting violations. Everything."
It was a gamble. A massive, terrifying bluff. If he called it, I was dead.
But Marcus Thorne was a businessman. He understood risk.
He stared at me. He saw the fire in my eyes. He saw the daughter he raised to be ruthless.
"You wouldn't," he whispered. "It would destroy the family legacy."
"You destroyed the family when you tried to sell me like an asset," I said. "Back off, Marcus. Leave Liam alone. Let him play. Let Salinger decide based on the talent. If you say one word to him... I release the photos."
We stared at each other. A standoff between father and daughter.
Finally, Marcus looked away. He looked at the ice, where Liam just made a glove save.
"He's good," Marcus muttered. "I'll give him that."
"He's the best," I said.
Marcus stood up. He buttoned his coat.
"You win," he said. "For now. But don't come asking for a handout when he breaks your heart."
"He won't," I said.
"They always do," Marcus said.
He walked past me, up the stairs, and out of the arena.
I let out a breath, my knees shaking. I collapsed into the empty seat.
I had done it. I had slain the dragon with a lie and a prayer.
I looked down at Salinger. He was writing in his notebook. He hadn't noticed a thing.
I looked at the ice.
Liam looked up. He found me.
I gave him a thumbs up.
He nodded. He tapped his stick on the ice.
And then he went back to work.
Liam
We won. 3-1. I stopped 34 of 35 shots.
I came out of the locker room into the hallway. Sofia was waiting.
She looked exhausted but triumphant.
"He's gone," she said before I could ask. "He left."
"What did you say to him?" I asked, pulling her into a hug.
"I spoke his language," she said vaguely. "Leverage."
"Remind me never to cross you," I said, kissing the top of her head.
"Smart man."
"Mr. Vanner?"
We turned. Mark Salinger stood there.
"Mr. Salinger," I said, straightening up. I kept my arm around Sofia. I wasn't hiding her anymore.
"Good game," Salinger said. "Knee looks solid."
"Feels solid," I said.
"I heard you had some... trouble back East," Salinger said, looking at Sofia. "Academic stuff. Family stuff."
"Old news," I said. "I'm focused on the game."
Salinger nodded. He looked at Sofia.
"You the manager?" he asked.
"Something like that," she smiled.
Salinger pulled a card out of his pocket.
"We have a rookie camp in July," he said. "It's an invite-only tryout. We need a third goalie for the system. I can't promise a contract. But I can promise a look."
He handed me the card.
"Show up in shape, Vanner. And bring the manager. She seems to keep you honest."
"I will," I said, taking the card like it was the Holy Grail.
"See you in Chicago," Salinger said.
He walked away.
I looked at the card. Chicago Blackhawks.
I looked at Sofia.
She was beaming. Crying and beaming.
"Chicago," she whispered.
"We're going to Chicago," I said.
I picked her up and spun her around in the hallway.
"Put me down!" she laughed. "You'll hurt your back!"
"I don't care!" I shouted. "We did it!"
I set her down, but I didn't let go. I pinned her against the concrete wall.
"Let's go home," I said, my voice dropping. "I want to celebrate."
"Pizza?" she teased.
"No," I said, kissing her neck. "Not pizza."
She shivered. "Okay. Let's go home."
Back in the apartment, we didn't turn on the lights.
We stumbled through the door, shedding clothes as we went.
"Wait," I said, stopping her before we reached the bedroom.
I went to the bag I had brought back from the rink. I pulled out a small velvet box.
Sofia froze. She was standing in her bra and panties, looking beautiful and confused.
"Liam?"
"I bought this at a pawn shop in West Valley," I said, opening the box. "It's not Tiffany's. It's definitely not Cartier. It cost me three hundred bucks."
Inside was a simple silver band with a small, singular diamond.
"It's perfect," she whispered.
I got down on one knee. My bad knee. It hurt, but I didn't care.
"I don't have the contract yet," I said. "I don't have the house. I don't have the dog. But I have the invite. And I have you."
I looked up at her.
"Sofia Thorne. Will you bet on me? One last time?"
She dropped to her knees in front of me. She grabbed my face and kissed me.
"Yes," she said against my mouth. "Yes. Yes. I'm all in, Vanner. Double down."
I slid the ring onto her finger. It fit.
We fell back onto the carpet, laughing and crying.
Then, the laughter faded. The heat took over.
"Show me," she whispered, pulling me on top of her. "Show me we won."
I did.
I loved her with everything I had. It was slow. It was deep. It was a reclaiming of every doubt, every fear, every moment we thought we had lost each other.
"Mine," I groaned, burying my face in her neck.
"Yours," she promised.
We lay there in the dark, the cheap ring glinting on her finger, the invite to Chicago on the counter.
We had won. Not the way we expected. Not the way the world wanted us to.
But we had won the only game that mattered.