Chapter 17 #2
It was like biting into a wax fruit. It looked perfect, but there was no sustenance. It was hollow.
I scanned the crowd again. Searching. Always searching.
Maybe she came. Maybe she was here, hiding in the nosebleeds, watching me succeed. Maybe she would be waiting by the bus.
But there was no copper hair. No green eyes. Just a sea of strangers who loved the jersey, not the man inside it.
I walked off the stage.
I was ushered into the media gauntlet. Interviews. Radio spots. Social media photos.
"How does it feel, Nick?"
"It feels like a dream come true." Lie.
"What's the first thing you're going to buy?"
"A house for my... father." Lie.
"Is there anyone special you want to thank?"
I froze. The microphone was shoved in my face. The reporter waited.
I thought of Jess. I thought of the ice packs. The grilled cheese. The bowling alley. The cliff.
"No," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "Just my team. And my family."
I walked away before they could ask another question.
The After-Party was held at a rooftop bar overlooking Broadway. It was exclusive. Open bar. Models. Agents. The elite of the hockey world.
I stood by the railing, looking down at the chaotic street below. I held a whiskey in my hand. I hadn't taken a sip.
My father was holding court near the bar, smoking a cigar. He looked triumphant. He had won his bet. He had molded the perfect son.
"Hey, Number One."
I turned. Jax was there.
He looked uncomfortable in his suit. He had a beer in one hand and his phone in the other.
"Jax," I said. "You made it."
"Wouldn't miss it. Even if your dad tried to keep me off the list." He toasted me. "Congrats, man. You did it. You're the King."
"Yeah."
Jax leaned against the railing next to me. He looked at me closely.
"You look like shit, Nick."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. You look like you're bleeding out."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
Jax sighed. He reached into his pocket.
"Look," he said. "I wasn't going to give you this. I promised her I wouldn't. She made me swear on my skates."
My heart stopped. "Who?"
"Jess."
He pulled out a small, velvet bag. It was blue. Cheap velvet.
"When I went to the penthouse... to check on her? She wasn't gone yet. I caught her in the lobby. She was crying, Nick. Like, ugly crying. Shattered."
I turned fully toward him. "You saw her? You talked to her?"
"Yeah. I tried to stop her. I told her you'd fix it. She said..." Jax shook his head. "She said you couldn't fix this. She said your dad threatened to blacklist her from every dance company on the East Coast. And that if she stayed, he'd pull the plug on your career before it started."
The glass in my hand shattered.
I didn't squeeze it. It just exploded. Shards of crystal and amber liquid rained down onto the concrete.
"He threatened her," I whispered. "I knew it. But the note... she said it was fun."
"She wrote that to make you hate her," Jax said. "She told me, 'If he hates me, he'll let me go. If he loves me, he'll burn his life down trying to save me.'"
Jax shoved the velvet bag into my hand—my bleeding, whiskey-soaked hand.
"She gave me this. She said to give it to you on Draft Night. If you won."
I opened the bag with trembling fingers.
Inside was a key chain.
It was cheap plastic. A little Golden Retriever.
And a note. A real note. Scrawled on a napkin.
For the dog. When you get him. Name him Puck. Don't forget me.
I stared at the plastic dog.
The dam broke.
The machine malfunctioned. The gears ground to a halt and the engine seized.
I let out a sound that wasn't human. It was a sob that tore through my chest, ripping open every wound I had cauterized for the last two weeks.
"She didn't take the money," I choked out. "She didn't leave me. She saved me."
"Yeah, man," Jax said softly. "She loves you. Like, really loves you."
I looked at my father across the roof. He was laughing, blowing smoke rings into the night air. He looked so happy. So secure in his victory.
He had lied to me. He had told me she took the money. He had manipulated everything.
And I had let him. I had believed him because it was easier to believe she was a villain than to believe I was unworthy of her sacrifice.
"I have to go," I said.
"Go where?" Jax asked. "You have interviews in the morning."
"I don't care."
I wiped the blood and whiskey from my hand onto my five-thousand-dollar pants.
"I have to find her."
"Nick, she's gone. She didn't tell me where she was going. She just said 'New York.' That's a big city."
"I don't care," I repeated. "I'll search every street. I'll search every dance studio. I have five million dollars, Jax. I can find one girl."
I turned to leave.
My father stepped into my path.
He had seen the glass break. He had seen the emotion on my face.
"Nicklas," he warned, his voice low. "Don't cause a scene. People are watching."
I looked at him.
For the first time in twenty-two years, I didn't see a giant. I didn't see a monster.
I saw a sad, small man who had traded his family for a trophy.
"Let them watch," I said.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm leaving, Father."
"You can't leave. You are the face of the franchise. You have obligations."
"I quit," I said.
My father blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I quit the family business. I quit the legacy. I quit you."
"You're drunk," he sneered. "You're emotional."
"I'm finally awake."
I stepped closer to him. I towered over him.
"You lied to me," I said, my voice deadly calm. "You told me she took the money. You told me she didn't love me."
"I told you what you needed to hear to win!" he hissed. "And look! You won! You are Number One!"
"I lost," I corrected him. "I lost the only thing that mattered."
I reached into my pocket. I pulled out the phone—the brand new iPhone the team had given me.
"Keep the money," I said. "Keep the signing bonus. Keep the penthouse. I don't want any of it."
I dropped the phone into his drink. It splashed, sinking to the bottom of his scotch.
"Nicklas!" he roared. "If you walk away now, you are cut off! You will have nothing!"
I held up the plastic dog key chain.
"I have this," I said. "And I have a name."
I turned my back on him.
"Nicklas! Get back here!"
I walked away. I walked through the crowd of models and agents. I walked past the open bar. I walked to the elevator.
Jax was running after me.
"Cap! Wait up!"
I held the door.
"You're crazy," Jax panted, grinning. "You're actually doing it. You're burning it down."
"I'm not burning it down," I said as the doors closed, shutting out the noise of the party. "I'm starting a fire."
"So what's the plan?" Jax asked. "New York?"
"New York," I agreed. "We find the girl. We get the dog. And then..."
"And then?"
I looked at the reflection in the brass doors. The eyes weren't dead anymore. They were wild. They were alive.
"And then I beg," I said. "I beg until she takes me back."
The elevator dinged. Ground floor.
I walked out into the humid Nashville night. I loosened my tie. I took a deep breath.
For the first time in my life, I didn't know what was going to happen next. I had no script. No playbook. No safety net.
And it felt fantastic.