Chapter 10 Liam
LIAM
The blare of my alarm drags me out of a half-assed sleep. It’s somewhere under the bed, screaming like a dying animal.
I stumble up, crouch down, and fish it out, slamming it onto the nightstand to shut it off.
Christ. I need coffee.
I trudge into the kitchen and realize I need to meet Nik for breakfast in like twenty minutes.
Fuck.
So much for caffeine, I yank on a hoodie, gym shorts, and sneakers, run a hand through my hair, and head out the door.
Habit makes me scan the street before I get in my car—no Irish bastards lurking today.
Small miracles.
The diner’s half-packed when I get there, the smell of bacon and burnt coffee hitting me in the face.
I don’t expect to see Dominic already sitting with Nik in the corner booth.
Great. A two-on-one before coffee.
I hesitate for a second before walking over, trying to read their expressions.
Nik’s unreadable as always, and Dom’s watching me like he’s keeping score.
I wonder how much Nik’s told him.
I slide into the booth next to Dom, and I’m sure we’re quite a sight, three big guys jammed into a space meant for normal-sized humans.
Probably looks ridiculous from a distance.
“Morning,” I say.
The waitress appears, all smiles and sass, pad in hand.
“What’ll it be, boys?”
“Coffee,” I tell her. “Black. Strong. Lots of it.”
She grins, and I watch her eyes scan Nik, all dark-haired and sharp suit, that cool Russian composure. She spots the wedding ring on his finger and then moves her gaze to Dominic.
Dom gives her that polite, quiet nod of his. He keeps his brown hair military short, his movements clipped and precise.
On the ice, he’s fast as hell, slick and sneaky. It’s one of the reasons the fans love him.
I’m not into guys, but yeah, I can admit he’s good-looking.
He winks at the waitress, and she blushes before walking off, which pretty much proves my point.
Me? Not so much these days. Two fading black eyes, a busted nose—real heartthrob material.
The first few minutes at the table feel awkward to me. The Russians chat jovially about last night’s game, seemingly aware that I’m not firing on all cylinders yet.
When the coffee comes, I hold the cup with both hands, inhaling the aroma before gulping down half of it.
“Rough night?” Dominic chuckles. “My babushka used to say the only cure for vodka is more vodka. You need vodka?”
He pulls a flask from his sweater and wiggles his eyebrows. My eyes go wide. The man’s serious.
He takes a swig, still grinning, and I glance at Nik.
Nik sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Jesus Christ, Dominic.”
“I’m...good...thanks,” I say. “It wasn’t that kind of night.”
“Too bad for you,” Dom says. “Or, maybe good. Last time you got pissed, you ended up in a hospital.”
“True,” I concede. “I suppose I should learn my lesson.”
“Which is?” Dom asks.
“Never let Conner talk me into going out to the bars.”
Dom chuckles again as Nik mutters, “Kakoy mudak.” It does not sound like a compliment, but I don’t think it’s directed at me.
I nod at Nik’s wedding band, trying to change the subject. “Congrats, man. I guess I didn’t realize you were dating someone, let alone serious enough to get married.”
“What, you’re not a tenacious gossip like some of our teammates?” Nik asks, a sly grin on his face.
“I mean, I think you know I keep to myself,” I say.
“Indeed,” Nik says. He puts both elbows on the table, steepling his hands and bumping his fingertips against his chin. “Why is that?”
I feel my brows furrow. “I’m just...I’ve never been a talkative person. I’m not, you know...I don’t totally isolate myself.”
“It’s not an attack,” Nik says. “You strike me as a bit shy, pretty quiet, but solid. You work hard. You mind your own business. I guess I just wondered if it was a character thing or a situational thing.”
“The former. I think,” I say. “The...situation probably makes it worse, though.”
“Who’s giving you trouble?” Nik says. “You said the Brownings?”
“Fucking Irish,” Dominic spits.
“Pains in the ass,” Nik says at the same time.
“So you know them,” I say.
Nik tilts his head and assesses me through narrowed eyes. “I am familiar.”
I sit for a moment, not sure what to say next. Dominic and Nik seem to be having a conversation without speaking, as they look into one another’s eyes.
After a long beat, Nik says, “I will trust you not to share what we discuss here.”
I shrug. “Who would I share it with?”
The waitress shows up before he can answer, smiling too brightly.
We all order big breakfasts, pancakes, eggs, bacon, the kind of meal that would knock a man out cold after.
She calls us “growing boys” with a giggle before heading off again.
Nik exhales slowly, fingers drumming once on the table. “Dominic and I have... other business interests beyond hockey.”
“I’ve heard rumblings about that,” I say. “I never paid it much attention.”
“From whom?” Nik asks, and there is so much power and menace in the question that I actually freeze in place, coffee cup halfway to my lips.
I’ve seen Nikolai Ivanov punch his own teammates in the face before, so I know all about his temper. I would not want to be on the guy’s bad side.
“I’ve heard the guys joke,” I say carefully. “They call the Reapers the Made Man’s Hockey Club. Took me a while to figure out what they meant.”
Dominic chuckles, and Nik’s lips twist into the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on the guy.
“Not too far off course, actually,” he says. Then he puts both hands on the table. “Here’s the deal. We can’t have stupid Irish thugs hanging around the parking lot with baseball bats. And we can’t afford to lose first-string players to random attacks.”
He leans forward slightly, eyes locked on mine. “So you’re going to tell us what the trouble is, Callaghan. And we’ll see what we can do about it.”
I’m not sure where to start.
I chew on my lip and stare at my now-empty coffee cup before looking helplessly toward the waitress, who nods and swings by with the pot, topping up all three cups.
I wait until she’s gone before I speak.
“I don‘t suppose you need my whole life story or anything. Basically, my dad moved here after my parents got divorced, when I was still in high school. Four, almost five, years ago, I got drafted here on my rookie contract. I thought I’d try to rebuild a relationship with the guy, but the only thing he gave a shit about was gambling. At first, I lent him small amounts of money and tried to help him. But he dug himself a big hole, way too big for me to fill.”
“How big?” Nik asks.
“Millions,” I admit. “He only took an interest in me because he thought I was rolling in cash when I made it to the NHL. The joke was on him. When I stopped giving him money, his messages started getting more frantic and increasingly angry. Then one day the police showed up and said he’d taken his own life. ”
“My condolences,” Nik says.
“No need,” I say. “He wasn’t a good man.”
“All the same.” He pauses, studying me. “Is your mother still alive?”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s… not been well for a long time. She’s in an assisted living facility. I cover the costs.”
Nik looks thoughtful. “That’s kind of you. Did you have a good relationship with her?”
I feel like I’m being grilled. I don’t talk about these things, ever, but I don’t think he’s judging. He’s measuring me, trying to decide what kind of man I am.
“At times,” I admit. “She loved me the best she could, but she was an addict. It wrecked her health and most of her life.”
“Mmm,” Nik hums thoughtfully. “So your father died, and the Browning family turned to you with the debt?”
“Yup,” I say. “I’d like to think they’d have let it go if the amount wasn’t so big. But it’s millions, and I get it, they want to recoup what they can. I just… don’t have it.”
“You said you were already paying some before he died?” Dom asks.
I nod. “Yeah. He’d come to me begging—ten grand here, twenty there.
I’d pay off what I could, just to keep the wolves off him for a while.
But between that and covering my mom’s care…
” I trail off, shaking my head. “My rookie contract didn’t stretch far.
I thought about cutting them both off, but they’re my parents. It’s not that simple.”
Nik says, “My parents died when I was young, Liam. I’d have given anything to have them back for a very long time. I can understand why you wouldn’t walk away.”
There’s a long silence, and then our food comes. It takes up the whole table, all of the plates of food, and we all dig in.
“When did the harassment start?” Dom asks after a few minutes.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin, chewing slowly before answering. “About a year ago. My dad jumped off a bridge. The Brownings showed up at his funeral.”
Nik mutters something low and sharp in Russian.
Dominic agrees with a smirk. “Yeah. They’re dirty, greedy bastards.”
“Yes,” I say. “They told me my father owed them millions. Said it was too much to write off. Claimed that since I was his NHL-famous son, I must be swimming in cash. Told me to pay up and they’d ‘make it go away.’”
Dominic frowns. “And you told them to fuck off?”
“Of course,” I say. “Next day, they’re at my door. Said they’d cut me a deal—one million in cash and they’d disappear. I told them to fuck off again and slammed the door in their faces. Not paying a debt that isn’t mine. And even if I wanted to, I didn’t have it. Can’t squeeze blood from a stone.”
“Persistent little devils,” Dominic comments.
“Oh, that’s not the half of it,” I say, shoveling eggs into my mouth. “They followed me, roughed me up, fucked up my house. It never ends.” I gesture to my still-bruised face. “Obviously.”
“Sounds like the Brownings,” Dominic says with a scoff. “Bottom-feeding bastards.”
“Oh, I know,” I say. “I did some research. They prey on people like my dad. People who have an addiction, people who will keep coming back, keep digging holes for themselves. Vulnerable people. It’s sickening.”
“I’d love to run them straight out of town,” Dom says. “Right back to the other side of the rainbow.”
Nik takes a slow breath, sits back, and exhales slowly. “I’ll have someone keep an eye on your house. They can tell the Brownings to move along if they try to camp out.”
“Really?” I ask, half-skeptical. “And they’ll actually care what your guys say?”
Nik laughs, but it’s not a humorous sound. It’s dark and full of threats. “Oh, they’ll care.”
I blink, realizing again that I have no idea who I’m really sitting with. I think about asking, but decide it’s better not to.
“I’m also going to set you up with a few meetings. I know a good agent. Sounds like you could use one. And a financial adviser.”
“Oh, I don’t really need any financial advice,” I say.
He chuckles. “You will. It will help to have someone you trust on your side.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Dom elbows me, grinning. “Told you, big guy—we’ve got you.”
And for some reason, I actually believe him.