Chapter 32 Liam
LIAM
“This is a good plan,” Ellie says, glasses perched low on her nose as she scans the last page of paperwork. “But are you sure about the account for Emma?”
She looks up at me across the table. We’re sitting in a restaurant, half-eaten lunches pushed aside to make room for paperwork and her open laptop.
“I’m sure,” I say.
Once the money from my dad’s house finally came through, I checked with Nik and Leanna about a dozen times to make sure it was really mine.
They both told me the same thing: the Browning debt was gone for good, and I needed to stop asking.
Without the house, I needed somewhere to live. I thought about buying a place, but Leanna advised against it. Being married to a pro hockey player, she understands what can happen if I get traded. And with my contract negotiation coming up, there’s a real chance I’ll be moving again soon.
So I settled on a short-term apartment near Emma’s. Furnished. Flexible lease. Easy to leave if everything changes.
“Okay then,” Ellie says, sliding the stack of papers toward me. “Sign everywhere I flagged, and I’ll have everything up and running within forty-eight hours.”
I sign where I’m supposed to, hand the pages back, and watch her double-check them one last time. She nods, satisfied, and tucks everything neatly into a folder, then slips it into the designer bag sitting beside her.
“I’m glad things are on the upswing for you, Liam,” she says as she closes her laptop and stows it away. “You seem like a good person. I like seeing good people win.”
I give her a small smile, and she cocks her head quizzically.
“You look sad. Why do you look sad? You just invested seven figures worth of money. You have enough left in your bank account to pay your rent, pay your mom’s rent, and buy a new car.”
“Yeah, no, all of that is… good,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t need to hear about my pathetic love life.”
Ellie tilts her head, takes a sip of her iced tea. “This wouldn’t happen to involve Emma Reyes, the woman for whom you just set up a very generous investment account?”
I give her a thin smile. “It is. But it’s whatever. Not your problem.”
“No,” she agrees, “it’s not my problem. And it’s not my business.
” She folds her hands on the table. “But I will say this—my husband came to me as a brand-new client with a… let’s call it a complicated file.
Our professional boundaries got tested. Some of his chaos bled into my life. It wasn’t easy.”
She gives a knowing smile. “But we figured it out. So if it’s meant to be, you two will find your way. That’s all I’m saying.”
I leave the meeting feeling lighter than I have in weeks, and even hopeful.
Ellie’s words settle warm in my chest, and for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like a locked door.
The energy in the arena hits me the moment my skates touch the ice. It’s loud, bright, and buzzing the way it always is on a home game night. Normally, that kind of noise winds me up, making me tense.
But not tonight.
Tonight, everything inside me is calm.
For the first time in months, my head feels steady. My chest feels open. My body feels like something I can control instead of something I’m fighting.
Nik skates up beside me for the opening faceoff. He doesn’t say anything, just gives me a slow, assessing look that lasts half a second but means everything.
He sees it.
They all do.
The puck drops.
I snap it back cleanly and take off, my body moving with a fluid precision I barely recognize as my own. No hesitation. No overthinking. No anger is tightening my chest.
Just focus.
A Vortex defender charges me, trying to bait me into the bad version of myself—the guy who hits first and thinks later.
But I don’t fall for it.
I pull up, shift to the inside, and slip past him in one smooth, effortless motion.
The crowd reacts instantly, a ripple of surprise giving way to cheers. Even the announcer’s voice cracks over the speakers.
At the blue line, I thread a pass across the slot. Max meets it in stride and fires. The puck hits the net, the horn blares, and the whole bench rises to its feet, clapping and cheering.
The second period starts harder. Edmonton goes dirty fast:
A shove after the whistle.
An elbow to the ribs.
Comments meant to claw under my skin.
Dom mutters a warning as he skates past. “Let it roll off you, Liam. Don’t bite.”
For the first time in my life, I don’t.
The puck swings around the boards. Mikey kicks it up the ice with perfect timing, and it lands on my stick like it was meant for me.
I drive forward, cut inside the last defender, and rip a shot into the top corner.
The horn erupts.
The crowd surges.
My teammates crash into me, shouting, laughing, tapping my helmet.
Max yells, “Cal’s back!”
Connor adds something ridiculous that Dom smacks him for, but I’m too dialed in to catch the exact phrasing.
The third period crawls by, the score locked at 3–3. I skate back to the bench after a clean shift, breathing steady, in control… and that’s when I notice Coach isn’t smiling.
He isn’t pumped.
He looks… unhappy.
It throws me for a second.
I’ve played one of my best games in months, and somehow he looks like I’ve disappointed him.
Before I can make sense of it, he taps my shoulder for the final shift.
“Callaghan,” he says, voice flat. “Go.”
I push the confusion aside.
I’m on a winning streak—not just in the game, but in my own damn head.
So I shrug it off, take a breath, and hop the boards.
I skate out, and the noise in my head goes silent. The arena isn’t loud anymore—it’s focused, like the entire building is watching the puck the same way I am.
Twenty seconds left.
A clumsy pass.
A loose puck.
A half-second of opportunity.
I’m there first.
My legs burn as I break away, but my mind stays quiet, steady. The goalie squares up, reading my angle, bracing for the hit he expects me to take.
But I don’t take it.
I wait.
One beat.
Two.
He flinches—just enough.
I shoot low glove.
The puck snaps into the net.
The arena explodes.
Behind me, I hear my teammates before I see them.
Nik hits me from behind, shouting something in Russian that I’m ninety percent sure is praise.
Max loops an arm around my chest and practically hangs off me.
Dom grabs my helmet and shakes me like a bobblehead.
Mikey yells, “That’s my captain!” even though I’m not the captain.
Connor trips over his own skates trying to join the pile.
And for the first time in a long time…
I feel like I belong.
The second we step into the locker room, someone blasts music loud enough to shake the ceiling tiles. Sweat, steam, and victory hang thick in the air.
I’m just trying to make it to my stall, but the guys swarm me before I even get close.
Max is the first one in my face.
“Holy hell, Cal, where did that come from?”
Dom slaps a hand onto my shoulder, grinning like a maniac.
“Seriously, who are you and what’d you do with Callaghan?”
Connor, of course, has to be Connor.
He slings an arm around my shoulders, grinning like he’s been waiting all night for this moment.
“Be honest, Lee Lee, did someone finally give you a blow job before the game? Because damn, whatever that was, you need to schedule it before every puck drop.”
I choke on a laugh. He’s too far off.
Mikey steps forward, jaw slack. “Dude, you had three guys chasing you, and you didn’t take a single stupid penalty. I almost fainted.”
“Thanks for the faith,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Nik wanders over, arms folded, studying me like I just performed some rare scientific miracle.
“You play like you finally slept.”
“I did,” I say. “Sort of.”
He nods, a tiny smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.
“It suits you.”
Before I can respond, a cold blast hits the back of my neck. I turn just in time to see Mikey lowering a water bottle, looking way too innocent.
One of the rookies grabs a Gatorade bottle, shakes it like champagne, and accidentally sprays all over the floor.
Someone slips.
Someone else screams.
Connor sprints across the room yelling, “No one gets concussion juice in my eyes, I have a date Friday!”
Our goalie gets tackled by two guys, flailing.
“Hey! Not the head! My wife will kill me!”
The coaches walk in, take one look at the nonsense, turn around, and walk right back out.
And in the middle of the chaos, the laughter, the noise, the ridiculousness—I feel grounded.