Chapter 6
SIX
FLIC
“I still can’t believe he’s bought your building,” Izzy says, tying a hay net to a hook inside one of the stalls.
We’re inside the barn at Oakwood Ranch, mucking out stalls.
The doors stand wide open to the afternoon sunlight and snow-covered paddocks.
For a moment, I pause, staring out across the snowy scene, taking a breath, waiting for the calm of the ranch to wrap itself around me.
But I’ve been shoveling hay with Izzy for an hour and it’s done nothing to burn off an ounce of anger.
“A billionaire with no morals using his money and influence to blackmail me into helping him—” I toss another forkful of hay into Moonlight’s stall.
“I can believe it.” Moonlight whinnies like she agrees, and I run a hand over her dapple-gray coat.
Her belly is starting to round with the foal she’s growing.
“Mama and Dylan will be back with Mad any minute,” Izzy says. “I sent a message to Jake and Harper, and Chase and Serena, too. They’re on their way.”
“Good.”
“So, what are we going to do about Grayson Ashborne?” Izzy asks, nodding to the pitchfork in my hand.
I laugh, then pull out my phone and open my fan page. “Part of me is pretty tempted to tell my followers exactly what kind of morals the new owner of the Stormhawks has. He can call it a deal all he wants, but it still tastes like blackmail to me.”
“Why don’t you?” Izzy asks, rubbing at a hand over her pregnant belly.
“Every time I start typing, something stops me. Despite how much I want to destroy Grayson right now, I don’t want to destroy the Stormhawks, and he wasn’t wrong about the protests and probably the nervous sponsors too.
” I sigh. “I want to talk to everyone before I speak out publicly. This affects all of us,” I add, thinking of Jake’s fear last week at the thought of spending the final years of his career playing for another team.
And Dylan’s worry over the outreach program he runs.
Before I can say any more, there’s the familiar rumble of a truck, and Izzy and I head onto the driveway as Dylan’s black Ford Raptor pulls in. Jake’s truck is just behind him. And striding through the snow, from the direction of the spruce trees and the lake houses, are Chase and Serena.
Ten-year-old Madison is first out from the truck, leaping from the back seat of Dylan’s pickup, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders, blonde hair as wild as ever.
“Flic,” she shrieks, sprinting at me full speed.
“Mad!” I open my arms, and she leaps at me with all the force of a linebacker to a quarterback. I spin her around like she’s still three years old. She laughs just the same, too.
“Did Mom tell you I’m getting a dog?” she asks as I set her down.
Izzy makes a noise from behind me. “I said we would think about it, Mad. That’s not the same as agreeing.”
Mad’s face falls, but I whisper in her ear, “Leave it with me.”
She grins, all sunshine and joy again.
“Are you putting ideas in her head, Flic?” Dylan says with a rueful smile, stepping from the truck in dark jeans and a fitted sweatshirt.
Harper appears next, her brown hair tied into a high ponytail. A smile lights up her heart-shaped face as she sees me. Right behind her is Jake in his trademark black baseball cap. Then Mama steps out of Dylan’s truck just as Chase and Serena join us.
And finally, with the Sullivans around me, the anger of the morning eases. This is my family. Whatever happens next, we’re in it together.
I grin at Chase. He looks the same as he always does—six foot something with broad shoulders and easy confidence, and biceps honed from hours and hours of throwing practice.
Serena is beside him: long honey-blonde hair loose around her shoulders, eyes bright, her whole body angled toward him like that’s the most natural place in the world to stand.
“So, you two…” I raise my eyebrows. “It’s for real now?”
“Very real,” Chase replies as Serena’s grin widens. “Thanks for the pep talk the other night,” he adds.
I rush to hug them both, and despite the revelations of the morning, I couldn’t be happier for them. They fit. They always have.
“How are you doing, Flic?” Serena asks. “Iz messaged us about this douchebag buying your bar and his offer.”
“Still pretty furious,” I admit, not missing the worry on Serena’s face. She’s a coach for the Stormhawks cheer team. They’ve been facing cuts even before this mess, and I’m sure she’s worried for her own job as much as for Chase’s place in the team.
Mama reaches for my hand. “To use your bar as leverage is low.”
It was Mama who encouraged me to take over the lease of The Hay Barn when Mom moved to Florida.
I worried I was too young to run my own business, but Mama squeezed my hand just like she is now and told me to follow my heart because there was nothing I couldn’t do if I set my mind to it.
She knows better than anyone how much the bar means to me.
“Why don’t we go inside?” Mama says then. “There’s more snow coming.”
We traipse in, and Dylan shoos Izzy away from the kitchen, telling her in his best growly voice, “You’re seven months pregnant. Sit down, woman. I’ve got this.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips as she lowers herself onto the bench beside me and lets Dylan make coffee and fix a snack for Madison, who takes it with a breezy, “Thanks,” before dashing outside to greet the horses and play with Buck.
I wait until Dylan joins us before I start. “Thanks for coming, everyone. I’m obviously freaking out about Grayson’s offer.”
Jake nods. “The man can’t buy your bar then click his fingers like you’re on his payroll, Flic.”
“But what do I do about it? Because it feels like the Stormhawks got handed a death sentence when Ashborne Holdings or Grayson Global—whatever they’re calling themselves now—bought the team.
And yeah, I could post all over my socials saying what a dick this guy is, but how does that help the Stormhawks?
The first playoff game is Saturday. I don’t want to make it harder for you guys to play. ”
Then the room sparks to life, and everyone is talking at once.
Dylan’s voice is fierce. “You’re not thinking of doing this, though, right? You can’t trust him, Flic. He’s playing you.” His gaze finds mine, all steel.
Chase blows out a long exhale. “I’ll admit it’s a smart move asking you for help, but the way he’s gone about it is all kinds of wrong.”
“We can publicly shame him for this,” Harper adds. “Not just on your fans page, but in the media, too. I can pitch an article to my editor about his underhanded tactics in trying to buy the fans.”
“He shouldn’t get away with this,” Serena says, tears glistening in her eyes as she leans closer to Chase.
Izzy is the only one not scowling or talking. Instead, she’s staring at me like I’m one of her horses and she’s trying to figure me out.
“But…” she says, and the table falls silent. “You’d get to own the building for the bar, right?”
I nod. “But only if I agree to help him win over the fans during the playoffs. And I’m not doing that. My only question is whether I speak out about his offer or stay quiet.”
“Exactly. It’s not like you can trust someone like him to stick to his word,” Dylan adds.
Izzy doesn’t blink. “I know. I get all that. But maybe you should consider it. Owning the building to The Hay Barn is what you’ve always wanted, Flic. No more rent hikes, no more inspections. You’d own your bar. If you got the deal in writing—”
“At what cost?” I cut in, because of course Izzy has seen straight through my resolve, repeating almost word for word my own thoughts from earlier. “I don’t think I can live with myself if I help a man like that. I’d be selling out the fans.”
Izzy shakes her head. “The way I see it, a man like Grayson Ashborne is going to do whatever he wants with the Stormhawks regardless, right?”
We all nod, and Izzy continues: “But if you agree, it isn’t just him you’re helping.”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I shoot back. “And I don’t feel good about that.”
“Not just you,” she replies. “You could help the fans and the team.”
“How do you mean?” Jake asks before I can. He slips his hand into Harper’s, and they share a worried look.
“Think about it,” Izzy says. “If Flic agrees to do this, she’ll have access to Grayson Ashborne in a way no one else would. You could show him what the Stormhawks mean to Denver. You might even convince him to keep things as they are. Make him fall in love with the team.”
“Pretty sure the only thing that guy loves is money,” Jake says.
But my heart fills for Izzy, with her fierce, pitchfork wielding, loyalty. She isn’t thinking about Grayson and his audacity; she’s thinking of me and the Stormhawks. I saw blackmail. She sees an opportunity. But could I really do it?
“I pour drinks and break up bar fights, Izzy. That’s the extent of my diplomacy.”
Chase shakes his head. “I’ve watched you convince a table of hardened drinkers to go home to their wives instead of ordering another round. I’m not saying you should, but if you wanted to do this, you could.”
Dylan agrees. “One look from you and those men practically apologized to the furniture on their way out. That’s a skill, Flic. But I still think someone like Grayson Ashborne will use you. I don’t want you to get burned.”
Their voices fade to a hum as my thoughts spin. I hate the idea of accepting Grayson’s offer and giving him exactly what he wants. But this might be my only chance to secure my bar forever.
However much I scrimp and save and cut costs wherever I can, I’m barely surviving right now.
And the truth I’ve been dodging like last call is that it isn’t just another rent hike that could finish me, it’s time.
I’ve only got a few months left before the bills finally catch up and take me out.
But if I owned the building, I could use the money I save on rent to hire more staff and run The Hay Barn how it should be run.
I could stop feeling like I’m juggling ten fireballs while walking a tightrope without a safety net.
I let Izzy’s words land a little harder.
Could I really show Grayson what the Stormhawks mean to this city?
Make a man who manipulates and schemes for a living understand loyalty?
Hope feels dangerous, but it sparks anyway.
Because then I think about Dylan and Jake and Chase and Mama.
About every weekend they gave me a home when I didn’t have one.
About how deeply I love this family. If I pull this off, I’m not just saving my bar.
I’m helping them, too. Jake and Chase wouldn’t be traded.
Dylan could keep supporting the kids who need it through the outreach program.
And Denver could keep the team it loves and the players who built it.
I look at Mama, needing her thoughts, or maybe her approval.
Her gaze is level. “I agree with Dylan. It’s a risk to trust someone like this.
My concern is what happens if you can’t convince the fans to accept an Ashborne as the majority owner.
Because if that happens, he could drag you down by association.
He wants you standing by his side at games to show Denver he’s got your support.
But what if it goes the other way, and instead of the fans accepting him, they turn on you, too? ”
I swallow. Fear needles my stomach. What good is owning the building and my bar if the fans stop coming? Not to mention my fan page. I like the connection I have to the people of Denver. I like the respect the Red Zone earns me, and how I feel like I’m a small part of the Stormhawks.
“But—” Mama continues, giving me one of her reassuring smiles. “If anyone can convince Grayson Ashborne to save the Stormhawks, it’s you, Flic. You are strong, loyal, and stand for everything the Stormhawks are about. And I doubt an opportunity like this will come up again.”
She’s right.
“There is one other issue,” Mama continues. “Grayson is saying he wants your help for the next four weeks.”
“Not exactly a lot of time to shift public opinion,” Harper says.
“Exactly. And it might not be four weeks,” Mama adds.
“This only works if we stay in the playoffs. Otherwise, the unrest from fans will only grow and the sponsors will walk as soon as the season ends. There’s no amount of meet and greets that’s going to calm the anger if we’re not still in with a shot at the Super Bowl.
And without financial investment, I don’t know what the next season looks like, or if there’ll even be one. ”
“Grayson pretty much said the same thing,” I admit.
The table falls silent. Winning Saturday’s game against the second seed already feels impossible. But staying in the playoffs all the way to the Super Bowl is going to take more than a few miracles, and everyone at this table knows it.
“If we play our best, we can’t be beaten,” Chase says quietly.
Jake pushes a hand through his dark hair, his expression shifting from worry to resolve. “Then we play our best. We stay in the playoffs not just to win this season, but to give the Stormhawks a fighting chance at a future.”
I take a long gulp of coffee and let my decision sink in.
It’s a risk accepting Grayson’s deal. It feels like I have everything to gain, but everything to lose, too.
But when I look around this table at the people I love, who I have the chance to help just as much as the Stormhawks and myself, the risk feels worth it.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ll take his deal.”
I’m doing it for Denver. For the Stormhawks. The fans. For the Sullivans, and for myself, too. All those reasons. Except now I have to go back to Grayson Ashborne and agree to help him. It’s exactly what he thought I’d do when he walked out of my bar earlier.
Well, fine. I’ll do it. But it’ll be on my terms. He might get my help. But he’ll never get my loyalty.