15. Riley #3
Riley grabbed the railing and sank onto the top stair. She felt the rough edge through her jeans, but barely noticed it. Tears blurred the screen, and she blinked until Graham was clear again.
Out of everything surrounding him on that stage—the cameras, the contracts, the franchise logos, the people whose approval had once dictated their marriage—he had gone after the one thing she had made with her own hands.
She covered her mouth.
Maisie dropped onto the stair beside her. For once, she had no immediate joke ready. They watched Graham stand under the launch lights with Riley’s sweater resting across his arm while Nicolle remained several steps away.
Then Maisie shook her head.
“Holy shit, Riley. That is the same sweater from those arena photos.”
Riley wiped a tear away without lowering the phone. “I know.”
“He took it right off her.”
The tears kept coming, but Riley made no attempt to hide them now. Months ago, giving that sweater away had told her that their history could be traded for a cleaner photograph.
This was the answer.
Riley looked at the screen and finally said it aloud.
“He reclaimed it. He actually took it away from her.”
Graham kept the sweater draped across his arm.
He had taken it back.
The shot widened as Graham reached inside his jacket. Riley stayed seated beside Maisie, the phone balanced in her hand. On the screen, Graham pulled out a folded stack of papers and held it toward the cameras.
Maisie leaned closer. “That’s the extension.”
Riley recognized enough from the staging. That was the contract the franchise had expected him to sign beneath the launch lights, the document meant to lock Ice Royalty into another cycle of campaigns, interviews, and photographs.
Graham took the papers in both hands.
The sound of tearing paper crackled through the phone speaker.
He split the extension down the middle, tore it again, and let the pieces scatter across the stage. People rushed from the wings, but Graham raised the microphone before anyone reached him.
“I’m cashing out. My relationship with this brand and this franchise ends today.”
Riley stared at the scraps around his shoes.
This was no symbolic apology designed to survive until the next sponsorship meeting. He had just destroyed the agreement the cameras were there to celebrate. Whatever happened when lawyers, executives, and league officials finished counting the cost, Graham had chosen to let it happen.
Maisie pointed toward the screen. “He’s tearing up his career.”
“I can see.”
Graham lowered the microphone. Someone from the edge of the stage reached for him, but he turned toward the stairs instead. He took the sweater with him as he walked out of the main shot.
The broadcast cut away.
Three commentators appeared behind a studio desk, all talking over one another while footage of him tearing the contract replayed beside them. Graphics began crawling across the bottom of the screen before any information could be confirmed.
“Complete chaos unfolding in New York! Graham Delaney has just effectively walked away from his franchise on live television!”
Riley lowered the phone.
For months she had measured every choice Graham made against the same question: What would happen when hockey demanded something from him? The answer had always been predictable. He would explain the money, the contracts, the future he claimed to be protecting, and expect her to accept the cost.
Today, hockey had demanded everything.
He had told it no.
Riley held the phone toward Maisie. “Here.”
Maisie took it, but her attention stayed on Riley. “You understand what he just did, right?”
Riley nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“He could lose the endorsements. The captaincy. Maybe the team.”
The commentators continued arguing through the phone in Maisie’s lap. Riley turned away from the noise and looked across the gravel lot.
The driveway lay empty beneath the coastal sun.
“Riley…” Maisie glanced down at the feed again. “He just threw his entire career away.”
Riley looked back at her.
“No, he didn’t. He just reclaimed everything that actually matters.”
For once, Maisie had nothing to add.
The shop door opened below them. Mac stepped outside and looked up toward the loft, one hand shading his eyes from the sun.
“Riley! Are you clocking in for this shift or what?”
Yesterday, she would have been halfway to the production floor by now. Work had been the place she went when she needed to stop waiting for Graham Delaney to choose her.
She did not need the machines today.
Riley turned toward the road again. No engine cut through the morning. No black car appeared between the trees. Graham was still hundreds of miles away, caught somewhere between the life he had just destroyed and the one he had told the world mattered more.
“Run the shift without me, Mac. I’m not moving from these stairs.”
Mac looked at her for another moment, then went back inside.
Maisie stayed quiet beside her, the phone finally muted in her lap.
Riley folded her hands and kept her attention on the empty drive. She had spent months teaching herself how to stop waiting for him.
Today, she chose to wait.
She stayed on the stairs and watched the road.