"The team will be fine," he said, the dismissal in his tone absolute.
He pulled out his phone.
"Who are you calling?" Libby asked. "The lawyers?"
"My head of security," Liam said, his thumb already dialing. "The man who found Georgia when she ran away. He'll find Lydia."
Libby's breath caught. He was bringing his own private, painful history into this, using it to help her.
He put the phone to his ear. "Mark, it's me. I need a location on Gray Wickham... Yes, that one... He's with a twenty-year-old female, Lydia Bennet-Cross... She has her passport, so check all private and commercial flight manifests out of Boston and New York, starting last night."
He listened for a moment, his eyes locked on Libby's. "Find her. I need to know the second you have anything."
He hung up. The kitchen was silent again, but the air was different. It wasn't awkward or uncertain anymore. It was charged, focused. He hadn't just promised action; he'd initiated it, right here, with her.
"We'll get her back, Libby," he said. It wasn't a platitude. It was a vow.
He gently took her hands. They were ice-cold. "You're shaking."
"I... I rejected your call," she confessed, the shame flooding back. "Before the game. You should have been focused onMontreal, not... not dealing with this mess. I thought you were calling to say you couldn't be involved, that you needed to distance yourself... to cut ties."
"Libby." His grip tightened. "When I get on the ice, I do a final check. I look for my family. I look for my coach." His eyes held hers. "And I look for your seat. It was empty. The game didn't matter after that."
He let that hang in the air, a confession more potent than any kiss.
"Now," he said, releasing one of her hands to run his own through his exhausted hair. "My flight back isn't for another three hours. I have to be on the ice in Montreal tomorrow for Game 4. But right now, we use this time. We work with Georgia, coordinate with Mark, brief the lawyers. We figure out the next steps together." He met her eyes again, his gaze fierce. "Then I go win a hockey game. And then I come back."
He was right. This wasn't about them, not now. It was about Lydia. But as she started to talk, to lay out all the details Mary had found, showing him the screenshots on her phone, she realized that in the midst of her family's complete implosion, for the first time all day, she wasn't alone. He hadn't just shown up; he was staying, shoulder-to-shoulder with her in the crisis, until the moment he absolutely had to leave. And he'd promised to come back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pale sunlight filtered through Jane's apartment windows. Libby was alone on the couch, two coffee cups still in the sink from the early morning hours she and Liam had spent working together before he left for his flight back to Montreal.
She checked her phone. Late morning already. He'd be in Montreal by now, probably at the morning skate. The apartment felt cavernous and too quiet.
Her phone buzzed.
Mary
Found something. Call me
Libby hit the call button immediately, her heart racing.
"There's a gambling ring that's been operating since 2019," Mary said without preamble. "Three other women in different locations—all the public faces of 'insider betting' schemes. Same backend infrastructure, same LLC, same financial patterns. But the women thought they were running legitimate businesses. They had no idea they were fronts for something illegal."
Libby grabbed her laptop, her journalist brain snapping into focus. "Is Wickham the only one involved?"
"Several players, but he's the common denominator across all four operations. He's listed as a silent partner in the incorporation paperwork." Mary paused. "Libby, the women were supposed to keep him invisible—no photos, no tags, no public connection. When investigations started, they took the fall and he moved on to the next cover."
"And Lydia?—"
"Lydia had no idea what she was walking into," Mary said. "She thought she was being smart, leveraging her connection to a pro athlete to build her brand. She posted photos with him, tagged him everywhere, name-dropped him constantly. She did exactly what every other influencer does, but she was supposed to be running a front for illegal gambling. She broke every rule without even knowing there were rules to break."
Libby's throat closed. "So that's why he left with her."
"He probably thought he could control her, keep her quiet. Clearly that didn't work." Mary's voice softened. "Libby, this pattern clears you and Jane completely. It proves Lydia was being used. The evidence is solid—same financial structures, same LLC, same methods across years. This is his operation, not hers."
"Send me everything."
