Of course she’s worth it.
But Taviani’s words slither through the certainty.PR can be a real bitch.
He won’t fight fair. He’ll use her. Useus. He’ll paint her as the problem, the opportunist, the woman distracting the star athlete.
And I walked right into this situation. I thought my name, my reputation, was a shield. Instead, I handed him a weapon.
The frustration settles deep in my body. For the first time since I stepped onto the ice as a kid, I feel completely outmaneuvered. And the person who stands to pay the price isn't me. It's Holly.
Chapter 26
Denton
Snow swirls outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, fat flakes catching the city lights before dissolving into the dark Chicago streets far below. I lean my shoulder against the cool glass, watching the snow. My reflection stares back – a tall, dark shape against the glittering grid of the city. But superimposed over it, is the Christmas tree.
The Holly Tree, Tabby named it. It stands in the corner, an explosion of green needles, twinkling white lights, and… stuff. So much stuff.
Hand-painted wooden ornaments from Sarah’s box. Tabby’s lopsided clay snowman grinning crookedly from a prominent branch. So many red, gold and silver balls. Tinsel draped with reckless abandon, catching the light. And perched precariously on top, the gold star.
It’s imperfect. And I love it.
I push off the window. My bare feet make no sound on the polished hardwoods as I walk towards the tree. I stop in front of it, looking up at Sarah’s star.
A pang, less like a knife and more like a bruise, touches my heart. But it doesn’t drown out the other feeling. The warmth.The quiet rightness of her memory being part of this, part of Tabby’s joy, part of the new story unfolding.
Holly understood that. She held space for it, without pity, without pushing. Just… complete acceptance.
A low hum starts in my chest, unfamiliar and resonant. Contentment.
For years, my baseline has been vigilance, control, the low thrum of potential loss. Now… standing in my transformed living room, smelling pine, listening to my daughter’s soft voice weaving stories in the next room, thinking of Holly… it’s all different.
My vibrating back pocket causes me to jump. I pull out my phone and Paul’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Paul.”
“Denton! Good, you’re up.” Paul’s voice is all business, crisp and efficient. Straight to the play. “Got the official paperwork in front of me from the Gold. It’s a really good offer, man.”
I walk away from the tree, towards the kitchen island. The cool granite surface feels solid under my hands, unlike the hollow feeling opening up in my gut. “Yeah? Lay it out for me.”
“Four-year extension,” Paul begins, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. The kind an agent gets when the commission numbers are big. “Base salary top-tier for the league. Performance bonuses stacked in your favor – points, plus/minus, blocked shots, the usual, but totally achievable. Especially with their current roster.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Signing bonus… Denton, it’s substantial. Life-changing substantial. Enough to set Tabby up for college, buy an amazing place, invest… all of it.”
Paul isn’t done. “They’re offering an alternate captaincy. Leadership role. They see you as a cornerstone, Denton. Not just a rental for a playoff push. But a long-term franchise player.” He takes a breath. “And the city… San Francisco. Great schools.Parks. Weather. A fantastic place to raise a kid if you can afford to be in the nice parts, and with this package you absolutely can.”
He’s painted quite the picture. Sunshine and security. A golden future laid out on a silver platter. Everything I’ve always wanted. Everything the old Denton Blake would have jumped at without a second thought.
My gaze drifts back to the Christmas tree. The lights blur slightly. A hollow feeling in my gut twists, sharp and sudden. I feel sick to my stomach as I grip the edge of the granite countertop.
“Denton? You hearing me?” Paul’s voice cuts through the static in my head. “This is it. The big one. The security we’ve been working toward. And they want an answer soon. End of the week.”
End of the week. Five days. To decide between… everything I thought I wanted, and everything I didn’t know I needed until it was standing right in front of me, covered in flour and icing and looking at me like I hung the damn moon.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Heard you. End of the week.”
“Think about it,” Paul says, his tone shifting, trying for reassuring but landing somewhere between a coach’s pep talk and a salesman closing the deal. “Think about Tabby. Think about your future. This is the kind of offer that would set you up for life.” He pauses. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll talk details.”
The kind of offer that would set you up for life.
The words echo in my head. They should feel like a win. A shutout. A perfect play executed flawlessly.
