After a long beat, Nik says, “I will trust you not to share what we discuss here.”
I shrug. “Who would I share it with?”
The waitress shows up before he can answer, smiling too brightly.
We all order big breakfasts, pancakes, eggs, bacon, the kind of meal that would knock a man out cold after.
She calls us “growing boys” with a giggle before heading off again.
Nik exhales slowly, fingers drumming once on the table. “Dominic and I have... other business interests beyond hockey.”
“I’ve heard rumblings about that,” I say. “I never paid it much attention.”
“Fromwhom?” Nik asks, and there is so much power and menace in the question that I actually freeze in place, coffee cup halfway to my lips.
I’ve seen Nikolai Ivanov punch his own teammates in the face before, so I know all about his temper. I would not want to be on the guy’s bad side.
“I’ve heard the guys joke,” I say carefully. “They call the Reapers theMade Man’s Hockey Club. Took me a while to figure out what they meant.”
Dominic chuckles, and Nik’s lips twist into the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on the guy.
“Not too far off course, actually,” he says. Then he puts both hands on the table. “Here’s the deal. We can’t have stupid Irishthugs hanging around the parking lot with baseball bats. And we can’t afford to lose first-string players to random attacks.”
He leans forward slightly, eyes locked on mine. “So you’re going to tell us what the trouble is, Callaghan. And we’ll see what we can do about it.”
I’m not sure where to start.
I chew on my lip and stare at my now-empty coffee cup before looking helplessly toward the waitress, who nods and swings by with the pot, topping up all three cups.
I wait until she’s gone before I speak.
“I don‘t suppose you need my whole life story or anything. Basically, my dad moved here after my parents got divorced, when I was still in high school. Four, almost five, years ago, I got drafted here on my rookie contract. I thought I’d try to rebuild a relationship with the guy, but the only thing he gave a shit about was gambling. At first, I lent him small amounts of money and tried to help him. But he dug himself a big hole, way too big for me to fill.”
“How big?” Nik asks.
“Millions,” I admit. “He only took an interest in me because he thought I was rolling in cash when I made it to the NHL. The joke was on him. When I stopped giving him money, his messages started getting more frantic and increasingly angry. Then one day the police showed up and said he’d taken his own life.”
“My condolences,” Nik says.
“No need,” I say. “He wasn’t a good man.”
“All the same.” He pauses, studying me. “Is your mother still alive?”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s… not been well for a long time. She’s in an assisted living facility. I cover the costs.”
Nik looks thoughtful. “That’s kind of you. Did you have a good relationship with her?”
I feel like I’m being grilled. I don’t talk about these things, ever, but I don’t think he’s judging. He’s measuring me, trying to decide what kind of man I am.
“At times,” I admit. “She loved me the best she could, but she was an addict. It wrecked her health and most of her life.”
“Mmm,” Nik hums thoughtfully. “So your father died, and the Browning family turned to you with the debt?”
“Yup,” I say. “I’d like to think they’d have let it go if the amount wasn’t so big. But it’s millions, and I get it, they want to recoup what they can. I just… don’t have it.”
“You said you were already paying some before he died?” Dom asks.
I nod. “Yeah. He’d come to me begging—ten grand here, twenty there. I’d pay off what I could, just to keep the wolves off him for a while. But between that and covering my mom’s care…” I trail off, shaking my head. “My rookie contract didn’t stretch far. I thought about cutting them both off, but they’re my parents. It’s not that simple.”
