He exhales, long and tired, staring at the table for a second before answering. “She’s… the same. Some good days, mostly bad ones. The doctors say she’s stable, but it’s not the kind of stable that gives you hope, you know?”
I nod, my chest tightening. “I’m sorry, Liam. That’s got to be hard.”
He shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that hides more than it dismisses. “She’s taken care of. That’s the best I can do now.”
I’m not sure how to answer him, what to say that would be appropriate.
“I continue to pay for the sins of my parents,” he says softly, almost a whisper, and more to himself than to me.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
When he looks at me, he seems so haunted that I feel my eyes go wide with shock.
“Tell me,” I say. “You can tell me anything. Truly.”
He’s quiet for a long time, staring at his menu but clearly deciding how much he wants to share. The waiter returns to take our orders, and I’m on the edge of my seat when he finally looks me in the eyes.
“My dad was a gambling addict, Emma,” he says. “And that, in and of itself, is whatever. Not a surprise, probably. But when I got to Chicago, he started asking me for money. Ten thousandhere, five thousand there. I would give it to him, and he’d promise he was done, that he was going to stop, then he’d come back with an even bigger debt. And I would pay it because he was my dad, you know? I felt obligated to help him. But my rookie contract wasn’t great, and my mom’s care costs so much that pretty soon I had to tell him no. I didn’t have it.”
“Oh, Liam,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s whatever. He sort of left me alone for a while, and I actually thought maybe he’d turned over a new leaf, but then he came back to me again and said the debt was more.”
“How much more?” I ask.
“Millions, Emma.” His face is solemn. “I couldn’t help him. And soon after, he threw himself off a bridge, and I thought it was over. You know, dead people can’t pay debts. But I guess he’d told them that his son was a professional hockey player, so they came after me. Said the debt was too high to forgive, that I had to pay it. I refused, so they started showing up outside my house, following me, threatening me. They’ve slashed the tires of my car.”
“So those men in the garage?” I venture.
He nods. “Marcus O’Rear. He’s a loan shark and enforcer for the Browning family.”
“And the Browning family are...”
“Irish mafia,” Liam says. “A low-level crime family. Did you know that Chicago is, like, infested with mafia activity? I had no idea, not until recently. And the Browning family is, like, at the bottom of the food chain, but that’s neither here nor there. They still want their money.”
Dumbfounded, I just sit there, trying to process. “Really?Mafia? I had no idea that was a thing anymore.”
He lets out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah. Apparently, it is. Leave it to my dad to fuck around and find out.”
The waiter brings our salads, and for a while, we both just eat quietly.
I can’t stop thinking about what he said. I feel a great deal of sadness on Liam’s behalf.
I always thought hockey had saved him, that it pulled him away from the constant drama of his parents. That was the reason I left when I decided to keep the baby. I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of his opportunity to get out of that situation.
It turns out that more money and more success just mean more problems.
After a minute, he sighs and says, “Didn’t mean to dump all this on you. Not exactly great date talk.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I’d rather you be honest.”
He gives a slight nod and pushes his salad around with his fork. “I just… need you to know where things stand. I’m not rich, Em. My dad’s dead, and I’ve got the mafia breathing down my neck for money I don’t have. My contract isn’t great. I’m still living in my dad’s old house. I drive a beat-up Honda. Every extra dollar I make goes to my mom’s care.”
He pauses, looking down, voice rough. “The only thing that’s made me happy in the last six years is hockey.”
I stare at him, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth.
He lets out a small, bitter laugh and takes another sip of wine. “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. This is not the romantic dinner I was going for.”
