“That’s okay,” I say, pulling him close. “Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe he’ll learn about Paw Patrol for you.”
He looks up, hopeful. “So I can meet him?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. You can. And you will.”
21
LIAM
Nikand I are in the arena gym, lifting weights.
I’m pretty sure the guy has a commercial-quality private gym in his home because he’s obscenely wealthy, so I don’t know why he’s slumming here, but whatever.
It’s hella fucking early, and no one else is around, which makes it the perfect place to talk.
“Thanks for sending your guys,” I say, wiping sweat from my brow. “Fucking Marcus was waiting for me with a crowbar. He only backed off because your crew showed up and pointed guns in his face. They told him he was out of his territory.”
“He was,” Nik grunts as he bench presses a truly inspirational amount of weight. “The boundaries are always shifting. Your street technically is Barkov and Campisi’s turf now. Used to be Browning territory, but we pushed them back a few months ago. No business left for them there, so we shrank their footprint.”
“Apparently, Marcus didn’t get that memo.”
“Mmm,” Nik hums. “Sounds like he did. Last night.”
“They said it was a gift from Nikolai Campisi-Barkov,” I say. “I thought your last name was Ivanov?”
Nik sighs and signals for me to take my turn with the bar. He sits up, running a towel over his face. “Ivanov is my birth name. My professional name. Barkov is my adopted surname, and Campisi is my wife’s surname. It is complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” I mutter. “Honestly, it’s probably better, the less I know.”
“Probably,” he agrees. “But you can’t keep living like this, Liam.”
I sit with that for a second, then grab a set of handweights, turning my back to him. “I don’t really know what to do, Nik. My dad’s debt shouldn’t be mine, but I’ve already paid so much—some of it before he died, some after. I thought they’d cut me a break if I kept paying, that eventually it’d be enough. You know?”
“They’re never mollified. You giving them money just showed them you had more to give.”
“So it’s my fault?” I ask. It comes across as more defensive than I intended.
Nik shakes his head. “No. Not your fault.”
I can’t seem to shut up now. “I’m tapped out. I paid a quarter of a million to get my mom in this fucking fancy nursing home, and I pay eleven grand a month to maintain her care. I gave these fucks as much as I could. It’s all so fucking ...overwhelming. And my agent is shit. I need a new contract, a better deal. It’s just…” I trail off, frustration boiling over.
Nik lets out a low chuckle, which I don’t expect. I glare over at him, but he just holds up a hand.
“Hey, I’m not laughing at your situation. It’s shit, I know. I just… I’ve never heard you say so many words in a row, man. Guess you’ve been holding all that in?”
I make a face and go back to my arm set. “Whatever, man. That’s not exactly helpful.”
Nik shrugs, toweling off and grabbing his water bottle. “No offense. Everybody’s got problems. Yours can be fixed.”
I snort, not buying it. “Yeah? I’ll believe that when I see it.”
He just nods, calm as ever. “They can. And we’re starting now. Later today, you’re meeting with an agent I know. He’s top-notch, way better than the clown you’ve got now. He’s willing to look at your situation.”
I blink, surprised, but he keeps going. “Then, on Friday after practice, you’ll meet with a financial advisor. She’s coming in just for you. Knows her stuff and has extensive experience with complex situations. Bring all your statements, bills, and expenses, no matter what they are. She’s trustworthy and discreet. You can trust her.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling oddly emotional that he’d go out of his way for me like this. “But I still don’t know how to get the Brownings to leave me alone.”
Nik’s expression turns serious. “That’s trickier. We can keep them away from your house because of the territory lines, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try to fuck with you in other ways, or other places.”
