"Fine. Send me details. But you owe me."
"Done."
One down.
I dial Alexei Petrov next. Former teammate who moved to New York three years ago. We stay in touch. He's good people. Also owes me from that incident in Boston I never mentioned to the press.
"Ryder? The hell you calling me at nine in the morning for?"
"Remember Boston?"
Pause. "That wasn't my finest moment."
"I kept it quiet. Now I'm calling in that favor." I explain the game. The hospital. The timeline. "I need you to show up and play. One game. Two hours of your time."
"You're serious."
"Dead serious."
"Christmas week, man. My parents are visiting. My girlfriend's coming with them. I can't just bail to Vermont."
"Bring them. Make it a long weekend. Pine Hollow's beautiful this time of year. The inn has good food. Your girlfriend will love it." I press harder. "And Alexei? This is me asking. When have I ever asked you for anything?"
The silence stretches. Then: "You're in deep with someone, aren't you? This isn't about hockey."
"It's about doing the right thing."
"Sure it is." But he laughs. "Fine. Text me the info. I'll make it work. But we're even after this."
"Even."
Two down. That's three NHL players counting me. More than enough star power to sell out the event.
I text both of them the details, then head back to the kitchen. Lucy's still there, staring at her phone as if willing it to deliver good news. When she sees me, hope wars with doubt on her face.
"Well?"
"I got three NHL players to commit to the game. Cade Sterling from Boston. Alexei Petrov from New York." I lean against the counter. "And me."
She blinks. "You got two more NHL players to play with you. Actual NHL players agreed to come here in ten days."
"Marketing hook writes itself. Come watch NHL players scrimmage with locals for a good cause. Ticket prices can go up. You'll sell out easy."
"Ryder." She's staring at me like I've performed actual magic. "How did you—why would you—"
"You needed help. I helped."
"But these are professional favors. You can't just waste them on—"
"Not a waste." I hold her gaze. "This matters to you. So it matters to me."
The words land between us. True and raw and more honest than I've been with anyone in months. Her eyes go bright. Shiny in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Thank you." The words come out whispered. Soft. Then she's moving. Crossing the kitchen in three steps and throwing her arms around me.
I catch her on instinct. Pull her close. She fits against me like she was designed for this spot, her face buried in my shoulder, her hands fisting in my shirt. I can smell her shampoo. Feel her heart beating against my chest. Every place we touch burns.
"Thank you," she says again into my collar. "You have no idea what this means."
