"What?"
"My leverage." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a document I recognize—his contract, the one worth sixty-four million dollars over eight years. The one that makes him untouchable in this organization. "My contract. My name. My position as their golden boy." He holds it out between us like an offering. "It's a weapon, Sloane. And I'm not here to use it for you."
He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice carries a certainty that cuts through every defense I have.
"I'm here to offer it to you, for you to use however you see fit. Tell me what to do. I will follow your lead."
The words hit me like a physical blow. This isn't the grand gesture I'm used to from him. This isn't him riding to therescue or taking control of the situation. This is him making himself my strategic asset. My weapon to wield.
My mind—my brilliant, calculating, strategic mind—immediately begins running the numbers. With his leverage, my plan transforms from ambitious to unstoppable. The carrot I'm offering Blackwood becomes infinitely sweeter when paired with the stick of potential franchise instability.
"You're serious," I say, and it's not a question.
"Dead serious." His gaze never wavers. "I can't undo what I did in that boardroom. I can't give you back what I stole. But I can give you what I have left—and let you decide how to use it."
I stare at him, this man who just offered to make himself my weapon instead of my savior. The possibilities unfold in my mind like a complex play diagram, each element clicking into place before me.
"You understand what you're offering?" My voice is steady. The voice of someone calculating advantages and probabilities. "You're talking about potentially destroying your own career to fix mine."
"I'm talking about finally putting my money where my mouth should have been four days ago." His voice is quiet but firm. "You're the most brilliant person I know. If anyone can weaponize what I'm offering, it's you."
The silence stretches between us, thick with possibility and the weight of everything that's broken. I study his face, looking for flaws in this newfound humility, for signs that this is another version of his hero complex disguised.
But all I see is truth. Raw, unfiltered acknowledgment of exactly what he took from me and exactly what he's prepared to give back.
My laptop sits closed on the dining table, containing the plan that could change everything. With his contract backing it, that plan becomes something else entirely. Not just rehabilitation, but reformation.
"Alright, Sullivan." I step back, opening space between us that feels like the beginning of negotiation rather than rejection. "If you're serious about this, then here's the play."
Something shifts in his posture—relief mixed with wariness, like a man who's been granted an audience with a judge he's not sure will be merciful.
"I'm listening."
"I don't just want my job back," I say, moving toward the dining table where my real work waits. "I want to remake this entire organization. Turn it into something that matters beyond wins and losses."
I open my laptop, and the screen floods with numbers and projections that represent months of secret work. "I've been building something. A comprehensive community engagement platform that could generate thirty-seven million in first-year revenue. It's audacious. It's risky. And it requires the kind of leverage only a franchise player possesses."
He moves closer, studying the screen with the same intensity he brings to analyzing game film. "What do you need from me?"
"Your contract gives us leverage with ownership. Your reputation gives us credibility with sponsors." I pull up another screen, showing partnership projections and market analysis. "But I need more than your name. I need your complete, public support for something that goes far beyond hockey."
"You have it."
The response is immediate, unqualified. No questions about details or implications. Just absolute trust in my vision.
"You don't even know what you're agreeing to."
"I know you." His voice is quiet but certain. "I know your mind. I know your heart. Whatever you're building, it's going to be extraordinary."
The words settle into my chest like a key turning in a lock. Not the overwhelming declarations of his previous mistakes, but simple recognition of who I am and what I'm capable of.
"This isn't forgiveness," I say, needing the boundary clear between us. "This is strategy. You're not my boyfriend in this scenario. You're my partner. My equal. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Understood." He nods once, definitive. "What's the timeline?"
I smile at him for the first time in four days, and it's sharp enough to cut glass. "We move fast. Before they have time to regroup or spin the narrative. I've already reached out to Blackwood directly. He's agreed to a meeting."
"When?"
