He snorted, reached into his pocket, and handed me a card. “Call that number. Name’s Marcus. He’ll fix you up. Tell him I sent you.”
I stared at it for a second too long. Another thing I didn’t know how to do. Another place I could screw up. “Okay,” I said finally, tucking it into my personal bag.
Cap clapped his hands once, sharply. “And the rest of you will be attending, mingling, and getting people to bid, got it?”
A chorus of yeses, mixed with groans and chirps.
“Good,” Cap said. “Because it’s not optional, and it’s important. Now get your asses out of here before I push you back on the ice.”
I was halfway through unlacing my skates when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out immediately, heart kicking, stupid hope flaring it might be Cam.
It wasn’t.
My father’s name sat there like a threat. I didn’t answer. I never answered. I let it ring out and watched it flip to voicemail, my shoulders already tight, breath shallow, that familiar drop in my stomach as if I’d missed a step on the stairs.
I told myself I wasn’t listening to him. I didn’t have to. I could delete the voicemail, pretend it had never happened, keep this moment intact.
But what if it was about Mom?
What if this time it wasn’t manipulation or money or another invisible test, but something real—something I’d miss if I didn’t listen?
His voice filled my ear, nothing about Mom. Flat. Annoyed.
“I don’t feel like paying this one,” he said. “It’s all yours. About time you picked up some of the slack. Check your email.”
I deleted the voicemail and headed to my email, saw the subject in amongst the spam—Outstanding balance—Immediate attention required
A private care invoice. Finland. A number that made no sense at first glance, and I scrolled, heart thudding, reread it twice, then a third time, hunting for context, for the reason this was my problem.
He’d done this before. Left invoices sitting unpaid just long enough for them to become urgent, just long enough for the reminder to land in my inbox instead of his. No explanation. No warning. Just a quiet handoff, suddenly my responsibility. I always paid. It was easier than asking questions, easier than pushing back, easier than letting it touch my mother’s care.
Thumbprint, confirmation, done. The money vanished from my account in seconds, the way it always did, and only then did my chest loosen enough to breathe. I stared at the screen, confused, angry, and sick all at once.
I didn’t understand why it had happened today, but the damage was already done. I checked the reports on Mom, but nothing had changed since I read the overnight ones. She was happy. Settled. Well.
But the smile I’d been wearing without thinking faded, pulled thin by a voice that wasn’t even in the room.
See?it whispered.You can’t relax. You don’t get to forget. This is what happens when you do.
A shadow slid back into place behind my eyes, and the rink felt too loud, too bright. I shoved my phone back into my pocket as if it had burned me.
“What’s up?”
Noah had stopped in front of my stall, already half changed, towel slung over his shoulder. He clapped a hand against my shoulder—solid, grounding. Friendly.
I opened my mouth.
For a second, I almost told him everything. The emails. The money. The way my father could still reach into my head from an ocean away and pull the strings tight. How I never knew if I was reacting to something real or just responding the way I’d been trained to.
The words crowded my throat.
And then I swallowed them.
“I’m good,” I said, because it was easier. Because it was safer. Because I didn’t know how to explain something that didn’t even make sense to me.
Noah studied me for a beat longer, eyes sharp but not pushing. Then he nodded. “Cool. See you tomorrow.”
