So I started asking around.
A former teammate’s wife runs events. A sponsor knows a gallery owner. Connections I’ve built over the years by showing up, being reliable, being the kind of guy people don’t have to worry about.
Sometimes being a famous hockey player comes with perks.
I don’t ask for favors lightly.
But this time I did.
And gladly.
In the end, a well-known gallery director sounded interested, so I sent her a few photos of Talia’s work.
And today, I get the answer.
I’m walking out of the video room when my phone buzzes.
A name I don’t recognize at first.
Then I remember.
Gallery director.
My thumb hovers before I answer. “Morrison.”
A warm voice comes through the line. Professional. Polished. Interested.
“We reviewed the images you sent,” she says. “Your… friend has a really strong voice. There’s something in the work that feels very intimate. We’d love to meet her.”
My chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with adrenaline.
“Okay,” I say, keeping my tone calm even though I want to punch the air. “When?”
She gives me the details for a meeting next week.
I confirm and thank her.
When the call ends, I stare at the screen for a second.
Then I grin like an idiot. Me. Grinning.
I shove the phone in my pocket before anyone sees. Because this is not something I’m letting the guys chirp me about.
In the locker room, Connor is already talking too loud about someone’s golf swing being an embarrassment to the entire sport. Rhys is leaning back at his stall with that smug expression like he knows everyone’s secrets.
Declan catches my eye and lifts a brow.
“What?” I mutter.
“You’re in a good mood,” he says.
“I’m not.”
He smirks. “Sure.”
I change faster than usual and get out of there before they can start asking questions. I don’t need them in my head today.
I need her.
