My stomach drops again, cold and fast.Why would there be a camera trying to take footage of me?I look around to see if there could be anyone else.The person takes the camera away because they notice that I noticed.
Something isn’t right.The question is, what’s happening ...also, why do I have a bodyguard?
ChapterTwenty-Three
Callaway
My parents have people for everything.
They outsource problems the way normal families outsource lawn care.Money, influence, a phone call to the right person—done.Crisis handled.Narrative rewritten.No fingerprints.No public sweat.
They raised me to be “resourceful,” which is a polite way of saying:Don’t let anyone drag you.Be the one doing the dragging.
They also raised me to recognize an ambush before it happens.
Harvey is the only reason I learned to survive that world without becoming it.
We met at boarding school—two kids in uniforms that cost more than most people’s rent, pretending we didn’t miss our mothers, pretending we didn’t notice that love in our families comes with terms and conditions, like a contract nobody read but everybody signed.
By college, he had connections that made my family look like amateurs.By the time he graduated, I didn’t hire him so much as cling to him like he was the rope that let me climb out of the Winthrop mausoleum and into the only thing that’s ever felt like mine.
Hockey.
Harvey makes things happen.He also makes things disappear.He makes sure my parents regret trying to fuck with my career.
Hence, I fired off a message the moment Monty said that the press following like hungry wolves was suspicious.There is no logical reason for a media circus to care that much about my face leaving a building.Not unless someone wants to ruin my new start.It could’ve been the Orcas wanting a soap opera instead of a goalie.It’s not.
But after meeting Mills Aldridge in person, I know the truth: they want our skills, not our headlines.
So it’s on Harvey to figure out why today felt staged.
Training ends.I shower, get dressed, and head down the hallway.I pull out my phone, expecting an update that lets me exhale.
Instead, I get a stack of text bubbles with Harvey’s name.
The screen is bright against the dim corridor.The air smells like industrial cleaner and old rubber.Somewhere behind me, a door slams, and my shoulders jerk like I’m still on the ice.
I tap the first message.
Harvey: Vesper is at Monty’s apartment, safe.
My lungs work again for half a second.
Then the next line hits harder.
Harvey: We believe someone is following Ves too.
My body goes cold so fast it’s like the hallway loses its oxygen.
Harvey: Vesper asked to be escorted to the airport.
I don’t finish reading.I can’t.My eyes skim and my brain fills in the rest like it’s trying to protect me by stabbing me quicker.
Vesper wants to leave.
Someone is watching her.
My hands start to shake.My legs wobble.My knee threatens to give, as if gravity is suddenly negotiable and I’m losing the argument.
