The boys have already made their way inside, and once I enter, they erupt.
Dewey’s the first to reach me. “That’s my guy! You didn’t blink.”
The team surrounds me with high-fives and headlocks—the physical vocabulary of men who express emotion through contact sports. They don’t know what I just gave up. They don’t know about Claire’s lie or Bunny’s offer, or the fact that I just essentially told the owner’s wife to go to hell.
They just know I stood with them.
I lower into my seat as the bus doors seal us in, seal the decision—mydecision. The camaraderie washes over me like absolution I don’t deserve. This is where I belong. With the boys. Even if it costs me everything else.
The bus pulls away from the arena, leaving the media frenzy behind. But I know this isn’t over. Bunny Newman doesn’t seem like someone who handles rejection well. Claire’s secret is still a ticking bomb. And I’ve just publicly declared war on the ownership group that signs my checks.
But for this moment—this singular moment on the bus home with my boys—I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. And sometimes that’s all you can ask for: to be in the right place, at the right time.
Even if it ends up costing you everything else.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I knew this circus was coming. I lit the match last night; now everyone wants to watch the fire burn.
Around me in the locker room, players are glued to their phones, texting and calling agents, arranging escape routes. The conversations have that quality of controlled panic: hushed tones discussing Swedish leagues, Swiss contracts, the KHL as a possible option. Everyone’s building lifeboats while insisting the ship isn’t sinking.
I stand by my stall, gripping a stick like it possesses answers or at least emotional support. The fallout from last night spreads through my chest.
Bunny won’t help Claire now. That bridge isn’t just burned; it’s been napalmed, the ashes scattered, the ground salted. And the secret I’ve been carrying like a tumor? It’s metastasized.
Time to tell Petra everything.
I escape to a quieter hallway—quiet being relative when there’s a media circus outside—and hover my thumb over Petra’s name like I’m about to detonate something. Which, essentially, I am.
She answers, happiness bursting in her voice, making my guilt multiply exponentially.
“You’ll never believe this,” she bubbles, her excitement a stark contrast to my impending doom. “I found this Russian home goods store on the Lower East Side and just got the best pelmeni maker as a housewarming gift for Claire. She makes incredible dumplings, so I’m expecting her to cook for us at least a couple nights a week once she’s here.”
I force myself to play along, though each word tastes like betrayal. “That sounds amazing.” The lie comes out smooth. I’m getting too good at this.
“She keeps avoiding telling me where she’s going to be dorm-ing,” Petra continues, oblivious to the fact that her sister can’t avoid telling her about accommodations that don’t exist. “So, I’m pretty sure that means she’s going to end up wanting to live with me for at least the first semester.”
I swallow hard, gripping the phone tight.
“Hey,” I interrupt, exhaling. “I need to see you tonight.”
“Okay…” she says.
“It’s important.”
Something in my tone must telegraph the disaster heading her way. “You’re scaring me, Liam. What’s going on?”
I close my eyes, searching for words. “It’s just something important we need to talk about. I love you. Everyone’s healthy.” Technically true, if you don’t count emotional health. “Just meet me at my place tonight.”
Her breathing falters. She knows something’s wrong. “Okay. I’ll be there around seven.”
When I hang up, I exhale like I’ve been underwater for the entire conversation. Step one complete. Now I just have to figure out how to destroy her world gently.
Before I can figure that out, Dewey comes sprinting out of the locker room.
“The owners caved!” he shouts, his face lit up like Christmas morning.
I blink, my brain struggling to switch tracks this quickly. “What?”
