Chapter Thirty-Eight
Later that week, I’m sprawled on my couch, legs extended on an ottoman, remote balanced on my stomach, consciousness hovering between awake and vegetative when my phone buzzes. I look at the phone screen and answer, bracing for impact.
“You’re becoming an influencer,” Zoe says.
“Yeah, I’m thinking of slinging meme coins on Instagram for my next act.”
“God help us all.”
I sit up and turn off the television as I put her on speaker-
phone.
“I’ve been watching your games,” she continues.
“And?”
She huffs like complimenting me requires physical effort. “You’re actually…getting good.”
“You mean great?” I say.
“No, I mean ‘good.’”
We both share a soft laugh.
“I mean it, though,” she continues. “Not just on the ice. I was really proud of you during the CBA negotiations. You stood up for your teammates. You had a spine.”
Her words shoot a much-needed warmth through me.
“You just might be a stand-up guy after all,” she says.
“Alright, what’s the real reason for this call?” I know it wasn’t to sit here and shower me with compliments. “You buttering me up for something?”
“Can’t I call my little brother without an ulterior motive?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Fine. Well, here’s the deal. It’s winter break for Lila next week, and she wants to fly back to New York.”
My grin is immediate and genuine. “Oh, she wants to watch Uncle Liam dominate in the final regular season game and cheer me on as I lead the Sentinels into the playoffs?”
“Not quite.”
My grin wavers. “Then what?”
“She really wants to seeThe Nutcracker.”
I stand up on instinct. “The Nutcracker?”
“Yep.”
My brain scrambles for alternatives. “I mean, I can get her a jersey. A signed stick from the entire team. Something cool.”
“She doesn’t want ‘something cool,’ Liam,” Zoe says. “She wants to seeThe Nutcracker. Problem is that every performance is sold out already. I was hoping you might be able to work some magic and get us two tickets for the night of December fifteenth.”
The fifteenth. Game night for the Sentinels. Not just any game—the must-win regular season finale that will determine the team’s playoff fate. And my niece wants to spend it watching ballet instead of watching me potentially secure our playoff spot.
“Okay,” I manage, voice steady—kind of. “You said the fifteenth, right?”
