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“What do you mean for now?” I ask aloud.
Jacob turns to me, setting his glass on the desk, as his eyes lock with mine. “I need you to throw the game. We have to lose,” he says.
I blink. I must have heard him wrong. Surely I did not just hear my boss, the owner of the Vancouver Knights, ask me to throw the fucking Stanley Cup game?
“I’m sorry, what?” I attempt to clarify.
“I’ve been trying to find these fuckers all week. There’s not a single trace as to who the fuck is sending this shit.” He picks up a manilla folder and drops it down in front of me, his hands shaking.
I open the folder and fall onto the sofa behind me. “What the fuck is this?” I grab the first piece of paper—no, not papers.Clippings. Words pasted on a blank sheet, but it’s the message they form that has my body going rigid.
Lose the SC or lose her.
Underneath the ominous threat is a picture of Aliyah sitting in a coffee shop with her friend Amanda. This was taken yesterday. I remember her leaving the apartment, wearing that exact dress.
“They’re threats, all of them. Against Aliyah. If we don’t lose… I don’t know who’s behind this, but I’m not willing to risk my daughter’s life for a fucking trophy.”
“Does Grayson know?” I ask, skimming through the stack of letters, all saying the same general thing. Throw the game, or something’s going to happen to Aliyah. I was just talking to her brother down in the locker room. He looked like he was ready to win. I would have known if something like this was sitting on his shoulders.
“No, he can’t know. He will go in half-cocked, trying to find the asshole and putting her at greater risk. You know that as well as I do.”
I stare at the paper in my hand. I can either win the Stanley Cup and risk losing my girlfriend, or throw the fucking game and lose my whole career. Because, let’s face it, if I get caught throwing the game, I’m done for.
I wouldn’t have hockey. The sport I love. But I would have her. She’d be safe.
There really isn’t even a fucking choice here. If it comes down to it, I’ll always choose her.
Pushing to my feet, I hand Jacob back the folder. I don’t even know what to say to him.
“I’m asking you to do this because I know you love her. I’m just hoping you love her more than you love the game,” he says.
“I’ll do it. I’ll throw the game, but afterwards, I’m marrying her,” I tell him. I was planning on asking her anyway. This will just make it easier for her to say yes. I walk out of his office and head straight for Aliyah. There are six men guarding the door. They’re not usually here. When they see me, one of them nods and steps aside.
I walk in and Aliyah rushes over to me. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”
I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her neck. “I just wanted to see you,” I tell her.
“You can see me after you win.” She laughs.
I lift my head and stare into her eyes. “I love you, Aliyah Monroe, so damn fucking much,” I tell her the words I have been so hesitant to say, for fear of scaring her off..
Aliyah gasps. The whole room goes silent at my declaration. “I love you too,” she says.
My lips slam down on hers, my tongue delves into her mouth, and all too soon I pull away. “Wait for me up here, after the game. I’ll change, then come and get you,” I tell her.
Aliyah’s brows pull together but she nods her head. “You’ve got this, Liam King. You are going to go out there and kick ass.” She grins, and I feel the ache of guilt in my chest. Not because of the choice I made—I’d make it all over again—but because I hate keeping something from her.
“You’re right. I’ve got this,” I tell her, but it has an entirely different meaning when I say it.
* * *
“What the fuck is your problem?” Gray shoves me into the boards when the puck goes over the top of the net, hitting the plexiglass behind it.
I look around. I want to tell him, tell him we have to fucking lose. Tell him why. But I don’t. Instead, I look up at the box and see her face.
I’ve got this,I remind myself.
I can make sure our team holds off on scoring again and figure out a way to let the other team through our defenses. There’re three minutes left on the clock and we’re tied. I had us at one down, and then Jameson scored a fucking goal. I guess I never realized losing could be so fucking hard, especially when you’re trying to make it look like you’re playing to the best of your ability while missing every fucking shot.
