ON THE DAY of my last exam, we get some unexpected news.
Mostly, I’m just grateful the cops contacted us after I finished because I’d have felt like I was going crazy if I’d gotten it beforehand—the knife that Ollie had given to Liam had been used in a stabbing.
The fingerprints of the leader of the gang, Jamie, were all over the weapon and, as a result, he’d been arrested.
After we’d expressed concern that he might blame Ollie for his arrest, Officer Brownhill assured us that the gang knew Ollie’s things had been searched while he was being taken in by social services.
In the upcoming days, we have to believe that there’s no grudge held because none of us are targeted and we’d know seeing as Liam’s got enough bodyguards on us to compete with POTUS.
Just in case.
Some of whom are definitely shifty-looking.
I don’t want to think Liam has sicced mob guards on us but if it helps him sleep at night, I can turn a blind eye.
According to Ollie, the rest of the kids are his age. Without Jamie or Arnie around, they’re leaderless. He seems to think that won’t stop one of them from trying to become the top dog, but that’s out of our control.
If there are repercussions, I know Liam and I will handle it.
No way will Ollie be dragged back into that life, even if it means making him a Canadian citizen and taking him across the border.
Extra stress isn’t what we need and I won’t borrow trouble.
Ollie won’t eat anything unless it’s Mom’s pierogi, and he won’t even talk to anyone that isn’t her. Which means Dad’s had to go back to Winnipeg on his own to manage the printing shops and Mom’s practically living with us.
Then, there’s the fact that the Stars keep flying through the playoffs.
Win after win after win until, eventually, it’s the quarterfinals.
Out of nowhere, I’m sitting in the stands, confirmation that I’ve gained my MBA buzzing in my head competing with the noise from the fans who are here to watch the grudge match between the Stars and the Pittsburgh Steelmen.
As I sink back into my seat to watch Liam face off against Oren’s team, Saverina starts shrieking ‘Unka Lee-Lee’ at the top of her lungs when Liam’s image flashes on the Jumbotron so I’m too distracted to notice someone take a seat beside me.
Liam didn’t know if Jennifer would want to attend because she’s prissy as shit, but I invited her to sit with me once Lacey, who I’m growing quite close to, had to bow out thanks to a chemo session knocking her on her ass.
“I still can’t believe you left your apartment looking like that.”
I scratch my nose with my middle finger. “It’s a PALs thing.”
“Sounds like a brand of dog food.”
“You’re a bitch.” My lips twitch as I rub my shoulder where I’m aching—I started that self-defense course Dad bought for me and I’m paying for my ‘no-exercise’ rule. “I like it.”
“You only just figured that out, hmm?” she teases, ignoring the starfish grabby hands that try to pull at her bob.
“Liam didn’t think you’d want to come.”
“Unka Lee-Lee!” Saverina shrieks.
“Yeah, kid. Unka Lee-Lee,” I tease, amused at her massive Cheshire cat grin.
I have to figure that Liam’s nieces are only here because it’s a family thing. Something both siblings are taking to heart—we’ve been invited to their place for dinner this weekend and Jennifer came over with the babies for coffee the other day too.
“It’s not my sport but he’s my brother,” she says staunchly. “It helps that I knew Luciu would get a kick out of it too.”
Her husband is definitely getting something out of it. My soon-to-be brother-in-law, dressed in more Armani than sense, has missed the hotdog reaching his mouth twice as his eyes dart around the ice, following the game. Tucked in a sling on his chest, Bella is sleeping peacefully.
“Of course, if I’d known you were going to do your hair like that, Gracie,” she muses, a coy smile curving her lips as she takes in my ultra-teased hairstyle that was not my idea, “I might have taken a seat with Star.”
“Ahn-tee Gwac-ee!” Saverina decides that’s the moment to call me her aunt—for the first time.
Even as I’m grinning at that title, one Jennifer had to have specifically taught her, my nose crinkles.
“It was a group decision.”
“A bad one,” she agrees. Her eyes twinkle though. “What we’ll do for the men we love, hmm?”
“Yeah, what,” I say with a huff as I snag Saverina’s hand in mine and press a kiss to her tiny fingers.
While she’s busy trying to catch the blue tips of my hair, someone drawls, “I heard you completed your degree.”
Gaze darting to the side, my brows lift when I realize Conor has slipped into the space on the other side of me. “Yeah. I got the news today.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It is?” I question, surprised.
“Yeah. You have to share the day with a potential win.”
“You want to know what’s a ‘shame?’ If the Stars move forward, the day of my graduation will likely be in the middle of that series.”
“Whether it is or not, we’ll find a way to get him to the ceremony.”
“I don’t want him to feel torn between—”
“What? The woman he loves or his job?” Conor scoffs. “I might own the team and I might want them to win, but I have my priorities straight. I think Liam does too.”
I think about all those journal entries and my lips twitch into a smile. “Maybe you’re right.”
“No ‘maybe’ about it.” He crosses his legs, resting his ankle on the opposite knee without man-spreading to a ridiculous degree. “Nice outfit, by the way. And…” He wafts a hand at my head.
I grimace as I peek at the monstrosity I’m wearing while nervously toying with an ultra-teased lock of hair. “You have to take one for the team sometimes.”
“Is this a ritual I don’t know about? All the women have hair like yours.” His confusion is real. “And you’re all wearing the same jackets too.”
I hum. “It’s a thing.”
“A thing?”
“A thing,” I confirm. “Don’t have to like it, just have to do it.”
As it’s the first time I’ve ever been included by the PALs, I wasn’t about to sit this out even if I do look like hell. It was okay before we hit the quarterfinals—we just had to wear the damn jacket, but now, Lacey is insisting we all tease our hair. I know why too—she’s got a wig she’s ready to rock.
Fuck cancer.
Especially as she’s the one who suggested this monstrous hairstyle and isn’t even here to see it.
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Conor says with a soft smile, but before I can answer, he continues, “Now that it’s official, I wanted to come to you with a proposition.”
“What kind of proposition?” I ask dubiously, wincing when Liam gets high-sticked by a Pittsburgh defenseman as the asshole tries to intercept a pass between him and Lewis. “You have to be kidding ME,” I scream as the crowd boos after the referee misses that. “Fucking asshole,” I snap at no one. “Sorry, Conor, you were saying.”
He chuckles. “Your passion’s there. No denying that.”
“Passion? For referees to use their fucking eyes?” I grumble, my hands flaring wide when Kerrigan, bare seconds later, passes to Lewis, who takes a shot and misses. “Shit.”
I have a feeling it’s going to be one of those goddamn games—stuck in a gridlock with relief only coming in OT.
Already preparing myself for the irritation, I frown when he says, “I was thinking about what you said at Aela’s.”
With everyone else on this side of the stadium, I scream, “THAT WAS OFFSIDE!”
Jennifer mumbles, “Jesus Christ, Gracie. You have a set of pipes on you.”
Ignoring her, I answer him, “I overshared at Aela’s, Conor, so you’re going to have to narrow it down.”
Conor, unoffended by my outburst, merely states, “Specifically, what you were saying about Bradley.”
“What about him? That he’s a nuisance?”
His lips twitch. “He got us this far.”
“Liam and Lewis did that.” I huff and concede, “Greco too. He’s sorted himself out over the course of the season.”
“That could be Bradley’s influence.”
“Maybe.” If I sounded dubious earlier, that’s nothing to now. “Anyway, I’m trying to focus, Conor. What’s your point?” I growl at the sight of a defenseman closing his hand around the puck without the referee batting an eye. “Did Pittsburgh bribe this asswipe or something?”
Conor, ignoring me, asks, “If he coaches us to the Stanley Cup, what would you do?”
Head whipping from side to side as the Stars chase the puck out from under Pittsburgh’s possession, I frown. “Keep him on for another season, but I’d have your general manager watch him like a hawk, especially the trades he requests. He either has no people skills or doesn’t care that there has to be some camaraderie in a team. You can’t have that with people who loathe each other.”
“By your own admission, Greco was a key player this season. Yet, according to Paddy, Liam detests him.”
“It’s all about balance. Liam hates the ground he walks on, but if Bradley were better at managing people, it’d be easier to handle.
“If he loses, I’d toss him out. Reaching this stage is good, particularly in the face of what the Liberties consistently failed to bring to the table, but with the resources you’ve thrown at the team, his achievement is middling.”
Slapping his thigh, Conor chuckles. “You’re brutal. I love it.”
“It’s in my nature not to pull any punches.”
“I’m learning that.” He watches Kerrigan and Lewis duke it out with one of the defensemen over the puck. “Did you know I only bought the team for Liam?”
“Paddy mentioned it.”
“He wanted him to be close to family so I made it happen.” He tilts his head to the side as Liam manages to intercept a Pittsburgh pass. “There’s little I won’t do for my family.”
Half-expecting him to threaten me over Liam’s honor like my brothers did, I tug on my ‘35’ pendant.
“Paddy says Aela was right.”
“About?”
“That you’ll be one of us soon enough.”
Huh. That didn’t go where I thought it would.
“We haven’t set a date or anything. Hell, we haven’t even picked a ring.”
Conor shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You’re his. You’re an O’Donnelly now. That comes with perks.”
“Like?”
“Nepotism.”
I frown. “I don’t want—”
He hushes me. “You have the qualifications to back up my decision and to tell any naysayers to piss into the wind. I’ll only take nepotism so far… but I like how you think, Gracie. The Stars would benefit from having you on board.”
“On board?” I mutter, tone dazed. “What do you—”
“I’d like you to be our next GM.”
Mouth gaping at him, I sputter, “W-Wh—”
I’m so busy being bedazzled by him that I fail to see Liam ram a Pittsburgh’s defenseman into the boards.
Conor goes on to tell me how much money I could earn, what the benefits would be, how far my responsibilities would stretch, details that both sink in while going over my head at the same time.
When he’s done with his spiel, as if he knows he’s blown my mind, he pats my arm. “I’ll let you think about it. You enjoy the rest of the game, hmm?”
He doesn’t hang around for long—if anything, as I’m still stumbling over an answer, he’s already moved over to the other side of the box where, I realize, his partner, Star, and their daughter are sitting.
It’s amid the chaos that the crowd suddenly goes wild. Even Jennifer screeches in glee—Liam’s scored.
We’re up 1-0.
And like he’s got something to prove, whether it’s to himself or me or the world, maybe all three considering how the press has been vilifying me whenever he loses, over the next period, he scores a second time.
When we make it into the third, Lewis and Kerrigan act like their sticks are magnetically attached to the puck as they manage to breach Pittsburgh’s defense. Nothing Oren does seems to keep his net clear from my man’s offense.
By the time the game’s over, my mind isn’t on Conor’s job offer, the shitty PALs jacket I’m wearing, or the fact that Jennifer and Luciu are jumping up and down with two tired kids in their arms.
I’m too busy screaming with the rest of the crowd as we celebrate a 6-1 win that forces a game seven in the conference quarterfinals.
