Page 100 of Promise Me This
“As soon as she got home, she ran straight to you,” he continues. “She asked to call you mommy. She only left your side because I told her it was bedtime, and even then, it took convincing.”
Relief and fear tangle together until it’s impossible to tell them apart.
“You didn’t cause this,” he murmurs. “And you don’t get to carry it alone.”
My eyelids flutter closed as I lean into his strength. “What do we do now?”
“We face the fallout,” he says, stroking my hair. “Together.”
I glance down the hallway toward Elody’s room, and realize something I’ve never understood before. Being brave doesn’t mean standing alone.
It means staying.
Even when running would be so much easier.
42
Laiken
I arrive at the rink earlier than usual. The lights buzz overhead as I walk through the familiar hallway, hoping the sharp scent of ice and rubber will do what it always has and calm me.
It doesn’t.
Nothing does.
My coffee remains untouched in my hand as my mind replays the same moment on a relentless loop. My fist connecting with Collin’s face and then his head snapping back. The impact is reframed from angles I didn’t even know existed.
On the ice, fights are part of the job. They’re expected. Almost ceremonial.
Off the ice, they’re a liability.
Especially now.
Pressure builds behind my eyes as my jaw tightens, my teeth grinding together before I make the conscious effort to relax. I’ve faced worse than a fine. Worse than a suspension. What I can’t stomach is the idea of a judge watching that clip and deciding I’m volatile.
I’ve sat in family court before. I know how quickly nuance can be stripped away. How context disappears the second emotion enters the frame. How a man defending his family becomes a risk the moment his temper is visible on a screen. All it takes is one aggressive, impulsive word, and suddenly visitation schedules are rewritten by people who don’t know me or my daughter.
That’s the very real fear crawling under my skin, refusing to leave.
I stop outside the conference room and take a measured breath before pushing the door open. Hugh is already seated at the head of the table with a neat stack of folders arranged with military precision in front of him. Evelyn stands near the window, arms folded loosely, gaze steady. Rina sits near the center, tablet in hand, dark hair pulled back, expression calm in a way that tells me she’s already ten steps ahead of the story.
A man I don’t recognize loiters near the far wall. My guess is that he’s somewhere in his early thirties. His suit is immaculate, and his posture is relaxed but alert. He pockets his phone as I enter, then gives me a brief nod.
Hugh gestures toward him. “Laiken, this is Noah Walker. Team counsel.”
Noah steps forward and extends a hand. “Good to meet you. Although, I wish it were under better circumstances.”
His grip is firm. He strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn’t need to raise his voice because he already knows how to command a room.
“All right then, now that everyone’s here, let’s get to it,” Hugh says once we’re seated.
He doesn’t waste any time.
“The video looks bad,” Hugh says, sliding a tablet across the table. “And it’s not just fans who are watching. The league office, sponsors, and our broadcast partners are all paying attention.”
I don’t touch the tablet. I’ve already seen enough. This is the part where brands protect their image and players are reminded how replaceable they are once optics turn ugly. I understand the machine and have always played my role within it.
Rina speaks before I can mentally spiral. “From a PR standpoint, we’re positioning this as an isolated incident. No history or pattern of escalation. Context is everything.”
