Page 26

chapter twenty six

godbless the french language

I ’m pretty sure everyone in Flo’s right now must think I’m insane.

Not regular, manageable insane. No, I'm way past that. I'm whispering into my phone like it's baby bird I've just saved.

And I couldn’t care less.

Let them stare. I’m too busy replaying Rory’s last skate on this livestream and grinning like a fool.

She just finished her routine—her last skate ofthe day—and I didn’t know it was possible to feel this proud of another human being. She was… God she wasn’t just skating—she was rewritinggravity, bending the world to her rhythm. And I? I was just a boy happy enough to sit and watch.

I didn’t have words for what she made me feel.How she inspired me. How much I wanted to be there right now—no, screw that—how much I wanted to run out onto that rink, pick her up, and spin her around until she laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. Let the whole arena know how incredible she was .

And as that thought hit me, the word mine floated into my head.

I blinked. Hard.

She wasn’t mine. Not officially.Not yet. But if she wanted to call me hers, I’d say yes so fast I’d probably cause a shift in the space-time continuum.

A few months ago I would’ve made a joke,shoved the thought so far down it would need a search party, and then found the nearest exit. But now? Now it just sits there, easy and undeniable, like it’s always belonged to me.

Maybe it has. Maybe I was just too afraid to seeit.

I have to tell her.

I’d wanted to tell her right before her accident.I’d wanted to tell her after she kissed me. And the fact I haven’t yet is suffocating me.

I didn't know if there was a perfect moment forthis kind of thing—after the kiss would’ve been right. But I was so enamoured by her, her touch, the glide of her tongue over mine that I froze.

But no more freezing.

No more pushing.

Because the truth was, the scariest thing wasn't theidea of telling her. It was the thought of never telling her. Of losing her because I was too scared to admit that I’m not scared anymore.

I powered down my phone the second Rorystepped off the ice, the screen going dark in my palm. I leaned back against the booth, craning my neckover the top, scanning the bakery for the Knights rep. Five seconds in I realised how pointless that w as. I had no idea what they looked like. For all I knew, they were already here, sitting two tables away, watching me. Sussing me out.

I sighed and checked the clock. Five minuteslate.

With nothing else to do except count thedeclining time between my heartbeats the longer I sat here, I picked up my coffee cup, spinning it between my hands. The lid was blank. And that felt weird to me now. Seeing Rory do it all the time, having her do it every time I brought her coffee for studying made me feel bad that this one was blank.

My fingers twitched before I even thought aboutit, flipping the pen out of my pocket and pressing it to the plastic.

I settled on drawing a hockey game, but I onlymade it to half a stick man before my mind inevitably drifted back to Rory.

Rory. It really was a pretty name. So was Aurora.Obviously. But Rory was her. It was short. Soft. Kinda elegant, actually. Like something out of a poem. Or a novel. Maybe a classic?Prettier than Marguerite, from La Dame auxCamélias. I should really finish that lit paper. Or at least get Rory to proofread it before I do.

What was I… Oh yeah. Classics. Little Womenis a classic. Little Women had a Laurie. Close enough. Rory, Laurie—wait, didn’t she hate that book? When we took a detour through that section of the library after a study session? Said Jo should’ve ended up with Laurie? I think that was right.

It’s just so sad. The whole ‘right person wrongtime’ thing breaks my heart.

Right. That was it. I had to agree with h er.

What was I thinking about? Oh yeah. The name.It suited her. Not just because it was pretty, but because she was. Really pretty. Gorgeous, actually. But not in an obvious way. Well, no, that was a lie—she was obvious about it, just not in a way she seemed to notice like the rest of us. The kind of gorgeous that made people stare without realising they were staring. Like an art piece in a museum. I should take her to a museum. Or maybe a—

“Mr. Rhodes?”

I blinked, falling back into reality.

The tone was clipped, and professional, but therewas something about it—low and faintly accented—that made me sit up straighter.

When I looked up, the man standing acrossfrom me seemed vaguely familiar. He was tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones and the air of someone who thought he was better than everyone else in the room. His forehead lines were deep with age, and those gave that away better than his silver hair.

He extended his hand with a smile that didn’treach his eyes. “Charles Laurent.”

The name felt like I’d been slapped by a questionmark.

Charles Laurent? Charles. Laurentttttt… Holyshit.

Charles Laurent.

How could I forget that name?

The pieces were coming together. QuebecKnights rep? Subtle accent? The slightly overbearing stance?This was the same Charles Laurent who’d beenrivals with my grandf ather back when they both played for the Knights. The guy who hated my grandfather so much he’d made every game between them a grudge match. The guy who lost the captaincy to him and never shut up about it, according to Grandpa.

What the fuck was he doing here?

Before I could say anything, his sunken eyesdrifted downward, his brows knitting as they landed on my coffee lid.

His stare didn’t break as he spoke. “Nice doodling.” His gaze snapped back to mine, his expression carved out of stone. “I wasn’t aware I was meeting a child.”

A humourless laugh escaped me as I leanedback, shuffling slightly in my seat. “Well, I guess I’m a child who can bench two-ninety. Ever met one of those before?”

His eyes, the same stormy shade of grey as hishair—maybe even darker—raked over me, leaving a trail of palpable disdain. “I see the resemblance already,” he said, voicelaced with something icy. “Your grandfather also never knew when to reign in that sarcasm.”

That comment only made my chest swell withpride.

But I didn’t bite. I blew off the jab, forcingmyself to play nice—for now.

Extending my hand, I said, “It’s nice to finallymeet you,” keeping my voice steady, even as my grip tightened on his hand. Just enough to let him know I wasn’t the kid he thought I was.

His lips twitched, but the movement wasn’tfriendly. “Likewise,” He released my hand, sat across from me with a groan and folded his arms. “Although, I must say, you’re a double of you r grandfather. Both in looks and in that… charming … personality of his.”

My jaw tightened, but I forced a grin. “Well, ifyou already know me so well, we can skip the small talk and get to why you’re here.”

Charles raised a brow, clearly unimpressed, butpulled out a chair and sat across from me. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Leaning back, I watched him study me like Iwas a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. “About a month ago, the Knights sent some of us to various schools around the country, seeing what talant was there, if any existed.” He picked at the lint of his blazer, rolling it between his fingers. Keeping his eyes off me. “Unfortunately for me, I was sent to Liberty Grove.” The wrinkles lining his face twisted. “Never liked New York. Never will. But it seemed it was worth the trip." His eyes fell on me. "I pulled your coach after the game and asked about you, and he thought I was winding him up when I told him I was with the Knights.” Stiff as anything, his chin tilted at me. “Trying to follow in grandpa’s footsteps, eh?”

My lip curled. “You know as well as I do whatan honour that would be if I did, Sir. He changed the game for the Knights. He was what they needed after four back-to-back cup losses.” I couldn’t bite my tongue. “But I don’t need to explain that to you. You were their captain for those games.”

His expression didn’t budge, but I caughtit—that flicker of anger just under the surface. The same look I’d seen in those grainy videos of the ’84 Stanley Cup game when Grandpa skated circles around him.

Cha rles leaned in, his jaw tightening as heshrugged. “I was young. Stupid at times. I had power I didn’t know how to handle. I’ll admit that.” His voice softened slightly, a hint of something genuine slipping through. But those walls went straight back up as he stared at me. “The year your grandfather took the captaincy was the year I was trying to change. Trying to be better.”

His eyes flicked down to the table, then back tome, and for a split second, I almost believed him. “But no one cared,” he said quietly. “I had my moment, and I blew it. That’s why I retired a few years later and went into coaching. Which,” he added, a ghost of a smirk returning, “is what led me to you.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy andsuffocating, until Charles finally leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “You’re a good player, Finn,” he said grudgingly, like the words physically pained him to admit. “Risky but… good.”

I raised a brow, waiting for him to elaborate.

Risky wasn’t exactly an insult, but it wasn’t a compliment either. It was one of those words that could mean brilliant or completely unhinged, depending on who was saying it.

Charles exhaled, like he was debating whether togive me more credit or tell me to tone it down. “You’ve got hands, no doubt about that. Your puck control is one of the best I’ve seen at your level—tight, controlled, deceptive when it needs to be. You see plays before they happen, and you don’t hesitate to take the shot when it’s there.”

I smirked. “Anyone would think you like me or something, Charles."

He ignored me. “You're unpredictable. You cutthrough defences like they’re not even there. You bait the opposition into committing to the wrong read, and before they know it, you’ve flipped the play and found an opening they didn’t think existed.” He paused. “But that’s where the risk comes in. Those other things don't matter when you're careless.”

I tilted my head. “You mean creative. ”

“I mean reckless.” He folded his arms. “You playlike you’ve got nothing to lose, which makes you dangerous. But at this level? That can either make you a game-changer or a liability. You take risks most guys wouldn’t dream of, and yeah, a lot of them pay off. But the second they don’t? The second a defence reads you right, or a goalie anticipates that last-second deke? You leave your team wide open for a counterattack.”

I leaned back, twirling the pen between myfingers. He wasn’t wrong. I’d always played like that—like I trusted my instincts more than the playbook. But I did trust my instincts more than the playbook. And I’d built my whole game around that trust.

“Oh, you can take risks. That’s how you’ll knowwhen you’re ready.”

“For what?”

“Whatever it is you see yourself as when youthink about your future, on and off the ice.”

Grandpa had said risks were fine so long as Iremembered why I was doing this. What I was doing this for. And whether I would regret not chancing something that could lead to everything I’d ever wanted.

My head cleared with the truth, but before Icould let it linger, Charles sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, you’d be a credit to theKnights when you’re ready to graduate. You’ve got the raw talant. But if you want to thrive at our level, you need to sharpen your decision-making. Know when to take the risk and when to rein it in.” His dull eyes rolled. “A skill Jack never cared to fucking hone.”

I let his words settle, my fingers still absentlytapping against the coffee cup lid.

I had a feeling I knew how this relationshipwould go, just from the way I could see him holding onto the threads of whatever ancient grudge he held with Grandpa. If this was all I’d be met with when I tried to better myself, if it was all coming back to Grandpa, then why fucking bother?

A sharp laugh broke out of me before I couldstop it, slicing through his words like a slap. The words I’d been dying to hear since I was a kid— you’re good enough for the Knights —barely registered.

“Is that what this going to be?” I ask, gesturingbetween us. “You denying me what you just said I’m good enough to do, all because of some pathetic grudge?” My arms lifted helplessly. “Are you really that fucking petty?”

His expression didn’t change, but the silence wasanswer enough.

Before I could press him, his phone buzzed.His eyes dipped to his screen before theyscanned me again. “Excuse me.”

Instead of sliding out of his chair, giving me thespace to breath, he stayed put, putting the phone to his ear.

The n switching to rapid-fire French.

“Laurent.” His eyes darted around the bakery ashe answered the call. “Non, non, c’est bon.” 1 His gaze landed on me, sharp and cutting. “Oui, c'est lui. Et il est aussi arrogant que je m'y attendais. Comme s'il savait que ca énervait tout le monde. Comme s'il était heureux d'être un enfant gaté vivant dans l'ombre de Jack .” 2

I dropped my head, hiding the grin threatening tobreak loose. Biting the inside of my cheek, I let his words wash over me.

He huffed, giving me a once over. “Il estpeut-être bon, Guy, mais ce n'est rien d'autre qu'un enfant gaté.” 3

Subtle.

As much as I wanted to fire back, to shred himinto pieces with the same ease he was trying to do to me, all I could think about was Rory. My Rory.

Rory, who would’ve smirked if she heard this,probably muttering something like, “Don’t waste your breath on him.”

Rory, who believed in me in a way no one else e ver had.

Rory that had the kind of laugh that made the world stop spinning and the kind of heart that could outshine the darkest days.

I could picture her now, herhair half lit by the sunlight, her hand in mine, her voice soft but steady as she told me—again—that I was capable of anything. She was my anchor and my north star, all wrapped up in one impossible, perfect person.

“Je serai de retour en ville demain matin. Nousen reparlerons alors.” 4

I heard the soft clunk of his phone landing backon the table. I looked up, letting him see the full force of my grin.

“Apologies for that,” he said smoothly, as if hehadn’t just called me a spoiled brat.

“No apology necessary,” I replied, my voicesyrupy.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he settled back intohis seat, clearly over my existence. “Now, where was I?”

I raised my coffee cup to my lips, flapping myhand dismissively. “Oh, right—your revenge plot. Please, don’t let me interrupt.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thoughthe might actually snap the pen he was fiddling with. “It’s just procedure,” he said, voice clipped. “Where you say revenge, I say justice. There is no way in hell I’m allowing someone like that back onto the team without shaping them to be a respectful player. An honest player. And even if you were a goddam n hockey prodigy and could defeat another team all on your own, I wouldn’t be doing myself, or the Knights, justice.”

He leaned forward, the table yelling under hisweight. “I can guarantee that if you want a spot on the Knights when you're out of that school, you’ll be put through the wringer to prove yourself. Just because they like you doesn’t mean I have to. I’ll make sure it’s not as easy as you think it’s going to be. For the future of the team—and for my reputation.” He arched forward, his tone dripping with the same sour disdain that masked every inch of his face. “Your surname isn’t getting you anywhere. God forbid we end up with another Jack Rhodes. That’s just what we fucking need.”

This guy. I’m genuinely shocked no one’s everpunched him. How Grandpa didn’t, I’ll never understand.

Charles continued, completely unbothered by mysilence. “Every time you’re on the ice now, remember that the Knights are watching you. From what I’ve shown them of your games, they’re extremely interested. More interested than they’ve ever been in a college sophomore before.” His eyes glinted, smug and condescending. “But you’ll need to do a lot more than just keep up your goddamn grades in… whatever it is you’re studying.” He tilted his chin at me. “What are you studying, out of curiosity?”

Oh, irony. You sweet, sexy mistress.

I squared my shoulders, biting back a grin as I stared directly at him. “French.”

Every part of Charles turned grey, whatever colour that existed in his cheekswas long gone by the time the word settled in his head. But before he could process it, it was my turn to lean forward.

“Now how about you listen for a change?" I said, my voice steady, every word deliberate. "The Knights have been my dream since I couldwalk, and if they’re interested in me, great. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I earn that jersey. I’ll train harder than anyone else, study my ass off, and speak French fluently every night with the girl I love if that’s what it takes.” My voice dropped, cold and sharp. “But if you think for one second that your little vendetta is going to stop me from chasing what I’ve worked for, you’re wrong. And if that pisses you off? Well, I’ll consider it a bonus.”

Charles’s face flickered—annoyance, maybeeven a flicker of doubt—but I didn’t wait to see if he had more to say.

I shoved out of the booth, my heartpounding—but this time, not with fear.

For too long, I’d let other people try to dictatemy life. My dad, with his guilt and paranoia. Charles Laurent, with his bitterness and childish games.

But not anymore.

I wasn’t scared of failing. I wasn’t scared offalling short.

I was going to get it all. The Knights. Rory. Every single thing I wanted.

And no one—not my dad, not CharlesLaurent, or me—was going to hold me back.

1. No, no, it's fine.

2. Yes, it's him. And he's just as arrogant as I expected. Like he knows it pisses everyone off. Like he's happy being a spoiled brat living in Jack's shadow.

3. He may be good, Guy, but he's nothing but a spoilt brat.

4. I'll be back in town tomorrow morning. We'll talk again then.