28. Tom

Chapter 28

Tom

I stepped into the Ice Palace, feeling the cool air hit my face like a familiar, old friend. The place had undergone a transformation, thanks to Seraphina Hanson’s investment. State-of-the-art didn’t even begin to cover it. The moment I crossed the threshold, I was hit with the pristine glow of LED lights reflecting off the immaculate ice surface. Each detail, from the freshly polished glass surrounding the rink to the modern seating that stretched around it, screamed excellence.

The ice itself gleamed under the lights, a smooth expanse begging for skates to carve their stories into it. A large digital scoreboard hung above center ice, displaying vivid animations and statistics in real-time. It was clear that Seraphina spared no expense, aiming to create not just an arena but an experience.

Banners of past victories and legendary players lined the walls, giving a sense of history and pride. Among them was a new one for Dean—my brother’s latest triumph in the NHL. Strangely, seeing his name up there didn’t ignite that familiar spark of jealousy. For once, I felt a semblance of peace.

Walking further in, I noticed luxury suites with floor-to-ceiling windows providing an unobstructed view of the ice. They were decked out with plush seating and private bars—ideal spots for high-profile guests or corporate sponsors.

The locker rooms had also received an upgrade. I peered through an open door and saw spacious stalls equipped with custom storage for each player’s gear. The room exuded a sense of camaraderie and professionalism.

I couldn’t help but admire the intricate details—the branded logos embedded in the flooring, the sound system strategically placed to provide an immersive audio experience during games and events. Even the benches had heated seating for those braving long hours on the ice.

It felt surreal being here, knowing this is where Dean played his heart out every game. Yet today, my focus wasn’t on him or our rivalry; it was on appreciating what this arena represented—a culmination of dreams and hard work materialized into something tangible.

As I took it all in, I couldn’t shake off a lingering thought: how much of this grandeur was fueled by sacrifices like mine?

“Tom,” a soft voice called out.

I turned and saw Seraphina Hanson herself. She was six months pregnant. Shit. I didn't fucking realize?—

A pang hit my chest.

What did I care if she was pregnant?

Stunning didn’t even begin to describe her. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that radiated both beauty and determination.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “I’d love to show you around.”

Despite the fact that she inherited a legacy, there was only a simple silver band on her left finger. She wore minimal jewelry and inexpensive clothing—a blue blouse that brought out her eyes and black slacks. She could have been any other expectant mother if it weren’t for the undeniable air of authority around her.

“You sure you can?” The words slipped out before I realized how they might sound.

Her lips curved slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’re as direct as your brother.”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” I replied, my tone firm but respectful. “He learned that from me.”

“Of course he did,” she said, cocking her head slightly, still smiling. “May I?”

“Lead the way,” I said.

We walked through the Ice Palace, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the pristine floors. Seraphina pointed out various features with pride—the luxury suites, the advanced training facilities, the revamped locker rooms.

“This place is incredible,” I admitted as we paused near one of the new player lounges.

“It’s been a labor of love,” she replied, resting a hand on her belly. “We wanted to create something special for the players and the fans.”

Her passion was clear in every word she spoke. Despite her understated appearance, there was no mistaking the fire that drove her.

“I can see that,” I said. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Her eyes met mine, sincerity in their depths. “It means a lot coming from you.”

We continued our tour, moving through corridors adorned with memorabilia from past glories and into areas designed for future victories. Everywhere I looked, there were signs of Seraphina’s vision and dedication.

As we reached the end of our walk, Seraphina stopped and turned to me. “I hope this place feels like home for you as well."

"Me? "

Seraphina’s eyes sparkled with determination as she continued. "Yes, you, Tom. When I inherited this team, it was at its lowest point. The players were disheartened, the fans were losing faith, and we hadn't seen a championship in… well… ever. But I knew there was potential—so did Cherney and the rest of the staff. Even my grandfather…" Her voice trailed off, and he could detect pain in her tone. "He knew he had something, even if he didn't live long enough to see it." Her hand reached for the swell of her stomach, and my heart clenched again. “We started from scratch, rebuilding the team’s morale and structure. Cherney was instrumental in that process. His experience and leadership brought us together when we needed it most. And now... well, now we’re Stanley Cup champions.” Her pride was evident, but so was her concern. “But Cherney is ready to retire,” she admitted, her tone softer now. “And finding an adequate replacement isn’t just about filling a position; it’s about continuing a legacy.”

She paused for a moment, searching my face for any sign of resistance. When she didn’t find any, she pressed on. “You have everything we need, Tom. Your coaching record speaks for itself—taking teams to new heights, pushing players beyond their limits. You understand what it means to win, not just games but hearts and minds.”

I shook my head slightly, still processing her words. “Why me?” I finally asked.

“Because you’re not just a coach; you’re a leader,” she replied without hesitation. “You know how to inspire people, how to get them to give their all even when they think they have nothing left. That’s what Cherney did for us, and that’s what you can do, too.”

I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something—was it hope? Ambition? It had been so long since I allowed myself to dream beyond my current circumstances.

Seraphina’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Your ability to connect with players on a personal level is unparalleled. They respect you because they know you’ve walked in their shoes—you’ve faced the highs and lows of this sport firsthand.”

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. “And let’s not forget your strategic mind,” she added with a smile. “Your game plans are legendary. The way you analyze opponents and adapt on the fly—it’s exactly what we need to stay on top.”

I felt the weight of her words settling in my chest—a mixture of pride and apprehension. She believed in me more than I believed in myself at that moment.

“Tom,” she said softly, reaching out to touch my arm gently, “this is about building on what we’ve achieved and taking it even further. And I think—no, I know—you can do that. You already have with the Titans." She gave me a long look. “Unless there's something holding you back?"

I pressed my lips together, feeling the weight of her question. “I… I don’t know,” I finally said, the words heavy on my tongue. “I don’t see myself upending everything, even to coach in the NHL.”

Seraphina tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Ah,” she said softly. “You’re in love.”

My eyes snapped to hers, my first instinct to deny it, but no words came out.

“Is she hesitant?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “Does she not want to move?”

“Quite frankly, ma’am,” I said, exhaling sharply. “I’ve got no fucking clue.”

She pursed her lips and led me into her office. It was spacious yet simple, with a large mahogany desk dominating the room. Right in the center of the floor was a dark stain—unmistakably blood. This must have been where her grandfather was murdered.

Her eyes followed mine to the stain as she took her time sitting down. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t replaced that,” she said, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

“The thought had occurred,” I admitted, taking a seat opposite her.

“It’s a reminder,” she began, her gaze fixed on the stain. “No matter how hard my day is, no matter how much I want to give up, this team was built on blood.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “And it’s… it’s going to sound morbid, but it’s a reminder that my grandfather’s here.”

I nodded, absorbing her words. My eyes drifted to a wedding photo on the wall—her and Brandon fucking Thorpe. The scene looked serene and uncomplicated.

“So,” Seraphina continued, drawing my attention back to her. “This woman… Have you told her you love her?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable.

"She knows."

Seraphina gave me a long, assessing look. “What is it then?”

“You’re very direct,” I muttered.

“I have to be,” she fired back, no hesitation.

I blew out a breath, feeling the weight of my own confusion pressing down on me. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not,” she countered, eyes steady and unyielding.

“What the fuck would you know about it?” I snapped defensively, my frustration boiling over.

Instead of getting offended, she smiled—a knowing, almost sad smile. “Because I used to think that too,” she said softly. “But then I just… let myself love, and it’s been… difficult at times, don’t get me wrong. I recommend you don’t date your goalie. But…” She rubbed her hand on her stomach, the gesture tender and protective. “It’s everything to me. It’s my reason for all of this.”

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “She kept something from me,” I said finally, the words bitter on my tongue. “Something I should have known. Shit with my son has soured—it’s been sour for a long fucking time. And… Fuck. I don’t know.”

“What do you want?” Seraphina asked, her voice cutting through my bullshit.

“Excuse me?” I blinked at her, thrown off by the directness of her question.

“If you had a magic wand,” she said calmly, “what would you wave it for?”

“I…” Thoughts flashed through my mind—too fast to catch. I’d wave away the months apart. I’d wave away the miscarriage. I’d wave away Nick and Janet’s involvement. “I just want to be with her.”

“And why did she keep this secret from you?” she asked.

I pursed my lips, struggling to find the right words. “She thought she was protecting me,” I said finally, the admission heavy with regret. “She knew I’d… react.”

Seraphina’s lip twitched slightly.

“Fuck, I just… I don’t know how to deal with it,” I continued, the words spilling out of me uncontrollably now. “She was pregnant, and now she’s not, and I know that miscarriages affect women because it’s their bodies, but fuck, it fucking hurts.” My voice grew rougher with each word. “It fucking drives me into such a goddamn fury that something like that could even happen and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it to make it better.” My voice cracked as I finished, feeling more exposed than ever before. “And it was my child, too. My child.”

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and unspoken understanding.

"Am I being punished?" I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Does God know I'd make a shitty father because I'm already a shitty father? Did He make Ally suffer because Janet had a miscarriage and... and all I fucking felt was relief? Does that make me a terrible fucking person?" My voice wavered, betraying the turmoil inside me. "And I don't know what Ally needs from me. I don't know how to help her because it happened fucking months ago, but even if it happened right the fuck now, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm a fucking man. I shouldn't be a bitch. But I... that's my kid."

Seraphina remained silent, taking it all in. Her eyes softened as she absorbed my words.

"You're allowed to mourn too, you know," she said softly.

I inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of her understanding. She looked down at her desk, gathering her thoughts.

"My sister had one," she began, her voice tinged with sorrow. "She and Negan had been trying to get pregnant for months, and when they did... Gosh, Kat was so happy. But three weeks later, just before the first appointment... Negan withdrew. He was there for Kat, but... he went to a dark place. I think it's because the focus of the experience is on the woman. We tend to forget men are suffering too."

"But it's not like my body is in pain," I argued, frustration lacing my words.

"It's not about that," she replied gently. "You have to understand, a defining factor that makes up what a woman is, is her ability to have children. Take that away without reason, and then what? It's like her own body betrays her. But for a man... it's something outside of you. You can't fix it. You can't stop it. You just have to watch the woman you love completely fall apart. And that's... that's a lot, too. You lose that hope, that sense of desire. Men want children too. You're experiencing the loss, too."

I sucked in a breath, my heart clenching with the weight of her words.

"You need to give yourself permission to grieve," Seraphina continued, her voice unwavering yet compassionate. "It's not about being strong or being weak; it's about being human."

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and unspoken understanding. For once in my life, I didn't have an answer or a plan—just an aching void where hope should be.

"I want to help her," I admitted quietly.

"Then be there for her," Seraphina advised softly. "Sometimes just being present is enough."

Her words settled over me like a balm, offering a sliver of clarity amidst the chaos in my mind.

As we sat there in silence, the enormity of what needed to be done began to crystallize in my mind—slowly but surely.

“Talk to her,” she said. “And get back to me. We'd love to have you here.” She stood up, extending her hand with a warm, genuine smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I rose from my seat and took her hand, feeling the sincerity in her grip. “Thanks,” I replied, and for once, I meant it.

“I’ll walk you out,” she offered, still holding my gaze.

“It’s fine,” I said, shaking my head. “I want to walk around, anyway.”

“Sure,” Seraphina said, sitting back down gracefully. She watched me for a moment before returning her attention to the papers on her desk.

I turned and left her office; the door closing softly behind me. The hallways of the Ice Palace stretched out before me. My footsteps echoed against the polished floors as I wandered aimlessly, letting the weight of our conversation settle over me.

I needed air—space to think. As I walked through the corridors adorned with memorabilia and photos of past glories, my mind raced with conflicting emotions. The offer was tempting, more than tempting—it was a lifeline. But accepting it meant confronting parts of myself I'd buried deep.

I found myself standing in front of a wall-sized photograph of the team celebrating their last championship win. Their faces were filled with joy and camaraderie—something that felt foreign to me now. My eyes lingered on the image, searching for something I couldn’t quite name.

Seraphina’s words echoed in my mind: " Sometimes just being present is enough ." Could it be that simple? Could showing up for Ally help bridge the chasm between us?

I exhaled sharply and resumed my walk, the cold air from the rink hitting my face as I passed by an open door leading to the ice. I stopped at the edge, watching a few players practice their drills even though it was off-season. Their dedication and focus reminded me of why I loved this sport in the first place—the purity of effort and passion.

But I loved Ally more.

And right now, before I made any decision, I had to make things right between us.

As we stepped into the hotel ballroom, the Halloween theme enveloped us. Orange and black streamers draped from the ceiling, mingling with cobwebs that glittered under the dim lights. Pumpkins of various sizes adorned every corner, some carved with intricate designs, while others simply glowed with eerie faces. Chandeliers, shrouded in faux spider webs, cast an ethereal light over the room, adding to the mystique.

Men and women moved gracefully across the floor, their faces obscured by elaborate masks. The men's tuxedos and the women's gowns gave the event an air of elegance, despite the playful theme. Ally's dress hugged her in all the right places, a deep emerald that made her auburn hair and eyes stand out even more against her pale skin. Her mask was delicate, adorned with tiny feathers and glitter that caught the light whenever she turned her head.

I couldn't help but notice how many eyes followed her as we moved through the crowd. Men especially seemed drawn to her, their gazes lingering a bit too long for my liking. I wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer to me. She looked up and gave me a small smile, one that melted away any lingering doubts about being here tonight.

We made our way toward my players, who were clustered near a buffet table laden with festive treats. As we approached, they turned their attention to us, curiosity evident even through their masks.

"Hey, assholes," I began, "this is Ally."

They greeted her warmly, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. It struck me then how natural it felt to introduce her to them—how right it felt. As I watched her interact with them, laughing at their jokes and engaging in light conversation, I felt something shift inside me.

Ally was it for me.

The night went splendidly. We danced beneath the glittering chandeliers and shared whispered conversations over pumpkin-spiced cocktails. Each moment with her felt like another piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. As if maybe, just maybe, everything could finally be all right.

"What the fuck, Ally?"

The sound of Nick's voice sliced through the air like a knife, sending an icy chill down my spine. I instinctively stepped in front of Ally, shielding her from the venom in his eyes.

"Get the fuck out, Nick," I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

"What are you doing here?" Nick demanded, his face contorted with rage. "I fucking followed you… to his house? Like this? Fuck, Ally, my dad. You fucking whore, are you trying to get back at me?"

It took everything in me not to lash out at him. My hand shot out, grabbing Nick by the collar. "Don't," I warned, my voice a barely contained snarl. From the corner of my eye, I saw my team straighten up, their eyes fixed on us. They'd fight for me if it came to that, but I needed to keep control.

"Fuck you," Nick spat out, his words dripping with venom. "Are you that jealous of me that you need to fucking take my sloppy seconds? You're a fucking perverted, pathetic old man. I hope you like droopy dick, Ally."

"Nick," she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Stop."

But Nick was too far gone. He swung at me, his fist coming fast and hard. I dodged the punch easily enough, but it only seemed to fuel his rage.

"Nick!" Ally shrieked, stepping between us just as he swung again.

His fist connected with her jaw before either of us could react. Time seemed to slow as she stumbled back, her hand flying up to her face.

Red washed over my vision. It didn't matter that he was my son—he'd hit her. Accident or not, he had hit her. Fury surged through me as I lunged at him, all rational thought gone.

My fists flew faster than I could think, each punch landing with a sickening thud against Nick's body. Years of pent-up frustration and anger poured out with every strike. He had crossed a line—one he couldn't come back from.

I heard someone shouting my name in the background but couldn't stop myself. The sight of Ally cradling her jaw fueled my rage even further.

In that moment, nothing else mattered but making him pay for what he'd done.

I couldn’t stop. Each punch I threw felt like a release, but also a curse. Nick had crossed an unforgivable line. The sounds around me—the gasps, the shouts—blurred into white noise.

“Thomas, stop!” Ally’s voice cut through the haze, desperate and pained.

I paused, fists clenched, breath ragged. Nick lay beneath me, bloodied and bruised. The room fell silent except for the heavy breathing of everyone around us. My team had formed a circle, unsure whether to intervene or stand down.

The distant wail of sirens pierced through the air. It grew louder, closer, until red and blue lights flashed outside the ballroom windows. Panic settled into my gut as I realized what was coming next.

"That's your son," Ally said.

"I don't give a shit," I spat. "He touched you. He hurt you."

The police burst through the doors, shouting commands that echoed off the walls. “Step back! Hands where we can see them!”

I lifted my hands slowly, stepping away from Nick’s crumpled form. The officers moved in quickly, separating us. They cuffed me without hesitation, their grip firm and unyielding.

Ally rushed to my side, her eyes wide with fear and concern. “Thomas,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered as they pulled me away. My heart twisted at the sight of her bruised jaw. I’d failed her in more ways than one tonight.

The officers led me out of the ballroom and into the cold night air. I glanced back at Ally one last time, catching her gaze. The worry etched on her face tore at my insides.

As they shoved me into the back of a squad car, all I could think about was how badly I’d screwed up. I could give a shit that my son lay beaten on a ballroom floor.

But Ally.

Ally was hurt because of me.

Regret gnawed at me like a relentless beast as we drove away from the hotel. Every decision I’d made tonight felt like another nail in the coffin of whatever fragile future I’d hoped to build with her.

Sitting in that squad car, wrists bound and heart heavy, I realized just how deeply I might have ruined everything.

And there was no taking it back.