Killian

What you do to me

Sidney

I'd known Brian Stern since I was a little girl with bright red pigtails. He was a friend of my father's, which made it all the more annoying to have to seek a favor from him.

"Brian," I said when he answered the phone. "It's Sidney Stahl."

"Sidney!" he boomed into the phone. "Been a long time. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, and you?"

"Good. And you sure as hell are doing well. Picked up a minor league team, I hear."

This was my opening. "I did. That's actually why I'm calling you."

"You need help finding talent? Just say the word."

Brian was a retired scout. One of the best. His influence was still far-reaching.

"I want to talk to you about Killian Bosch," I said.

"Bosch?" Brian grunted. "That kid's a damn mystery to me, Sid. Had it all. He was in with ... Boston I think it was. They wanted him as soon as he finished college, but then he went to hell. Crazy partying, fighting – just reckless behavior. Jumped off a roof at a party if I remember right. He put a guy in the hospital, too. Busted up his face really bad. By the time he graduated, no one wanted to touch him except the Flyers. No offense, Sidney, but beggars can't be choosers."

I sighed, considering my words. Did I want to lose my star? Hell no. But I knew this was the right thing to do.

"He's grown up since then, Brian."

The guffaw at the other end of the line made me roll my eyes. "Not from what I hear. He's still fighting off the ice and getting arrested on a regular basis."

Retired was apparently just a state of mind to Brian. Clearly he still knew what was going on with the game he loved and all its players.

"He's cleaned up his act since I got here."

It wasn't completely true, but it wasn't completely false, either. Seeing Killian leading that boy around the rink by the hands today, both of them laughing, had reached something inside me. I'd broken out in a sexually frustrated sweat, but I'd also seen the sweet goodness in him. He just needed someone to believe he was worth investing in.

"Sid ..." Brian started.

"Just listen—"

"No, you listen. There are endless players out there who have talent and who won't be a headache. The talent's too thick for someone like you to take on a risk."

"Have you seen him play? He's got more than talent. He's one of the best I've ever seen, Brian, and you know I've seen a lot."

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone. "Well ... I guess I wouldn't mind seeing your team play a game. I heard you're whipping 'em into shape. Proud of you, girl."

My throat tightened at the words. I wanted to hear those same words from my father, but hearing them from Brian still sent a swell of pride into my chest.

"Thank you. I owe you one."

Brian grunted his dismissal. "Your dad's done a lot for me. You don't owe me a thing. But you won't know what game I'm coming to. This boy better have his A game every time he hits the ice, 'cause if he has an off night—"

"I'm not worried about that. Thank you, Brian."

"I'll be in touch." After his gravelly send-off, he hung up.