Contracted to the NHL Superstar

The hospital hallway always smelled like bleach and old coffee. I stood by the window, watching my little brother, Leo. He looked far too small in the middle of all those white sheets. At ten years old, he should have been outside playing, not hooked up to machines that beeped every few seconds.

I pulled the crumpled bill from my pocket. The total at the bottom was a number I couldn't even say out loud. It didn't look like money; it looked like a debt I would be paying for the rest of my life.

"Liam?"

I turned to see Dr. Reed walking toward me. He looked as tired as I felt, but he gave me a small, kind smile.

"How is he today, Doc?" I asked, quickly hiding the bill behind my back.

"He is stable for now," Dr. Reed said. He stopped next to me and looked through the glass at Leo. "But we need to start the next round of treatment by Friday. If we wait, he might lose the progress we’ve made."

"I know," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I’m working tonight. I’ll have the money."

"You’re a good brother, Liam," he said, patting my arm. "Most nineteen-year-olds wouldn't stay. They would have left when things got hard."

I didn't have the heart to tell him I had nowhere else to go. I just nodded and watched him walk away.

The hotel downtown was full of people who didn't look at the prices on menus. I stood near the door with my camera, trying to stay out of the way. My job was to take photos of the guests as they arrived, but I felt like a ghost in the room.

"Move over, kid," a man in a tuxedo snapped at me. He didn't even look at my face; he just looked at my old shoes. "You're blocking the path."

"Sorry, sir," I said, stepping back into the shadows.

"I don't know why they let people like that in here," he whispered to his wife as they walked past.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and kept taking pictures. My hands were starting to cramp, and my back ached from standing so long. When the shift finally ended, the manager came over to find me.

"Vance, right?" he asked, looking at a list.

"Yes, sir."

"Your photos are fine, but you're too quiet. We need someone with more energy. I'll pay you for tonight, but don't come back for the next event."

I wanted to tell him that I needed this job for Leo. I wanted to tell him I was doing my best. But I just lowered my head. "I understand. Thank you."

He didn't even respond. He just turned his back and started talking to someone else.

After some hours, I was down and walked out into the cool Seattle night, my camera bag heavy on my shoulder. I didn't want to go back to the hospital yet. I didn't want to tell Leo I lost another steady gig.

I ended up in the middle of the city, standing in a large plaza surrounded by tall buildings. 

Above me, a massive screen, a big billboard, lit up the dark sky. It was showing highlights from a hockey game.

I stopped walking.

The screen shifted to a post-game interview. And there he was.

Klaus Conti.

He was wearing his team jersey, his hair a little messy from the helmet, his face looking like it was carved out of something hard and cold. The reporter was asking him about the winning goal, but Klaus barely looked at her. 

He looked bored. He looked untouchable.

The "Ice King." That’s what the world calls him now.

I stood there, frozen, as the crowd around me cheered at the screen. People were shouting his name, talking about how he was a legend, how he was the youngest captain in history.

I remembered a different Klaus.

I remembered the Klaus who used to sit on my porch and share a single soda because we only had enough change for one. I remembered the Klaus who promised me that no matter where hockey took him, he would never leave me behind.

He had lied.

He had left two years ago without a single word. No note. No phone call. He just vanished into the world of money and fame, leaving me to deal with my father's funeral and Leo's diagnosis all by myself.

He looked so regal up there. So rich. So perfect. He was a billionaire superstar, and I was a guy who couldn't even pay for his brother's medicine.

"Nice goal, wasn't it?" a random guy next to me asked, nodding toward the screen.

"Yeah," I said, my voice feeling thick. "Great goal."

I turned away before the interview could finish. Seeing him felt like a physical weight in my chest. 

I started walking toward the bus stop, my head down. I just wanted to go home, lock the door, and sleep for a few hours before my morning shift at the coffee shop.

As I reached the bus stop, my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out, thinking it was probably the hospital calling to tell me another payment was overdue.

But the screen showed an unknown number. 

I sighed and swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Liam Vance?" a woman’s voice asked. She sounded professional, the kind of voice that belonged in a high-rise office.

"This is he," I said, sitting down on the cold bench.

"Mr. Vance, my name is Sarah. I’m calling from the legal offices of Miller, Ross, and Associates. We represent the Conti family and the Seattle Steelheads organization."

My heart stopped. I looked back at the giant screen where Klaus’s face was still glowing against the night sky.

"What is this about?" I asked, my grip tightening on the phone.

"We would like to schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible," she said, her tone perfectly calm. "It’s regarding a private matter involving Mr. Klaus Conti. We have a proposal to discuss with you that we believe will be very beneficial for both parties."

I looked at my shoes. They were worn out. I looked at my hands, which were shaking.

"When?" I whispered.

"Tomorrow morning at ten. A car will be sent to your address, Mr. Vance. We look forward to seeing you."

The line went dead. I stared at the phone for a long time, I put the phone back in my pocket and waited for the bus, why did Klaus want to see me and why did I even agree to go.