Chapter 173: Hire an Actor

KNOX’S POV

I ended the call with Nora, shoved my phone into my pocket, and sprinted down the hallway.

Bear’s shout sounded urgent, like the kind of urgency meant for a big problem in the locker room. I hurried down the stairs, three steps at a time, ready to confront whatever idiot had kicked in our front door.

I stopped four steps from the bottom.

Standing in the center of our cluttered entryway, flanked by discarded gym bags, dirty hockey skates, and a pile of winter boots, was my father.

Garrison Sheridan stood there all by himself.

He was wearing a fitted black cashmere sweater under an unzipped dark coat, tailored trousers, and polished leather boots.

Even dressed down on a Monday morning without a suit, he carried that same cold, suffocating authority, looking around our gritty living room with open disgust.

Across the room, Bear stood in the kitchen doorway... watching.

"I’ve got this, Bear," I said, my voice dropping into an ice-cold register. "Give us the room."

Bear glanced between my father and me, gave me a sharp nod, turned, and disappeared down the basement stairs, letting the door shut behind him.

I walked down the remaining steps, coming to a stop in the center of the living room.

I didn’t offer him a seat, and I didn’t take off my hoodie. I stood at my full height, looking down into the face of the man who shared my jawline and none of my soul.

"You have five seconds to explain why you’re in my house, Garrison," I said.

My father’s cold gray eyes narrowed. "You think four words on a phone screen give you the right to dismiss me, Knox? Can’t make it. Busy. That is how you respond to your father?"

"That is how I respond to someone who thinks my life belongs to his calendar," I countered. "I told you yesterday I was busy. I meant it."

Garrison let out a low, humorless laugh. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a folded section of the morning newspaper, and tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed between an empty protein shaker and a roll of stick tape.

On the front page of the New England sports section was a wide, high-resolution photo from the Emerald Pines stage.

There I was with flour on my forearms, holding Nora in my arms and kissing her in front of a storm of gold confetti while her mother held a fifty-thousand-dollar check.

"Look at yourself," Garrison sneered, pointing a gloved finger at the paper. "A first-round NHL talent. The sole heir to the Sheridan name. And you’re groveling on a mountain resort stage like a baker’s boy for pocket change, parading a diner waitress’s daughter before the entire state."

The muscles in my jaw bunched tight. "Nora won that championship fair and square. Something you wouldn’t understand without a checkbook."

"I understand image, Knox. And right now, your image is a liability." Garrison stepped closer, the smell of expensive cologne and cold winter air radiating from his wool coat. "Which brings me to Thursday."

"I already received your executive assistant’s calendar invite," I said coldly. "The answer is no."

Garrison’s expression hardened into stone.

"You will be at the estate on Thursday at six o’clock," Garrison ordered, his voice dropping into his usual dictatorial tone he used in boardrooms. "You will wear black tie. You will stand by my side in the grand ballroom, you will shake Harold Orwell’s hand, and you will warmly welcome Victoria Montgomery into this family."

A bitter, venomous laugh tore from my throat.

"Welcome Victoria?" I stepped right up to him, standing taller than him. "You treated Mom like a business deal until she died. Now you brought in a thirty-two-year-old replacement for another business deal, and you expect me to act like a happy son so the news calls it a real marriage."

A muscle twitched along my father’s jaw.

"Victoria comes from one of the most respected families in Boston," Garrison replied coldly. "She understands the expectations of our name. Our investors expect a united family, not an absent, sulking heir."

"Then hire an actor," I told him, keeping my voice dead even. "Because I am done being your prop."

Garrison’s eyes turned cold.

"You forget who funds your life, boy," Garrison warned, stepping closer until his face was inches from mine. "You think you’re independent because you rent a decrepit house with hockey players? One call from me, and your trust fund is completely frozen. I will strip your name from the family foundation, revoke your credit accounts, and withdraw the Sheridan athletic endowment from Briar. Let’s see how much Brennan respects your captaincy when the rink loses its heating budget."

I looked at him, feeling the final, rusted chain between us snap into dust.

"Do it," I whispered.

Garrison blinked, caught off guard.

"Freeze the trust fund," I continued. "Pull the endowment. Take every single dime with your name on it. The only thing I care about in this world is what I earn with my own two hands on the ice. I don’t want your money, Garrison. And I sure as hell don’t want your life."

Silence filled the room.

Garrison stared at me, realizing for the first time in twenty-one years that he had zero leverage left to break me.

"You have until Wednesday at noon to reconsider," Garrison said flatly. "If you aren’t at that dinner on Thursday, Knox... you are no longer a Sheridan."

"Good," I replied without hesitation. "Get the hell out of my house."

Garrison held my gaze for three freezing seconds. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, walked out the front door, and slammed it shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I stood in the entryway, my chest rising and falling as the adrenaline slowly drained from my veins. My hands shook slightly, not from fear, but from the intoxicating weight of total freedom.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and dialed Nora.

She picked up on the very first ring.

"Knox?" Nora’s voice rushed through the speaker, breathless and tight with worry. "Are you okay? Who was shouting at your house?"

Hearing her voice washed the cold taste of Garrison out of my mouth. A slow, genuine breath left my lungs, and my shoulders dropped.

"I’m fine, Bennett," I said softly, my voice dropping back into its normal, steady rhythm. "Everything is fine."

"Knox, please don’t lie to me," she murmured. "I heard Bear yelling. It sounded serious."

"An unexpected visitor," I said, keeping my tone gentle to protect her peaceful day in Oakhaven. "Someone from the athletic board trying to throw their weight around. It’s completely handled. I swear."

Nora stayed quiet for a second, sensing the boundary, before she let out a long sigh. "Are you sure you’re okay?"

"Never better," I said, and for the first time in my life, I actually meant it. "What time is your bus tomorrow?"

"Two o’clock," Nora replied, a hint of her usual warmth returning to her voice. "I arrive at Transit Bay Three around three-thirty."

"I’ll be there waiting," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "Go celebrate with your mom, Bookworm. You earned today."

"I’ll see you tomorrow, Knox. Be safe."

"Always," I murmured, ending the call.

I walked into the kitchen, letting out a long breath.

The basement door clicked open, and Bear climbed up the wooden steps. He walked over to the fridge, pulled out two cold bottles of water, and tossed one across the island.

I caught it cleanly against my palm.

"I heard the door slam," Bear said, cracking the cap off his bottle and taking a long swig. "What did your old man want?"

"He’s getting engaged on Thursday to Victoria Montgomery," I said, leaning my hips back against the counter. "He wanted me in a tuxedo at the estate gala so the press could see a happy family."

Bear choked on his water, coughing violently before staring at me in utter disbelief. "Victoria Montgomery? Harold Orwell’s partner’s daughter? She’s barely ten years older than us!"

"Yep."

"He spent ten years acting like your mom never existed," Bear muttered, shaking his head with raw disgust. "And now he parades a socialite into the house. That man is a stone-cold bastard, Sheridan."

"I told him to freeze the trust fund and go to hell," I said, taking a sip of the cold water. "He gave me until Wednesday noon to change my mind, or he’s cutting me off."

"Good riddance," Bear snorted, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "You don’t need his money anyway. You’re going first-round on your own skates."

Bear paused, looking around our empty, quiet kitchen.

"Well, look at the bright side," Bear added with a crooked grin. "Jake’s parents took off for Boca Raton yesterday without even leaving him a key to their condo. My dad is pulling double shifts at the rail yard all weekend. Looks like you, me, and Jake are having an all-boys Thanksgiving right here at the SinBin. I’ll deep-fry a turkey in the driveway."

I looked across the kitchen at my best friend, then glanced out the window at the snow dusting the driveway.

Tomorrow afternoon, Nora’s bus was pulling into Briar.

A slow grin curved the corner of my mouth. "We’ll see about that, Bear," I murmured softly. "We’ll see."