Chapter 91: The NHL called

Chapter 91: The NHL called

Rhys

The walk to the parking garage felt like I was going to a warfront. I had changed out of my skates for a pair of sneakers after hearing my grandfather’s summons.

I expected him to call me over after what I had done on the ice but I didn’t expect that it would be this quick.

"Right this way sir," The man in a suit pointed towards a white limousine waiting at the vip parking lot. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like voids cut into the air.

"Sir Rami is waiting," the man said, his voice as flat. He reached out and pulled the heavy door open. "Please," he pointed inside.

I took a breath, bracing for the impact. I expected everyone to be there and ask questions about my crash on the ice. I expected my father to be sitting there with that look of pinched disappointment, flanked by Raymond’s detached arrogance.

I expected a lecture on my stand as a captain. I expected a family meeting that felt like a hostile takeover.

And I was ready to face them all as I ducked my head and stepped onto the chilled leather scented interior.

The door clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the arena, the fans walking out.

My eyes adjusted to the dim amber lighting, and my heart skipped a beat because those I expected were not there. There was no sign of my father, nor was there Raymond or his crazy mother, Linda.

The only person in the limousine at the center of the plush seat was my grandfather, Rami Calder looking like an ancient king on a throne of shadows.

The air in the limo felt thin sucked dry by his mere presence and I visibly gulped as I looked at him because his presence was overwhelming especially since I was alone with him.

He didn’t look up immediately when I entered. He was staring at a tablet, watching the replay of my misconduct penalty and I knew he meant serious business especially since we were alone.

"Sit Rhys," he ordered looking up to meet my eyes.

I sat.

I could feel the nervous energy buzzing in my fingertips, so I rubbed my hands together, trying to ground myself.

The silence in the limo was heavy, almost suffocating and my grandfather didn’t stop replaying the video.

I didn’t want to play the waiting game, so I broke the silence before he could.

"Grandfather, is there a reason why you have summoned me?"

My grandfather raised his head from the tablet again staring at me with cold calculating eyes before leaning forward to tap on the partition. "Drive," he commanded the driver.

"Yes sir," The driver responded and the car started to pull away smoothly, the lights of the arena fading into the distance.

Then my grandfather faced me. "I summoned you because what we need to discuss is too important for a locker room or a crowded suite. And you wouldn’t have come if I summoned you to the estate which is why I’ve booked a restaurant for us only and sent your father and the others away because what I want to discuss with you will be between us."

My stomach did a slow, nauseating flip. Clearing out a whole restaurant wasn’t just a flex; it meant he wanted me to be alone with him so he could give no room for any choices.

Even without saying anything I already knew it was about the game.

"A restaurant?" I repeated, my voice flat. "That seems like a lot of trouble just to tell me you’re disappointed in my misconduct."

"Disappointment is a fleeting emotion, Rhys," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp. "What I have to say to you is permanent. I suggest you use this drive to find your composure. You’re going to need it." he told me and went back to the tablet in his hand.

I wanted to argue tell him I didn’t care what he had to say but I didn’t and looked out the window as the city blurred past.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the restaurant. The car slowed to a halt in front of a place that didn’t even have a sign—just a polished mahogany door and a valet who looked like he’d been waiting his entire life just to open our door.

Once we got down, I didn’t wait for my grandfather who was struggling to hold his cane, and headed inside.

Silence.

The restaurant was silent and the atmosphere was bright with a red and white background. The air was chilled to a precise temperature that felt like it was preserving the expensive artwork on the walls.

Every table was empty except for one table in the center of the room set for two.

We were led to the table by a maître d’ who bowed so low I thought he might snap in half. Once we were seated, the silence of the empty room rushed back in and I hated it.

I shake my head looking at my grandfather who picked up the heavy silver menu but didn’t open it instead he looked at me over the top of his spectacles. "What do you want to eat Rhys?"

I shifted on the chair. "I didn’t come here to eat, Grandfather," I said, my voice tight."Just tell me why I’m here. What do you want? Game 2 with the Southern Stallions is soon so I need to go home, relax, and prepare.

My grandfather said nothing in response and instead, he simply turned his gaze to the chef who was standing at a respectful distance. "Please bring us the lasagna I requested to be prepared," he ordered, his voice echoing in the hollow space. "And the truffle risotto. Some grilled octopus for the side and a bottle of the ’45"

"Yes sir," The chef bowed and retreated into the kitchen, leaving us in that heavy silence again.

I waited until the footsteps faded before I leaned forward."Is this about the game? If you’re here to talk about my misconduct or the team’s standing, just do it."

My grandfather raised a hand, cutting me off before I could get another word out.

"We will speak about it over the food, Rhys," he said firmly. "We have important things to discuss, and it is better to do so once the table is set. Be patient boy."

I shifted in the chair and turned towards the side of the white background of the restaurant.

The silence went on for a few minutes until the waiters appeared placing the steaming dishes on the table.

The scent of the truffle oil and rich sauce filled the air making my stomach rumble and I remembered that I was hungry.

I looked down at the lasagna as it was placed in front of me. It was a dish I usually loved, but now it just looked like a heap of wasted time.

I didn’t want to be here especially with Rami Calder.

My grandfather picked up his fork, glancing at my untouched plate. He beckoned toward me with a slight nod. "Eat, Rhys, and stop staring blankly without making a move. It’s a waste of a good chef’s talent to let it get cold."

"I’m not hungry," I said, my voice sounding hollow in the empty room. "I just don’t want to be here!" I told him as I shifted on the chair again.

How could I focus on food when I didn’t know what he had called me there for?

I just sat there, watching him eat with a methodical, terrifying calmness. Every clink of his silver fork against the plate felt like a countdown.

He took his time, savoring each bite as if we had all the time in the world and didn’t even spare me a glance.

Finally, after a moment, he set his fork down with a deliberate click and reached for his linen napkin, wiping his mouth slowly.

He leaned back, his eyes locking onto mine with a sharp, piercing intensity. "The NHL called," he announced, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.