Chapter 121: The Eve of the Final
The morning air carries a sharp, crisp bite that tells me autumn is fully settling over the city. Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Klaus’s high-rise apartment, illuminating the small wooden desk in the corner of the guest room. For the past two hours, I’ve been setting up the space—organizing new bed sheets, setting a soft desk lamp in place, and arranging a row of Leo’s favorite hockey books along the small bookshelf.
Tomorrow morning, we pick Leo up from the pediatric wing for his official discharge. And tomorrow night, the Kraken play Game 5 on home ice for the championship trophy.
A pair of warm, solid arms slide around my waist from behind, pulling me back against a familiar broad chest. Klaus rests his chin on my shoulder, his damp dark hair pressing lightly against my neck as he takes in the room.
"It looks perfect, Liam," Klaus murmurs softly, his deep voice carrying a quiet warmth that settles right into my chest.
"I want it to feel like home the second he walks through the door," I say, leaning back into his hold and resting my hands over his forearms. "He's spent so many months looking at white hospital walls. I wanted him to have color."
Klaus turns me around inside his arms so I'm facing him. His dark eyes look down into mine with a quiet, fierce devotion. He reaches up, his thumb gently smoothing over my lower lip before his hand settles against the side of my face.
"You built this home for him, Liam," Klaus says softly, his tone rich with emotion. "You took care of him through everything."
"We built it," I correct gently, reaching up to cover his hand with mine. "We did this together, Klaus."
A small, breathtaking smile curves his lips. He stoops down, pressing a slow, tender kiss against my mouth that fills the quiet room with a gentle heat. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with an absolute, unshakable focus.
"Come on," Klaus says, giving my waist a gentle squeeze. "Vance wants the morning line meeting to start at eleven sharp. We have one last morning skate before Game 5."
Thirty minutes later, we arrive at the Kraken practice facility. The underground parking garage is already buzzing with activity. Security guards stand at every entrance, keeping back a massive crowd of fans and news crews gathered outside the gated perimeter. The energy in the city is electric—everyone knows that a win tomorrow night brings the cup home for the first time in twelve years.
We walk down the quiet administrative hallway together, our footsteps echoing against the rubber floor. As we near the main suite, the door to Marcus Vance’s office opens, and Vance steps out into the hall holding a small black leather case.
When he sees us, Vance stops, a genuine smile breaking across his sharp face.
"Liam, Klaus," Vance says, walking over to meet us. He looks relaxed, completely free of the dark stress that clouded his features days ago. "Just the two people I was looking for."
"Morning, Marcus," Klaus nods.
Vance turns to me, opening the small leather case in his hands to reveal a brand-new, gold-bordered credential badge. Printed in bold silver letters across the front are the words: OFFICIAL CHAMPIONSHIP LEAGUE PHOTOGRAPHER — MASTER ACCESS.
"This came directly from the league president’s office this morning," Vance explains, handing the case to me. "It grants you full access to the ice level during the trophy presentation ceremony tomorrow night. No restrictions, no media zone boundaries."
I take the heavy badge, my fingers tracing the smooth gold border. A quiet wave of pride and gratitude swells in my chest.
"Thank you, Mr. Vance," I say, looking up to meet his eyes. "This means a lot."
"You earned it, Liam," Vance says firmly, looking me straight in the eye. "Your work on Game 4 is already being printed for the national sports spread. The franchise is lucky to have you at the glass."
Klaus steps up beside me, his arm resting over my shoulder, his grip firm and proud. "He's the best in the league, Marcus."
"I won't argue with that, Captain," Vance smiles, clapping Klaus on the arm. "Now get into the line room. Coach Miller is waiting with the power play videos."
While Klaus steps into the tactical meeting with the rest of the roster, I walk down to the media workroom to meet James. The room is filled with laptop chargers, camera gear, and stacks of fresh credential lanyards.
James is sitting at the main desk, polishing a massive three-hundred-millimeter telephoto lens. The second he sees me walk in with the gold pass around my neck, he lets out a low whistle.
"Look at that shiny hardware!" James grins, leaning back in his chair. "Master access for the cup presentation? That’s the real deal, Liam!"
"Vance handed it over ten minutes ago," I say, setting my gear bag on the table beside him. "It feels surreal, James. A week ago, I didn't even know if I'd have a pass to get through the security gate."
"Saboteurs don't win in the end, Liam," James says quietly, his tone turning serious and respectful as he looks at me. "Truth always catches up. And now you get to shoot the biggest game of Klaus’s career from the best seat in the house."
"Yeah," I whisper, looking down at my camera body resting on the table. "We get to finish what we started."
By three o'clock in the afternoon, the morning skate wraps up, and the arena falls back into a quiet, waiting calm.
Klaus and I walk out to the edge of the empty rink together before heading to the parking garage. The vast bowl of twenty thousand empty seats sits silent under the dim house lights. Up near the rafters, the blank championship banner slot waits for tomorrow night's outcome.
Klaus stands near the home bench, resting his broad hands on the wooden barrier as he looks out over the pristine sheet of ice. The dark tension of the past weeks is completely gone from his frame, replaced by a deep, steady focus that makes him look entirely invincible.
I step up beside him, leaning my shoulder against his arm. "What are you thinking about?"
Klaus turns his head, looking down at me with a soft, radiant warmth in his dark eyes. He reaches out, taking my hand and weaving his fingers tightly with mine.
"I'm thinking about tomorrow," Klaus murmurs softly. "I'm thinking about picking up Leo in the morning, bringing him home, and then stepping out onto this ice with you standing right behind the glass."
"It's going to be a good day, Klaus," I tell him, my voice steady and warm.
"The best day," he whispers, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead as the quiet arena waits for the final storm to begin.