Chapter 125 Raising the Cup

Chapter 125 Raising the Cup
League officials in dark suits walk out onto the ice, carrying rolls of thick blue carpet to lay down across the slick surface. In the center of the rink, two workers set up a wide black podium with silver banners hanging down the front. The crowd in the stands is still cheering at the top of their lungs, waving flags and singing team songs as the stadium lights dim slightly to focus on the stage setup.

I clutch the winning game puck in my left hand, slipping it carefully into the deep pocket of my jacket. With my right hand, I check the gold master pass hanging around my neck.

A security guard near the side gate pulls the latch open and nods at me. "Head on out there, Liam. You have full access."

"Thanks," I say, stepping through the gate onto the edge of the carpet.

Walking directly onto the ice floor feels unreal. The air down here is crisp and sharp, smelling like cold water and cut rubber. Dozens of news camera crews are crowding around the edges of the carpet, but with my gold badge, I am able to walk straight past the media line, getting right up close to the stage.

James steps up beside me, carrying a big flash attachment on his camera. "Can you believe this view?" he asks, his face lit up with excitement. "We have the best spot in the house!"

"It doesn't even feel real yet," I admit, adjusting my camera lens as the league president walks up the small steps of the podium.

"Attention, hockey fans!" the president’s voice echoes through the loud speakers overhead. "It is my honor to present the championship trophy to your very own Kraken!"

Four staff members carry the huge silver cup out onto the carpet, setting it down on the table at the center of the stage. The silver metal catches the bright white spotlights, shining so bright it almost hurts to look at.

The entire team erupts into cheers again. Klaus steps forward first as team captain, his dark hair still wet, wearing a fresh victory cap over his forehead. He walks up the steps toward the cup, his face showing a mix of pure pride and deep relief.

I lift my camera to my eye, pressing the shutter button continuously. Through the viewfinder, I catch every detail—the broad stretch of his shoulders, the way his hands wrap around the silver handles, and the absolute joy in his dark eyes as he lifts the heavy trophy high above his head.

The arena roars so loud the sound bounces right off the ceiling. White and silver paper flakes start shooting out from cannons near the rafters, floating down like snow all over the ice.

Klaus passes the cup to Miller, who screams in excitement and lifts it high, before handing it off to the rest of the players. The team gathers in a tight circle on the stage, taking turns holding the trophy, shouting, and spraying water bottles into the air.

While tracking the players through my lens, I slowly tilt my camera upward toward the private executive boxes high above the lower bowl.

Through my long lens, I zoom in on the glass wall of the owner’s suite. Sitting completely alone near the back row is Arthur Conti. He is dressed in a dark suit, sitting still in his seat while everyone else around him in the lower stands is jumping and celebrating. He has no microphone, no spot on the ice stage, and no part in this victory.

For months, Arthur tried to control everything behind the scenes. He tried to break Klaus, push me out, and take away the life we were trying to build. But looking at him now through the lens, he just looks small, distant, and completely powerless. The team won without his dirty tricks, Marcus Vance is in full charge of operations, and Arthur’s time of running things from the shadows is officially over.

I lower my camera, feeling a quiet, steady peace settle deep inside my chest. The fear that used to wake me up in the middle of the night is completely gone.

Down on the carpet, the official league photographer steps up to gather the squad for the main championship team photo. The players line up behind the silver cup on the podium, kneeling and standing in rows with their arms around each other's shoulders.

Klaus stands right in the middle, holding the handles of the trophy. He looks over the heads of the news reporters, searching the crowd near the edge of the carpet until his eyes find mine.

He raises his hand, waving me over. "Liam! Get over here!"

I point to my chest in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, you!" Klaus calls out, his deep voice carrying over the noise. "Get out here!"

James gives me a hard nudge in the back. "Go on! What are you waiting for?"

My face warms up, but I step off the blue carpet and walk onto the open ice, careful not to slip in my sneakers. The rest of the players cheer as I reach the podium, Miller reaching down to pull me up onto the lower step right next to Klaus.

Klaus wraps one broad arm tight around my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side. The warmth of his body cuts right through the cold air of the rink. He looks down at me with a soft, radiant smile that makes my heart swell until it aches.

"You belong in this picture," Klaus whispers close to my ear, his thumb pressing gently into my shoulder. "You helped us get here."

"I was just taking photos, Klaus," I say softly, looking up into his warm eyes.

"You gave me a reason to fight," he says simply, his tone full of honest emotion.

The main photographer waves his hands at us from the carpet line. "Alright, everyone look right here! Big smiles on three! One... two... three!"

Klaus tightens his arm around me, and together, we place our hands on the cool silver surface of the championship cup. The cameras flash all at once, catching the bright white light, the falling paper flakes, and the warm, unbroken smile on my face as I hold onto the man I love.