Page 86 of Unleashed

“No.” The word came out harsh. Brutal. Let her see how little I cared about whatever explanation she’d tried to leave behind.

She didn’t flinch from my tone. Didn’t get defensive. Just nodded, something sad and resigned in her eyes. “I really wish you would watch it, Viggy. But I understand if you don’t. You don’t owe me anything.”

The raw honesty in her voice sucker punched me worse than any hit I’d taken on the ice. “Been busy with rehab.”

“Right. That’d take up a lot of your time. Heard you had your knee worked on after the season. I’m glad you’re doing so well.” She shifted her weight, her professional polish cracking just a bit as she rolled her lips, her eyes drifting down. “Well, we should get back to work. Nice to see you.”

She retreated with her camera person, leaving me to deal with the questioning look Hoss shot my way. But before I could escape, a woman stepped into my space.

“I’m Claire Matthews,” she said, touching my forearm. “My son Ben is in the U12 program. We simply must have you over for dinner to welcome you properly.” She punctuated this with a practiced hair flip and smile that probably got a lot of mileage.

Ten years ago, I might have been interested. Might have appreciated the obvious invitation. But I’d had my fill of women who saw the hockey player instead of the man. Who wanted the image instead of the reality.

Thethumbdrivesaton my coffee table, taunting me. Three months of ignoring its existence, and now here I was, late at night in my new house, whiskey in hand, staring at it like it might explode.

Maybe it would.

I knocked back the last of my drink, grabbed my laptop.Just fucking do it, Vignier. Get it over with.

Curiosity was killing me.

I’d come to Virginia to see her. I’d own that. And now I had, and my skin burned, and my chest felt like I had a ten ton weight crushing me into oblivion.

Lily’s face filled my screen, and the air left my lungs. No power suit. No professional mask. Just her, vulnerable and raw, speaking directly to camera.

“Jack.” Her voice came through steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes. “I owed you the truth weeks ago. About the episode, about Malone’s demands, about...” She drew in a shaky breath and I refilled my drink. “About how I fell in love with you somewhere between trying to tell your story and actually seeing you.”

The confession hit like a thunderbolt. My fingers tightened on the glass.

“You deserved better than what I handed you. Better than someone who let fear drive her decisions. This episode, our last—” She gestured to something off-screen. “This is what I should have done from the start. This is the story you deserved to have.”

Her voice thickened with emotion. “The real story isn’t about injuries or controversy. It’s about seventeen years of leading by example. About making everyone around you better. About...” Her voice cracked. “About being exactly the kind of man I wish I’d been brave enough to choose over my career when I had the chance.”

Something cracked in my chest. Hard. Sharp. The kind of pain no surgery could fix.

“I hope someday you can forgive me,” she continued. “But even if you don’t—you should know that you changed me. Made me remember who I used to be before I learned to compromise my values. So... thank you. For that. For everything.”

The screen went dark, theAcesUnleashedtheme music started up and the screen lit again with the usual intro for her show.

But this wasn’t anything like the hatchet job she’d done before. This was something else entirely.

My first NHL captain appeared on screen, gruff and weathered but grinning. “Knew from his first practice—this kid was special. Not just the talent, but the way he thought about the game. The way he lived it.”

The footage cut to my early years, showing not just the highlights everyone had seen, but the quiet moments. Me staying late to work with younger players. The way I’d stepped between teammates and trouble, taking the hits so they didn’t have to.

Coach after coach, teammate after teammate—faces from across my career sharing stories I’d forgotten. The trainer from Detroit talking about how I’d helped his son learn to skate. The equipment manager in Montreal reminiscing about late-night strategy sessions.

Silver appeared; his usual stoic expression softened with respect. “Everything I know about leading a team, I learned from Viggy. He showed me that being captain isn’t about wearing the C—it’s about putting the team first, always.”

My throat tightened as more familiar faces filled the screen. Players I’d mentored over the years, some now retired, others leading their own teams. Each one sharing a moment where I’d made a difference. Where I’d helped shape their understanding of what it meant to play this game.

Then Riley’s goofy grin filled the frame. “Everyone talks about Viggy the player, right? The Selkes, the records, all that. But they don’t see what happens behind the scenes. How he stays late to work with us rookies. How he knows exactly when to push and when to back off. He taught me that being great isn’t just about what I can do on my own—it’s about making everyone around you better.”

The footage wove together years of moments I’d forgotten—the victories, the losses, the quiet times between. Not just a highlight reel, but a testament to what really mattered. To the legacy I’d built without even realizing it.

The final segment showed a series of current NHL captains, each one talking about how they modeled their leadership on what they’d learned from me. How my influence had spread throughout the league, shaping the next generation of players.

My vision blurred as the credits rolled. All these years chasing the Cup, thinking that would define my career. But this—this was something different. Something bigger.

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