“Frankie this check is written out to me. If they know it’s mine why would they credit it as anon—”

“Many reasons, Harp.” He stood and paced anxiously behind his desk. “It sparks interest, eliminates competition. Prevents other mags to offer you deals…” he was careful about that last one.

“If I cash this check…am I accepting the fact that they won’t credit my work?”

He sighed. “If you don’t cash that check, I could lose my job for telling them I had permission to use it unsigned.”

“Frankie.”

“I’m sorry Harper.” He raced around his desk. “But I’ve got a plan. There’s a game Friday—tomorrow. I’ll get us private seats, bring your sketchbook—”

“No.”

“Let me finish. Make it a big one. Get creative. Sign it. Then we pitch it to the big guys upstairs and you lay out your terms.”

I released a heavy breath, feeling like I finally had someone on my side. “I’ll need space.”

“You’ll have plenty and it’ll just be you and me.”

I nodded, “Okay. Tomorrow.”

17. Harper

17

The moment we got to our seats at the arena, my leg wouldn’t stop shaking. We had early admission so I had time to settle in and our seats were pretty private.

I had no idea which Hartman brother to expect on the ice tonight, but I gave myself enough credit to think I’d recognize him as soon as he did.

I hoped it would be August. He was so good and other than that first game when he’d walked off the ice in a fury, he’d been loving it out there.

But like my sketch, he’d received zero credit.

I was sure about one thing. Troy hadn’t played a game since the season opener. And I sure hoped he didn’t decide to show tonight.

The announcements started and Frankie looked over at me with one empty seat between us, giving me the thumbs up and a wink to let me know ‘we’ve got this’ as he had on our way over.

I would never do anything to get him in any trouble or cause him to lose his job, but cashing that check was going to be painful.

I stilled my restless leg.

I wasn’t nervous about my sketches, I knew something would come to me. I was nervous for August, still having no clue as to why he was doing this. I glanced around, looking at the crowded house and squinted to see who was sitting in Troy’s seats tonight. They seemed to be filled.

I recognized the big red hair instantly. Grace Hartman. I couldn’t make out the man next to her, but it had to be their father, Robert. They seemed to wave at someone standing in the walkway between the stands. He was standing with his hands in his pockets and a baseball hat and waved back tentatively.