Contracted to the NHI superstar

The Cost of Living

I stood in the hallway in Seattle city, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the observation window. On the other side, my ten-year-old brother, Leo, was asleep. He looked so small in that big hospital bed, his skin almost the same color as the white sheets.

I looked down at the paper in my hand. It was the latest bill. The numbers at the bottom didn't look real. They looked like a phone number, something too long and too high for a nineteen-year-old with three part-time jobs to ever pay off.

"Mr. Vance?"

I turned around. Dr. Reed was walking toward me, looking at a tablet. He looked tired, but he always had a soft smile for me.

"Hey, Doc," I said, trying to tuck the bill into my back pocket so he wouldn't see it. "How is he doing today?"

Dr. Reed sighed and stopped next to me. "He’s stable, Liam. But the new treatment is expensive. We need to start the next round of specialized care by the end of the week. If we don’t, his progress might slip."

"I know," I whispered. "I’m working on it. I have a big gig tonight."

"I hope so," he said, patting my shoulder. "You’re doing a great job, Liam. Most kids your age would have run away by now."

I didn't tell him that I didn't have anywhere to run. I just nodded and watched him walk away.

I stayed there for another hour, just watching Leo breathe. Every breath he took felt like it was costing me money I didn't have. Eventually, I had to leave. I had a camera bag to pack and a job to get to.

****

The event was at a high-end hotel downtown. It was a gala for people who wore watches that cost more than my house. My job was simple: stand near the entrance and take photos of the guests as they walked in. I wasn't the "main" photographer. I was the guy hired to catch the candid shots they would probably delete later.

"Hey, watch where you’re standing, kid," a man snapped. He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him perfectly. He looked at my faded jacket and my old sneakers like I was a stain on the carpet.

"Sorry, sir," I said, stepping back. "I was just trying to get the light right."

"Well, try doing it without being in the way," he muttered to his wife. "I don’t know why they hire people who look like they walked off the street."

I felt my face get hot. I wanted to tell him that my camera lens was worth more than his attitude, but I couldn't afford to get fired. I just kept clicking the shutter, forcing a smile every time a guest looked my way.

A woman in a long dress walked past me, intentionally bumping my shoulder. I stumbled slightly, and she didn't even look back. "Excuse me," I said quietly, but she just kept walking.

I felt invisible. Or worse, I felt like a nuisance. By the time my shift was over, my neck ached and my hands were cramping. The manager of the event walked over to me as I was packing up my gear.

"Vance, right?" he asked, checking a clipboard.

"Yes, sir."

"Your shots were okay, but you weren't aggressive enough. We need people who can get in there. I’ll send you the pay for tonight, but don't expect a callback for the next gala."

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him that people were literally pushing me, but I stopped. "Understood. Thank you for the opportunity."

He didn't even respond. He just turned his back and started talking to someone else.

After some hours, I was down and  walked out into the cool Seattle night, my camera bag heavy on my shoulder. I didn't want to go back to the hospital yet. I didn't want to tell Leo I lost another steady gig.

I ended up in the middle of the city, standing in a large plaza surrounded by tall buildings. Above me, a massive screen, a big billboard, lit up the dark sky. It was showing highlights from a hockey game.

I stopped walking.

The screen shifted to a post-game interview. And there he was.

Klaus Conti.

He was wearing his team jersey, his hair a little messy from the helmet, his face looking like it was carved out of something hard and cold. The reporter was asking him about the winning goal, but Klaus barely looked at her. He looked bored. He looked untouchable.

The "Ice King." That’s what the world calls him now.

I stood there, frozen, as the crowd around me cheered at the screen. People were shouting his name, talking about how he was a legend, how he was the youngest captain in history.

I remembered a different Klaus.

I remembered the Klaus who used to sit on my porch and share a single soda because we only had enough change for one. I remembered the Klaus who promised me that no matter where hockey took him, he would never leave me behind.

He had lied.

He had left two years ago without a single word. No note. No phone call. He just vanished into the world of money and fame, leaving me to deal with my father's funeral and Leo's diagnosis all by myself.

He looked so regal up there. So rich. So perfect. He was a billionaire superstar, and I was a guy who couldn't even pay for his brother's medicine.

"Nice goal, wasn't it?" a random guy next to me asked, nodding toward the screen.

"Yeah," I said, my voice feeling thick. "Great goal."

I turned away before the interview could finish. Seeing him felt like a physical weight in my chest. It made the debt feel heavier. It made my life feel smaller.

I started walking toward the bus stop, my head down. I just wanted to go home, lock the door, and sleep for a few hours before my morning shift at the coffee shop.

As I reached the bus stop, my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out, thinking it was probably the hospital calling to tell me another payment was overdue.

But the screen showed an unknown number. It was a local area code, but the digits looked official.

I sighed and swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Liam Vance?" a woman’s voice asked. She sounded professional, the kind of voice that belonged in a high-rise office.

"This is he," I said, sitting down on the cold bench.

"Mr. Vance, my name is Sarah. I’m calling from the legal offices of Miller, Ross, and Associates. We represent the Conti family and the Seattle Steelheads organization."

My heart stopped. I looked back at the giant screen where Klaus’s face was still glowing against the night sky.

"What is this about?" I asked, my grip tightening on the phone.

"We would like to schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible," she said, her tone perfectly calm. "It’s regarding a private matter involving Mr. Klaus Conti. We have a proposal to discuss with you that we believe will be very beneficial for both parties."

I looked at my shoes. They were worn out. I looked at my hands, which were shaking.

"When?" I whispered.

"Tomorrow morning at ten. A car will be sent to your address, Mr. Vance. We look forward to seeing you."

The line went dead. I stared at the phone for a long time, the silence of the street feeling louder than the traffic.

I didn't know what they wanted. I didn't know why, after two years of silence, his name was suddenly back in my life. I put the phone back in my pocket and waited for the bus, why did Klaus want to see me and why did I even agree to go. I sighed.