Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Fathers, boyfriends, husbands… they all leave.
My mom knows it.
Callie knows it.
Kia knows it already, and she’s only twenty-two.
What makes Oliver any different?
“Rina.” His tone is coaxing, and it only amplifies the panic bubbling inside me.
“I can’t.” My fingers fumble for the door handle. “I can’t do this right now.”
His brows slam together as confusion flashes in his eyes. “What do you mean, you can’t? I’m trying to do what’s right for you and the baby. For us.”
“That’s the problem!” I’m already halfway out of the car. “You keep rushing into everything like it’s some game you can win if you just move fast enough. But this isn’t hockey, Oliver. This is my life. Our life. And I can’t—” The sob fractures the last of my control. “I can’t breathe.”
The car door slams behind me. He’s out in an instant, circling the Porsche. His hand lifts as if to catch me, but I stumble back, hugging my blazer tight across my chest like armor. I can’t look at him. I can’t risk seeing the hurt in his eyes when I already feel like I’m splintering apart.
Still, I hear the way he exhales, as if I’ve just stolen something vital from him. The sound follows me through the parking garage as I walk away.
My vision blurs as tears well and spill over, streaking down my cheeks. The glass doors of the building loom ahead, distorted through the haze, and all I can think is that I’ve never felt more like I was running for my life.
I don’t remember the elevator ride or the blur of people I pass. It’s just my own footsteps and the sound of him saying married over and over again until the word stops sounding like love and becomes more of a threat.
By the time I reach my office, the decision feels inevitable. I can’t let myself be swept away by his impulsive promises, not when I’ve seen what forever turns into once the shine wears off.
It’s not Oliver I don’t trust.
It’s myself.
I’ve spent my whole life running away from heartbreak, from disappointment, from anything that felt too real.
But this time, it doesn’t feel like escape.
It feels more like loss.
44
Oliver
The slam of the door as she slips inside the building reverberates through the parking garage, the sound bouncing off concrete and steel.
Long after she’s gone, I’m still standing here, stunned.
For what feels like an eternity, I can’t move. It’s like the oxygen has been sucked out of the garage along with her. My body knows before my brain catches up that something just broke, and I have no idea how to fix it.
One second, Rina was sitting beside me, my hand wrapped tight around hers, the future with our baby stretched out in front of us like something solid and real. Something we could build upon. And the next, she was walking away, her retreat feeling a hell of a lot like rejection.
I stay rooted by the Porsche, staring where she disappeared through the glass doors of the arena. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms, because every piece of me is screaming to chase and catch her, to hold her until she believes and understands I’m telling her the truth.
The image of her expression slams into me. The raw, unfiltered panic. The way her eyes pleaded for space.
As if she thought I was proposing because the baby forced my hand.
As if it were out of obligation and not a choice.
What did I do wrong?
I was offering her everything.
My heart.
My future.
Forever.
Not because of the baby.
Or because I had to.
But because I’d already chosen her.
Instead, she’d looked at me like I’d backed her into a corner.
I drag both hands through my hair, fingers locking against my skull, and breathe deeply. My pulse thunders in my ears, a relentless pounding that matches the memory still rattling in my chest. That fast, steady sound that gutted me in the best way possible.
Our baby’s heartbeat.
It’s branded into me now, etched into my DNA.
I’ll never be the same again.
I thought she felt it too.
No. I know she did.
Instead of drawing her closer and binding her to me, I’d pushed too hard and shoved her right over the edge.
Patience has never been my strong suit. On the ice, speed is everything. You strike before your opponent even sees you coming.
But with Rina… if I keep rushing the play, I’ll lose the whole damn game.
The thought tears me up.
The idea of losing her—no, not just her, but her and our baby—feels worse than anything I’ve ever lived through. Worse than a losing season. Worse than the night I sat in a dark hospital waiting room after Dad died, wondering if my family would be the same again.
I learned that night how quickly everything can disappear. One second, you’re planning for a future. The next, you’re standing in the wreckage of what you thought was unbreakable. And ever since, I’ve tried to control what I can—games, contracts, people—because if I keep everything moving, maybe nothing else will fall apart.