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Their words sting, reminding me why I was so ready to hate him. The cold bites at my skin as the last of the crowd trickles out, leaving us in a bubble of silence. Victor finally turns to me, his face etched with something that might be regret.
"I'm sorry, Avery," he starts, and even his voice sounds different, stripped of its usual authority. "I should've never quit the coaching job."
I press my lips together, arms still crossed against the chill—and maybe against him too. It's hard to keep quiet when his apology rubs salt into an open wound. "Sorry doesn't change anything, Victor." My voice is sharper than I intend. "Those kids... my daughter, they come from places where people walk out on them all the time. You just taught them that's okay—that it's what people do."
He shifts uncomfortably, the bleacher creaking under his weight. "I know I messed up. But can I make it up to you? To them?"
My heart tightens at the thought of Olivia, her hopeful eyes every time she talks about him. How can I let another man become her hero, only to potentially abandon her?
"Victor, there's nothing you can do." The words taste bitter, heavy with resignation. "You had your chance, and you chose to walk away. My daughter... she can't go through that again."
"Isn't there anything I can do?" There's a hint of desperation in his voice now, reaching out for some kind of redemption.
"Nothing." I stand, breaking our last physical connection as I step away from the bleacher. "I'll see you at the board meeting next week. And Victor," I add before I start walking, not turning back to see his reaction, "this time, try not to bail on something that matters."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Avery
21 yearsold
I'm sitting on the cold toilet seat, my hands shaking as I stare at the little white stick. Two pink lines. Clear as day. My stomach lurches and I swallow hard, fighting the urge to puke up my lunch.
This can't be happening. Not now.
But it is. I've taken three tests. All positive. There's no denying it anymore.
I'm pregnant.
A knock on the bathroom door makes me jump. "Can you hurry up in there?" Eric's voice drifts through.
I take a shaky breath. "Yeah, I'll be out in a second!"
My mind races. How am I gonna tell him? We can barely afford rent, let alone a baby. My savings accountis practically empty and we're way past due on the gallery rent.
Maybe... maybe this is what we need. A wake-up call. Eric's always had his head in the clouds, but a baby? That's real. That's something he can't ignore.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my face pale and drawn. "You can do this, Avery," I whisper to myself.
Another knock.
"Coming!" I call out.
I stuff the test deep into the bathroom trash, covering it with tissues. My heart pounds as I open the door, plastering on a smile. "Everything's okay," I say, my voice higher than usual.
Eric nods, distracted. "Good." He brushes past me. "I need to go," he mumbles, closing the door behind him.
Shaking my head, I wander into our living room. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, highlighting the dust motes floating in the air. My eyes land on the mural I've been working on for months.
It's supposed to be us, Eric and me, standing proud in front of our art gallery. A symbol of our dreams, our future. But something's missing.
I've made the gallery, every detail perfect. And there I am, standing at the door. But Eric... his outline is there, but it's empty. Unfinished.
My hand hovers over the blank space where his face should be. "Why can't I finish you?" I whisper, a lump forming in my throat.
I sink onto our worn couch, my eyes never leaving the mural. Is this some kind of sign? Am I subconsciously aware of something I'm not ready to face?
"It's just a mural," I mutter to myself, but the gnawing feeling in my gut tells me it might be more than that.