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I froze. The question hit like a punch to the gut, like I should’ve been expecting it, but somehow—I wasn’t. Still, I didn’t answer right away. Because what was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to tell a man I had been trying to build something with when he was asking about a love that had never left?

“Serenity,” he said, tone sharper, “answer the question.”

My mouth went dry.

I could’ve lied. I could’ve said something reassuring. But I was tired of lying to myself. I took a deep breath, heart pounding, and finally whispered?—

“I’ll always love him,” I said, my voice even, but my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of my own words settled around us like thick fog.

Iman stood up tall in front of me, staring at me like he was studying me, trying to find the lie in my face. But there was none.I held his gaze, unapologetic. I watched the realization dawn on him. The understanding. And finally, the resignation.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a soft, humorless chuckle. “Damn, Serenity.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a look. “You’re not sorry for loving him,” he clarified, voice calm. “And you shouldn’t be.”

I sighed, running a hand down my face. “I?—”

He shook his head. “It’s fine, Serenity. I get it now. I was always going to be second place, wasn’t I?” I bit my lip, silent. Because what could I say to that? We both knew the answer. He exhaled again, standing up from his seat. “You know, I really did like you.”

I smiled sadly. “I liked you too.”

“Not enough.” I blinked as his words hit. I felt a sting in my chest because I knew he was right.

“Iman, I?—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I already have one.” His lips curled into a small, sad smile. “I appreciate your honesty. Really, I do,” he said. “But I’m not the type of man to settle for second place. I won’t compete with Creed. I won’t lose to him. And let’s be real…” He tilted his head, looking at me with a knowing smirk. “I already did.” I looked down, speechless. The truth hurt. He grabbed his keys off the counter and took one last glance at me. “Good luck, Serenity.” Then he walked out. Just like that, whatever we were, ended. And I… I felt nothing but relief.

40

CREED

Pain…Not just the kind that makes you grit your teeth, but the kind that digs into your bones, the kind that doesn’t just sit in your body but settles in your soul. That’s what this felt like. A week ago, I lost my grandfather. And tonight, I lost my season. Maybe even my next one too.

Lying in this hospital bed, ice wrapped around my knee, the sounds of the stadium ringing in my ears like a distant memory, I felt like my world was caving in on itself.

It happened so fucking fast—one wrong pivot, one bad landing, and pop. I knew before I even hit the floor. I knew before the trainers rushed out, before Coach rushed out, before the whistle blew, before the announcer said my name with the kind of hesitance that made my stomach drop. I felt it deep in my gut—my season was over.

And to make it worse? It had to be against the Suns. My former team. The one that traded me, sent me packing to LA like I was just another name on a roster. And now? They got to watch me break under their lights.

The ride back to the locker room was a blur. The MRI was a blur. The pain meds were a blur. But the sinking feeling in my chest? Crystal clear.

The first week was the worst. I wasn’t just benched I was helpless. I couldn’t train. I couldn’t play. I Couldn’t even walk without fucking crutches. I hated depending on people. Hated feeling weak.

I spent hours staring at the ceiling in my bedroom, replaying the injury in my mind over and over. What if I had landed differently? What if I had sat out that game? What if I never get back to the way I was before?

I knew how this league worked. You were only as good as your last game, and right now? I was nothing but a broken player taking up cap space. I ignored calls. I avoided teammates. I barely ate. If it weren’t for the kids, I probably wouldn’t have left my room.

Cree was too young to understand why Daddy couldn’t pick her up like usual, but she tried to make it better. Every morning, she’d crawl into my lap, all soft curls and big brown eyes, and pat my face like she could fix everything just by being there.

And Gio? He was my shadow. The second he saw me struggling with my crutches, he was at my side, gripping my arm like he could carry me himself if I needed him to.

"Daddy you’re hurt?" Cree would ask, pressing her little hands against my leg.

"Yeah, baby. But Daddy’s okay," I lied.

I wasn’t okay. Not even a little bit. And Serenity knew it. She refused to let me sink. She didn’t baby me, didn’t let me wallow, but she also didn’t let me drown.