Page 47

Chapter 47

Declan

When I park my bike outside Hannah’s apartment, the first thing I notice are the darkened windows. A ripple of concern works its way through me, a frown tugging at my lips. We had plans for dinner since I don’t have a game tonight, and she still hasn’t responded to the texts I sent her about her meeting with the dean.

This silence isn’t like her at all, and it makes me a little worried. Did the meeting go that badly?

After climbing the steps to her door, I knock and wait, straining to hear any movement inside, but I can’t pick up any sounds. I knock again, harder this time, my knuckles rapping sharply against the wood.

“Hannah?” I call, pressing my ear to the door as my pulse picks up a bit. Is she not home? Where else would she be? I’ve gotten to know her schedule at the yoga studio by heart, and she doesn’t have a class tonight. Unless she’s filling in for someone last minute?

I decide I’ll ride by the studio just to check, but as I’m about to turn away and head back toward my bike, I hear the lock click. The door opens a crack, and Hannah peers out, her face half-hidden in shadow. Relief floods through me, quickly replaced by a fresh wave of concern when I catch a glimpse of her expression.

“Hey,” I say, my brows stitching together. “Are you okay? I was getting worried. Can I come in?”

She opens the door wider, and I step forward to kiss her cheek. Her skin feels warmer than usual beneath my lips, and when I draw back, the sight of her red-rimmed eyes stops me cold. The confident, vibrant woman I’ve been falling for harder and harder every day has been replaced by someone who looks like she’s been shattered from the inside out.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, something tightening in my chest. My hand moves to her shoulder, my fingers trailing over the soft fabric of her t-shirt. “Hummingbird, are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer, giving a small shake of her head as she turns and retreats into the darkness of her apartment. I follow her inside, flipping on a light as I close the door behind me. My eyes scan the room for any sign of what could have upset her—did something happen during or after the meeting with the dean? Did her father say something?

The soft light from the lamp floods the room as Hannah curls up on the corner of the couch where she must’ve been sitting before she opened the door. A blanket has been tossed aside on one side of the cushions, and Ralph is sitting beside her. She looks small and fragile in a way that I’ve never seen before. I swallow hard, a sense of wrongness building in my chest with every second of her silence.

“Hannah?” I sit beside her, setting a hand gently on her knee.

I can feel a small tremor run through her body as she shifts on the couch cushion. Ralph butts her nose against my arm and looks up at me, her luminescent eyes wide and concerned, but I barely notice it. All of my attention is focused on Hannah’s downturned face.

“Talk to me,” I say quietly. “What happened today?”

She lifts her gaze to mine, her blue and green eyes glazed with tears, and something inside my chest cracks. Before I can say anything else, she breaks down, tears spilling over her lower lids and trailing down her cheeks as her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

“Shit, come here,” I murmur, immediately pulling her into my arms.

She leans against my chest, her tears soaking into my shirt, her fingers clutching at the fabric as if she’s drowning and I’m a life raft. I stroke her hair, running my fingers through the dark strands before I rub soothing circles on her upper back, completely at a loss for what could have upset her this badly.

Did someone hurt her? Is she in trouble?

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together,” I say in a low voice. “I promise.”

She stiffens at my words, her entire body going rigid in my arms. For a heartbeat, her fingers tighten their grip on my shirt as if she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on—but then she suddenly releases me and pushes away.

Scooting across the cushions, she slides to the opposite end of the couch in one quick movement, displacing Ralph. Her knees draw up slightly, creating a barrier between us as she settles against the armrest. The sudden distance feels like a physical blow, cold air rushing into the space between us, the cushion still warm from where she was sitting a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wiping roughly at her tears with the heel of her hand. Her breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “I can’t do this.”

I blink, confusion momentarily dwarfing my concern. “Can’t do what?”

“This.” Her voice is strained as she gestures between with a shaky hand. Ralph, already clearly off-balance by seeing her human so upset, meows softly from where she landed on the floor. “ Us . I can’t do us anymore.”

Hannah’s words don’t register at first. They hang in the air, impossible and wrong, like hearing a foreign language that I’m somehow expected to understand. My brain scrambles to make sense of them, to find another interpretation.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice eerily steady despite the sudden rush of blood in my ears. My heartbeat pounds so loudly that I’m sure she must be able to hear it, a desperate drumming against my ribs.

“It’ll be better for both of us if we just end this now.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks, carving shiny paths down her flushed skin, but her jaw is set, determination clear in her features despite her obvious distress. Her fingers twist together in her lap, her knuckles white with tension.

The room seems to tilt sideways, the floor shifting beneath me. I blink, trying to ground myself, to make sense of what’s happening. This morning, everything between us was fine. Better than fine. And now…

“Where is this coming from?” My voice sounds distant to my own ears. I lean forward, trying to bridge the gulf she’s created between us. “Hummingbird, whatever is wrong, we can work through it. Just talk to me. Please.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” She wraps her arms around herself as if trying to hold something in, fingers digging into her sides. Her gaze drops to the floor, as if she’s unable or unwilling to meet my eyes. “I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I move closer, desperation rising inside me. The scent of her jasmine and orange blossom shampoo hits me as I shift, making this surreal conversation even more painful. “I don’t understand. What changed between yesterday and today? Did someone say something to you? Is your dad really that pissed about us dating?”

She shakes her head, her plush lips pressed tightly together as tears cling to her eyelashes. “Nothing changed. This is just… this is just how it has to be.”

“That’s bullshit.” The words escape before I can stop them, my voice sharper than I intended. I shove a hand through my hair, struggling to understand, to find a some kind of steady footing in this conversation that’s rapidly slipping away from me. “Hannah, look at me. Whatever this is about—your dad, school, Aaron—we can handle it together. That’s what couples do.”

“It’s not about any of that.” Her voice is hollow, emptied of the warmth and life that usually fills it. A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t move to wipe it away. “Please, Declan. Just go.”

“No.” The panic surging through my chest is almost enough to choke me, closing my throat and making each breath a struggle. My heart crashes painfully against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, to break out of my body and find a way back to the woman who’s claimed it. “Not until you tell me why. You owe me that much.”

She flinches, sucking in a quiet breath as her shoulders curve inward. Her fingers twist around the hem of her shirt as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I don’t… I can’t give you what you deserve.”

“What I deserve?” I repeat, shaking my head. I reach for her hand, then stop midway through the gesture when she shrinks back. I freeze, lowering my voice as raw truth pours from my lips. “Hannah, all I want is you. Just you.”

A sob escapes her, soft and broken. It rips through the room like a physical force, the only sound in the eerily quiet space. She presses a hand to her mouth as if trying to force it back in, closing her eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Don’t say that. Please.”

Something desperate takes over. I slide from the couch, my knees hitting the carpet as I kneel before her. I take her cold hands in mine, feeling the slight tremble in her fingers. Her skin is ice-cold despite the warmth of the apartment, and I wish like hell that I could fix whatever did this to her.

“Please don’t do this.” My voice is a hoarse rasp. “Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you’re going through—let me help you. Let me be there for you.”

When she tries to pull away, I tighten my grip, clasping her hand between both of mine. “Hannah, please. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she whispers brokenly. Tears drip from her chin onto our joined hands. “I’m so sorry, Declan. I’m so sorry.”

The finality in her voice cuts through me like a knife. An awful feeling of numbness begins to spread from my chest outward, as if my body is shutting down in self-defense. I wrap my arms around her waist, burying my face against her lap. Her jeans are soft against my cheek, and I can feel the warmth of her body radiating into mine. Her delicate frame is wracked by silent sobs, but her hands remain still at her sides, not stroking my hair or reaching for me the way they usually would.

“Please,” I whisper against her thigh, my voice hoarse. “Please don’t do this. Whatever it is, we can handle it together.”

For what feels like hours, we remain frozen like that—me clinging to her as she cries silently above me. The only sounds in the room are our ragged breaths and Ralph’s occasional meow from the kitchen doorway, as if the cat senses something irreparably broken.

But gradually, even though I don’t want it to, the reality sinks in. She’s not going to change her mind about this, no matter what I say.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Feeling drained and hollowed out, I finally pull back and push to my feet. My knees ache from kneeling for so long on the hard floor, but the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emptiness that sits inside my chest, a cavernous space that makes it feel like I’m missing a part of myself.

She won’t meet my eyes, her gaze fixed on something in the middle distance, and I don’t trust my voice to speak without breaking completely.

I walk to the door as if I’m slogging through mud, each step requiring conscious effort. When I grip the doorknob, my hand feels disconnected from the rest of my body, as if I’m watching someone else go through these motions.

At the threshold, I pause, looking back at her small form on the couch. Ralph has returned to her side, pressing against her leg as if trying to comfort her. The sight sends a fresh wave of pain through me. How many nights have I spent here, with Hannah curled against me and Ralph purring on her lap? How could all of that just… end?

I want to say something—that I’ll wait for her, that I won’t give up on what we have, that this isn’t the end for us. But the words die in my throat, stuck behind a lump that makes it painful to swallow. I slip out the door, closing it quietly behind me, although the soft click of the latch hits my ears like a gunshot.

The night air feels intensely cold after the warmth of her apartment. I stand outside her apartment for a moment, feeling lost and disoriented, before mechanically making my way to my bike. Each breath feels like inhaling broken glass, and I shove my helmet on before revving the engine of my motorcycle and pulling away.

The ride to Sawyer’s house passes in a blur of streetlights and wind in my ears. I didn’t even consciously decide that he’s the person I need to talk to right now, but ever since I joined the Aces, he’s always been one of the guys on the team that I respect the most. Maybe it’s because he’s a father himself, but he’s got a way of breaking things down, supporting me, and lighting a fire under my ass when I need it that makes me look up to him a hell of a lot, especially considering I never had a great dad of my own.

I don’t pay much attention to the route I take. I know where he lives, and I’m familiar enough with the Denver streets by now that before I know it, I’m standing outside the door of the new place he recently moved into with Violet, my knuckles rapping against the wood.

I work my jaw, scrubbing a hand through my hair as I wait.

“Declan?” Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up when he opens the door and sees me, and his head snaps back a little as he registers the look on my face. I have no idea what he sees in my expression, but I probably look like a fucking zombie. “Shit, are you okay? Come on in.”

He leads me inside, and I collapse onto his couch, the cushions sagging beneath my weight. The familiar surroundings—Sawyer’s hockey memorabilia on the walls, the comfortable furniture, the faint smell of whatever he cooked for dinner—only highlight how unmoored I feel. The maelstrom of emotions finally breaks free, the dam inside me crumbling.

The story pours out of me in painful, halting sentences. I tell him about how I found Hannah alone in her apartment after she’d obviously been crying, about her insistence on ending things, and about my gut-twisting sense that something else is going on that she won’t share. My voice breaks multiple times, and I have to stop, breathe, and force myself to continue each time. Telling the story, even to a friend like Sawyer, is like reliving every excruciating moment.

My teammate listens without interrupting as I spill my guts, his brows furrowed and his expression serious as he sits across from me with his elbows braced on his knees. When I finally fall silent, emotionally spent, he leans back in his chair.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, man. I know this feels like the end of the world,” he says, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “But don’t lose hope. I have a feeling Hannah is going to come around.”

I look up, my fingers gripping the edge of the couch cushion. “Why would you think that?”

“Because she was crying too.” Sawyer shrugs, shaking his head as he gives me an empathetic smile. “When someone breaks things off because they genuinely don’t want to be with you anymore, they don’t fall apart when they’re doing it. They might feel guilty, but they don’t shatter. What you just described? That’s someone who’s hurting just as much as you are.”

“He’s right,” a soft voice adds.

Sawyer’s fiancée Violet enters the room as she speaks, with Jake trailing behind her. The little boy gives me a curious look before settling into an armchair with a handheld game. Violet gives me a sympathetic pat on the arm before she sits on the armrest of the chair Sawyer is in, her hand draping easily around his shoulder.

“Sometimes things move faster than people are ready for,” she continues. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t want it. Maybe she just got spooked.”

“Exactly,” Sawyer agrees, his arm sliding around Violet’s waist. “I don’t know what happened with the dean today, or if there was fallout from that fight with Aaron, but I’d bet my entire contract that this isn’t about you. Something else is going on with her.”

I want to believe them. Fuck, I want to so badly. I can feel a dangerous spark of hope trying to ignite in my chest, and I’m afraid to let it catch. Because if I’m wrong—if Hannah really is done with me—the disappointment might destroy what little of me is left.

I clench my jaw as I glance around the room, taking in the sight of Sawyer with his arm around Violet and Jake absorbed in his game nearby. The three of them are so clearly a family unit, whole and complete.

Something twists in my chest, and I rush up to rub at the ache as if it’s a muscle strain that I could massage away.

Just a few hours ago, I was imagining a future like this with Hannah.

“Maybe,” I say, but the word tastes like ash in my mouth.

Because what if they’re wrong? What if Hannah really is done with me? The thought constricts my lungs, making it feel like the breath is being crushed out of me.

Because I have no idea how to fix this. And no idea how I’ll survive without her.