Page 20

FOURTEEN

SEBASTIAN

T he bubble burst the moment we stepped out the front door.

For five days, it had just been us. Me and Derrick, hiding from the world, tangled in sheets, in each other, in something that felt dangerously close to real.

The isolation we'd created, a sanctuary of skin and whispers and laughter, had been perfect.

Too perfect, maybe. Now, the sun is too bright, the real world too loud, and we're heading to Devan and Lia's place to meet their baby girl for the first time.

Reality intruding like an unwelcome guest.

He's quiet in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched on his nose, his curls still damp from the shower, droplets occasionally catching the light when he shifts.

He's wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans but it doesn't matter, he still looks like the kind of trouble I'd chase down every time, across any distance.

The fact that I'm admitting this, even internally, says a lot about how I'm feeling about the two of us.

Something has shifted, settled into place where before there was only uncertainty.

I sneak a quick glance at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, then switch my focus back to the road in front of me.

He hasn't complained once but I noticed this morning how he winced climbing out of bed, the slight hitch in his movement.

How he rubbed at his temple when he thought I wasn't looking, eyes squeezed shut for just a second too long.

The symptoms are creeping back in, shadows returning after a brief respite.

He's been faking ‘fine’ all morning, putting on a performance I've seen too many times before.

I reach over and squeeze his knee, my fingers lingering against the worn denim.

"You good?" I try to keep my tone light, casual, though concern gnaws at me.

He nods once, the smallest motion, as if even that requires effort. "Yeah."

Liar.

Fine. If he wants to pretend he's okay, I'll allow it.

At least for the time being. I've played that game myself too many times to call him out right now.

Hockey players tend to push past our pain limits, well, any athlete does anything to keep playing, to stay relevant.

I know Derrick's hurting, bravado be damned, he needs to own up to it.

The protective instinct in me wants to turn the car around, take him back to my place, and make him rest but I've learned the hard way that you can't force someone to admit their pain until they're ready.

Lia lives in a restored Queen Anne house in the historic district, all Victorian trim and charm with its gingerbread detailing, wraparound porch, and stained-glass accents that catch the afternoon light.

The inside, however, is thoroughly modern, an open-plan first floor with warm honey-toned hardwoods that gleam under recessed lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows that flood the space with natural light, and two massive living spaces connected by a wide archway that leads to the gourmet kitchen with its marble countertops and professional- grade appliances.

Lia runs her independent fashion design business from the meticulously converted third floor, a space I've only seen a handful of times.

It even has its own private entrance with a separate address and buzzer system to keep her high-end clients out of her actual home, maintaining that crucial boundary between work and personal life.

Ridley, the protective big brother that he is, wanted nothing but the absolute best for his little sister when he bought this place, and this house is undeniably an architectural jewel.

The kind of property that makes even my well-paid ass a little envious.

Devan still technically lives in his sleek penthouse downtown with its panoramic views of the Seattle skyline but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the two of them stop playing at their relationship and make the obvious move.

They have a whole kid together now, for Christ's sake.

. .but who am I to talk? I have a whole man beside me with his haunted eyes and stubborn silence, and I don't know what the hell to do with any of it.

So, passing judgment on anyone else's relationship choices, I absolutely will not.

"So, it's true. Alexis moved in next door and this is how the story began?" Derrick asks as we leave the SUV and make our way up the driveway, his voice carrying a note of wonder beneath the casual question.

I don't hesitate. I take his hand in mine, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palm, pulling him behind me with gentle insistence.

Our footsteps crunch on the perfectly maintained gravel.

"Yep, I think Jazz Starr was the catalyst to everything good in our lives these days.

Tor didn't see her coming at all—blindsided the captain completely.

Ridley may never have rekindled his relationship with Brea if it hadn't been for that whole chain of events.

And I. . ." I pause, the weight of the realization settling over me, "I may never have met you last summer.

" I smile, turning to catch his eye. The thought sends an unexpected chill down my spine.

The randomness of it all, Lia bringing Jazz—Alexis—to our game that night, changed all our lives in ways none of us could have predicted.

One small decision, rippling outward, touching everything.

"Wild." Derrick muses as we walk up the wraparound porch, his fingers tightening around mine.

The late afternoon sun catches in his eyes, making them almost translucent. The wooden boards creak pleasantly beneath our weight, the sound homey and inviting.

"In the words of Devan, most great love stories are.

" I shake my head, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.

It's embarrassing how much I've retained from our romance-obsessed, podcasting teammate.

All those locker room conversations, all those road trip debates about character motivations and relationship arcs—they've seeped into my brain despite my best efforts to appear disinterested.

Who would have thought the team's brooding goalie would end up quoting romance tropes on a sunny afternoon, hand-in-hand with the man who'd somehow managed to crash through all his carefully constructed walls?

The second we walk in, the smell of something fresh from the oven hits us.

"Finally," Devan says, stepping forward with a tired grin, cradling a baby in one arm and offering a bro-hug with the other. "Uncle B made it."

"Don't get used to that title," I warn but my voice softens when I glance at the baby.

She's tiny and red-faced, all soft little fists and blinking confusion.

Her eyelashes are impossibly delicate against her cheeks and there's a wisp of dark hair peeking out from beneath the pale-yellow cap someone's fitted her with.

I find myself mesmerized by the perfect miniature fingernails, the way her chest rises and falls with each tiny breath.

Derrick stares like he's never seen a newborn before. "So, this is baby Chloe." His voice has that hushed quality people adopt around sleeping infants, almost reverent.

"Don't get any ideas," I murmur in his ear, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin there.

He chuckles, but his smile flickers. I clock it.

I know that look, his mind's spinning behind those beautiful eyes.

Something vulnerable flashes across his face before he masks it.

I don't know what made me say it. Can I see a future with Derrick?

Children? What would that look like? Do I want that?

In my heart, deep down, maybe, yes, definitely.

As long as I get to keep him by my side.

If I'm brave enough to admit what I really want, what I've been too scared to voice aloud.

We move into the living room where Tor and Alexis are on the couch, Alexis rubbing her belly like she's willing the baby out.

Her face has that pregnancy glow everyone talks about, though I can see the exhaustion lurking beneath it.

Tor's hand rests protectively on her shoulder, thumb making small circles against the fabric of her dress.

Brea's nestled beside Ridley in the other armchair, practically vibrating with excitement, the copper jewelry intertwined into her long locs catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows, and Lia looks tired but content, seated beside Devan with her feet up on a plush ottoman, her body relaxed in comfortable clothes.

The room is warm, loud with chatter and laughter and the clinking of glasses.

The scent of fresh-baked cookies mingles with someone's subtle perfume.

Pictures of the couples at various stages of their relationships line the walls, testament to the history we all share.

Through the archway, the second living room remains quiet, perfect for a conversation that's been waiting to happen, its emptiness beckoning like a promise.

Tor, Ridley, and Devan join me by the windows while Derrick stays behind, perched on the arm of a chair near Alexis, listening as Brea launches into her pitch about some new art gallery show she's dragging Ridley to.

Her hands move animatedly as she speaks and I catch Derrick nodding politely, though his eyes flick to his phone when he thinks no one's watching.

I glance through the archway at him. Derrick's smiling, listening, but I can see it. He's trying too hard. He's here but he's not. I can see the crease in his brow, the subtle shift of his body as he tries to keep still.

"So, what's happening with Derrick?" Tor asks, pulling my eyes away from him, his voice pitched just low enough that it doesn't carry across the room.