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CHAPTER EIGHT: APOLOGY

STACEY

I’m doing my best to focus on work and not think about Owen. It’s nearly impossible knowing he’s in this same stadium. Is he thinking about me too?

Shaking my head, I try to push the thoughts away. Seeing him yesterday was a shock to the system, but I have to keep my shit together. I can’t let anyone know how rattled I am by him. People will start asking questions, and the guys on the team are a bunch of gossip whores. They’re going to be curious and want to know about our past. I can’t let that happen. Can’t let anyone figure out that Owen is Millie’s father.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, so focused on trying not to think about Owen, that I don’t notice the front door to the reception area open. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and look up. My stomach drops and my whole body tenses.

Owen.

His gaze is cautious as he takes me in and inches forward. It’s like he’s approaching a spooked animal.

“Hey,” he softly says. “I was, uh, wondering if we could talk.”

Swallowing, I’m careful to keep my expression neutral as I reply, “I’m sorry, I’m working and I really can’t take time away…”

“Then how about my PT physical?” he quickly asks, switching tactics. “You said we’d need to go over my paperwork and do my physical. How about now?”

I gape at him, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Well… it’s just…”

“Oh, that’s perfect. You can take a little time to get to know the new guy, Stace.”

I jump, startled, and turn to find Janet poking her head out of her office.

“Janet, shouldn’t I finish these reports…?”

She waves her hand dismissively and says, “It’s all right. Go ahead and take care of Owen. Those reports don’t need to be done right away.”

Damn it. I don’t have a good excuse to avoid him if Janet is telling me to drop everything and work with him. It’s okay. I can do this. This was inevitable, after all. I was going to have to work with him eventually. We just need to get through this, and I can handle myself. I’m a grown woman. A professional.

Sucking in a deep breath, I look back at Owen and say in a curt, professional tone, “Okay, let’s go ahead and take care of your review and exam. Follow me.”

My fingers feel stiff around the folder of his medical records and I focus on my breathing, trying to keep it together as we reach a quieter area in one of the unused treatment rooms.

He holds the door open for me, and as I brush past, I can feel his eyes on me. His presence feels too close, too familiar. Crap, this might be a mistake. I can’t really do anything about it though, can I? Grace was right, this is my job and I can’t avoid him. I’m supposed to help take care of the players, and he’s one of the players. I have to be able to work with him.

I take a deep breath and flip open the folder, skimming over the standard physical therapy paperwork, anything to avoid looking directly at him.

“How have you been?” he asks from his seat on the exam table. His tone is tight and uncertain, and I can tell he’s nervous.

Instead of answering, I look up and say, “I see you had a shoulder injury last season. Have you had any issues with it in the past three months?”

“I’m careful with it,” he replies, though I can sense he’s barely thinking about the question. “Listen, Stacey?—”

"Let’s go over your shoulder mobility," I say, cutting him off and reaching for his arm. My fingertips brush his skin, and for a split-second, the warmth catches me off guard. I ignore it, keeping my grip firm as I lift his arm and guide it through a series of movements, assessing his range. I notice he holds his breath a little each time I touch him, and it’s taking all my concentration not to pull my hand away and retreat.

"Any pain here?" I ask, rotating his arm carefully. He shakes his head, his gaze focused somewhere near my shoulder, but there’s an intensity in his expression that makes me feel trapped. Like he’s trying to read me, to pick up on any sign of what’s going on in my head.

“Good,” I say, clearing my throat and moving to check his other shoulder. I place my hand on his back, feeling the muscles tense under my palm. “Relax,” I tell him, and the word feels more like a command for me than for him. I’m guiding him through a stretch, my hand skimming over the lines of his arm, shoulder, and back. There’s nothing inappropriate in the touch—it’s clinical and practiced, but with him, everything feels loaded. Every movement, every accidental brush of his skin against mine, sends an all-too-familiar heat rushing through me.

It’s getting really hard to breathe… and hot. Damn, why is it so hot in this room? The last thing I want is for him to see me sweat.

Finally, I step back and refocus on his medical chart.

"Your mobility looks fine," I say, a little too briskly, scribbling a few notes.

He’s quiet, watching me closely.

"Thanks," he says, his voice low. I don’t look up, don’t let myself meet his gaze because if I do, I might lose the last shreds of composure I have left.

I grit my teeth, pretending to read over his records again. A tense silence falls between us, and I don’t know what to do now. Can I get out of this room without him trying to say anything else?

“I wanted to apologize,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant. “For how I left. I know it wasn’t fair. It was… wrong.”

Shit, there’s no escape. My chest tightens, and I keep my gaze down. I can’t look at him. I just can’t. Of course, he wants to apologize now, years later, when it doesn’t matter. When it doesn’t change anything.

“I just wish I could have told you face-to-face,” he continues softly, a hint of regret in his tone. “I should’ve talked to you instead of sending that letter.”

My stomach twists at the mention of that damn letter. A small part of me appreciates that he’s at least willing to acknowledge the letter was a bad move, but it’s too little, too late. It was a cowardly way to break things off with me, but it was years ago. We were in high school, young, and stupid. Holding onto my anger and heartache isn’t going to be good for either of us, and I have to think of Millie. I have to protect her.

He hasn’t mentioned Millie, actually. That makes me nervous but I’m not going to be the one who brings her up.

“I appreciate your apology,” I say, finally forcing my gaze up to his. “We can put it behind us and move forward.”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile, but I don’t share it. This seems to unsettle him. I don’t care. I can forgive him for how he handled things in the past, but I’m not about to let him get close enough to me to hurt me again. I worked so hard to put myself back together and build a life for myself and for Millie. No one will tear down everything I’ve made.

Clearing my throat, I tell him, “I should get back to work. You’re good to go. We’ll follow up in a few months, and if any issues come up with your shoulder, let me know right away.”

With that, I move to the door and hurry out of the exam room. It doesn’t surprise me when he follows after me. He was the same way in high school. Easygoing and oh-so-polite on the surface, but go a few layers down and you find the stubborn man underneath who dwells on everything and won’t let an issue go. By the time I’m in the reception area, he’s moved to block my path.

“Stacey, wait,” he says. “Please, tell me if there’s anything I can do to make up for what I did. I want us to be friends, if possible.”

I shrug and shake my head, aiming for nonchalance, even though my mind is swirling with panic.

“It’s fine. Really, don’t worry about… it was a long time ago.”

I slip past him and walk out of the PT area and into the hallway. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I have to get away from him. However, I hear him chasing after me, his footsteps echoing off the concrete floor and walls of the stadium.

“Stacey, please…”

Ignoring him, I turn a corridor, deciding to head to the bathroom, and nearly run smack dab into Zander and Wilder.

“Whoa,” Wilder says, reaching out and laying his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “You okay, Stace?”

“Oh… hey guys,” I stammer. “I’m good. Was just heading to the bathroom.”

“Owen! Hey man,” Zander declares with a smile. I glance over my shoulder and see that Owen has come around the corner. I pray he doesn’t say anything in front of these guys, and I pray they don’t say anything in front of him.

“Hey,” Owen replies in an awkward, surprised tone. He forces a smile and tries to play it cool, like he always did. “What’s going on, fellas?”

“We were actually coming to see Stacey,” Wilder explains.

“You were?” I ask.

Zander nods. “Yeah, I wanted to ask when Millie was going to come visit again. I promised our little mascot that we could race.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit! Why did he have to bring up Millie right now?

“Millie?” Owen looks between us with a confused frown. “That cute little girl who was running around here yesterday? Who is she?—”

“Millie is Stacey’s little girl,” Zander explains casually, while my soul leaves my body. “And yeah, she’s the cutest. She likes to hang out sometimes and she’s a great little skater. The team has adopted her as our unofficial mascot.”

It’s over. There’s no way Owen can ignore that she exists now. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. What am I going to do? My panic ratchets up and the room starts spinning. I sneak a cautious peek up at him, and he’s looking at me in surprise and confusion, but I can’t read him beyond that.

I expect him to start demanding answers, but he just looks at me before clearing his throat and giving the guys another forced smile.

“That’s awesome, Stacey,” he says. “Hey, I should get going. See you later guys. See you.”

Stunned by his reaction, I watch him hurry down the corridor without a backward glance.

That’s it? That’s all he has to say? It almost seemed as though… as though he didn’t know about Millie at all.

Is it possible that he doesn’t actually know about her?

I think back. I’ve always obsessed over the fact that he never responded to my voicemail telling him I was pregnant. How could he not reply after that? And then in his letter, it made me even more furious that he didn’t say anything about the baby.

My mind spins in circles. I think about his surprised face a few minutes ago.

Holy shit. He doesn’t know. He probably never listened to the message. Maybe, just maybe, he really has no idea that Millie is his daughter. And if that’s the case then I can’t let him find out. He can’t ever know that he’s her father.

If I can keep him from discovering the truth, then there’s no chance he or his family will try and take her. They won’t swoop in with their money and influence and relocate my baby to an entirely different country. I would follow Millie to the ends of the earth, but how long would we have to be apart before I could get to her in Canada?

I feel a flutter of hope in my chest. If I can just keep the truth from him, she’s not at risk. I can do that. I can keep this secret.

No one ever has to know.