Page 27 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter eighteen

Blake

R estless. That’s what I am.

The kind of restlessness that makes it impossible to sit still, keeps my thoughts tangled.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling through my nose.

The house is quiet except for the low hum of the TV, the flickering light casting long shadows across the room.

I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at the screen without actually watching.

The volume’s low. It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be able to focus anyway.

Because my mind isn’t here. It’s upstairs, trapped behind a closed door.

Where Whitney has been since we got back from dinner.

I rake my fingers through my hair, shifting on the couch. She barely looked at me on the drive home. Barely said a word. Her silence said more than words ever could. And I get it. She’s mad. I just don’t know if it’s at me, or the entire situation.

Probably both.

I should let it go. Give her space. Let her cool off. That’s the logical thing to do.

But I can’t. Or rather, I don’t want to. I just need to - what exactly?

Fix it? Explain? Take it back?

My hands clench into fists at my sides.

Dinner tonight changed something for me.

Hearing James say we looked like a family - it did something to me.

Yeah, it shouldn’t have. It was just an off-hand comment, a joke, something he probably didn’t even think twice about. But the second the words left his mouth, it was like a switch flipped inside me.

It was like a confirmation.

Because the truth is…, it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt right .

I drop my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

For one second - one stupid, fleeting second - I let myself believe it was real. That Whitney was mine. That Mia and Nico were ours.

The terrifying part? It wasn’t the first time I’ve thought about it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palms together. Jesus. This is insane.

I should bury the thought deep. But the second I try, her face is there - clear as day, like she’s standing right in front of me. Close enough to touch.

But she isn’t.

She’s close… yet so far away.

I miss her.

Not just the memory of her. Not just the idea of what we used to be.

Her. I miss the way she used to look at me - like I was the only guy in the world who mattered.

The way she used to fit so perfectly against me like she was made to be there.

The way her laughter used to fill every quiet space in my heart, making the world feel lighter and easier.

I miss the way she teased me, how she’d roll her eyes when I said something cocky - pretending to be above me but secretly entertained.

I miss the way she used to sit on my kitchen counter, bare feet swinging, stealing bites of whatever I was cooking.

I miss how natural it was to have her close - like she belonged there.

I miss us .

I scrub a hand over my jaw, frustration curling tight in my chest. Sitting here isn’t going to change anything.

I push up from the couch and turn toward the hallway, toward that closed door.

One step. Then another.

I hesitate.

My hand hovers over the doorknob. My pulse pounds in my ears. Just knock. Just…

No. What the hell am I even doing?

I exhale sharply, and step back. Run a hand through my hair.

I lift my hand again, fingers grazing the wood, about to knock…

“Seriously, stop hovering outside the door,” her voice cuts through the silence. “Just come in already.”

I freeze.

Busted.

With a sigh, I push the door open and step inside. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it, crossing my arms. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You gonna keep avoiding me all night?”

She scoffs but doesn’t look up. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Really?” I arch a brow. “’Because it sure as hell feels like you are.”

She sighs, still scrolling. “What do you want, Blake?”

“I want to talk about what happened at the restaurant.”

That gets her attention. Her fingers pause over the screen, and for a brief moment, I think she might look at me. But instead, she shakes her head and tosses her phone onto the bed beside her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is,” I counter, taking a few slow steps toward her.

Whitney exhales sharply, tilting her head up toward the ceiling like she’s praying for patience. “Blake, it was just James being James. He runs his mouth off, says ridiculous things, and then moves on. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I huff a laugh. “That’s not what your face said.”

Her jaw tightens. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on my expressions?”

“Maybe,” I say, shrugging. “I did know you pretty well once.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Did,” she echoes. “Past tense”

That stings more than it should.

She shakes her head, shifting on the bed to face me fully.

“Look,” I say, standing in front of her. “I get it. It caught you off guard. It caught me off guard too. But Keith didn’t think anything of it, and neither did anyone else.”

“Are you sure about that?” She asks, crossing her arms. “Because Keith seemed pretty convinced we were - what was it? ‘Awfully close’…”

I roll my eyes. “He was joking, Whit.”

“Was he?”

“You’re overthinking this. And even if Keith did suspect something, so what? I challenge myself, stepping closer. “What’s the worst that could happen, Whit?”

Her eyes narrow. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe my overprotective brother finds out about us? About the past? About the fact that I once made the mistake of falling for you?”

I exhale through my nose, clenching my jaw. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

She crosses her arms. “Wasn’t it?”

A beat of silence stretches between us.

She shakes her head, exasperated. “Blake, we aren’t - it doesn’t matter.”

I hold her gaze. “It does to me.”

Her breath catches, and for a second - just a second - something flickers in her eyes. Something uncertain. Unsteady.

I take another step, my voice is quieter now. “What exactly are you so afraid of? That someone might see what’s really there?”

She stands abruptly, shaking her head. “Blake, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I challenge myself. “Don’t acknowledge that things between us have changed? That no matter how hard we try to pretend nothing’s happening, it is?”

Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t.

I exhale, dragging a hand over my jaw. “I get it, okay? You don’t want complications. You don’t want to deal with whatever this is. But I can’t keep pretending anymore.” I hold her gaze, steady and sure. “I never stopped loving you, Whitney.”

Her entire body goes still.

For a moment, I think she’s stopped breathing. Then…

She laughs. A small, disbelieving sound. “You don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?”

Whitney shakes her head, but I keep going.

“Since you got back…, since I saw you again, it’s been a rollercoaster of emotions, Whitney.

” I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “At first, I tried to play the indifferent card, but it didn’t work.

I keep telling myself that you’re just here for the kids, that it’s just temporary, that at some point, you’ll pack up and leave again.

And I should be okay with that. But I’m not. ”

I drag a hand through my hair, laughing bitterly.

“You, being their nanny…, it should make things easier. It should make it possible for me to keep my distance, to just see you as the woman helping take care of my kids. But it’s doing the exact opposite.

Having you in my house, seeing you every day - it’s driving me insane, Whit. ”

My chest tightens, but I push forward. “Because every time I see you, every time you laugh…, I want you.” My throat feels tight. “I want everything I shouldn’t. You’re right in front of me, and yet you feel so far away.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. But I see it - the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides.

I swallow. “And I know it’s my fault. I know I’m the reason we ended or you left. I live with that every day, Whit. But that never changed the fact that I didn’t stop loving you.”

She shakes her head slightly, but I keep going.

“When James said we looked like a family today - it did something to me. Because for the first time in four years, it didn’t feel like a joke.

It didn’t feel ridiculous. It felt right.

” I exhale, rubbing my chest as if that’ll ease the ache inside me.

“It was like - like all I could hear was a resounding yes. From above. From within. From everything.”

Silence.

Then…

She laughs. A hollow, tired sound. “That doesn’t matter.” Her voice is quieter now, but no less sharp. She lifts her gaze to mine. “You made your choice, Blake.”

My stomach twists.

She exhales, shaking her head. “Don’t think because we kissed a few nights ago that it changes anything.

Nothing has changed between us.” Her voice wobbles just slightly, but she tightens her jaw and straightens her shoulders.

“To me, you’re still the guy I had to love in secret.

The guy I trusted. The guy, I…!” She stops, swallows hard, and then continues, her voice thick.

“And just when it came down to it, you chose someone else.”

“So, what exactly are you talking about?” She says, holding my gaze.

I wish I had the right words, the ones that could make everything make sense, but I don’t.

I drag a hand over my face, exhaling hard as I sit on the bed facing her. “You want to know why I made that choice?”

Whitney doesn’t say anything. She just watches me, eyes dark, unreadable. Waiting.

I take a shaky breath. For close to twenty minutes, I tell what happened back then.

That’s what happened, Whit,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“I swear. At the time, I thought I had no choice.

I just…," I shake my head, my throat tight. "I wanted to be different. Different from my dad, from the man who walked away without a second thought. I wanted to prove I wasn’t like him and that I wouldn’t abandon my responsibilities. "

My voice drops lower. "I thought staying meant doing the right thing. I thought sacrificing what I wanted - who I wanted - was the price I had to pay to be a better man. Honestly, if it weren’t for that reason, I never would’ve made that choice."

She exhales sharply, arms tightening around herself. But she doesn’t say a word.

And that silence? It kills me.

Her voice is quieter now when she finally speaks. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

I swallow hard.

“You had months, Blake.” Her voice wobbles, but her expression is firm. “Months to tell me. To explain. But you didn’t.”

“How could I?” My voice is rough, unsteady. “I couldn’t face you, Whitney. I couldn’t…” I let out a harsh breath, dragging a hand down my face. “I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head. The way you looked at me that day…, when I introduced her as my girlfriend to everyone.”

Her breath stutters.

“On the day we planned to tell Keith about us,” I murmur, my chest aching at the memory.

Her hands curl into fists at her sides, but she stays silent.

“I just…, I just…!” My voice breaks, my hands clenching at my sides before I let them fall, defeated. “I am so sorry , Whitney.”

Taking her cold hands in mine, even though the room is warm, I squeeze them lightly. Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t speak.

I move closer, my heart pounding, my voice quieter now. “I’m sorry for the way things ended. For not telling you the truth. For making you feel like you weren’t enough when you were…” I inhale sharply. “You were everything.”

Her breath catches.

“I need you, Whit,” I say, desperation bleeding into my voice. “I have always needed you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut like she doesn’t want to hear this.

I shake my head, stepping in front of her now. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know I messed up. And God, I know - I’m the reason you left.” My voice cracks, and I don’t even care. “But please, Whitney. Give me a second chance.”

She stays silent, her breathing uneven, eyes searching mine. “And what am I supposed to do with this now?”

“Please.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Just tell me it’s too late if that’s really how you feel. Tell me you don’t feel anything anymore, and I swear I’ll leave you alone.” I swallow hard. “But if there’s even a chance, even the smallest chance that you still…”

“Blake,” she whispers, pulling her hand away.

I stop, my entire body tensing.

She lifts her gaze to mine, her eyes filled with too many emotions to name.

And then…

“Goodnight. I’m really tired,” she whispers, and lies down, facing the other direction.

My stomach drops.

Is this it???

I run a hand over my face, forcing a slow exhale, then push off the bed. My movements feel heavy like I’m wading through cement.

At the door, I hesitate. Turn back.

"Goodnight, Whit," I murmur.

She doesn’t answer.

With one last glance at her turned back, I step out of the room and close the door behind me.

Seriously, today started on a good note. How did it get to this??