Page 19

I shut the door behind me and drop my bag onto the floor.

Then I just… stand there.

Like if I don’t move, maybe I won’t have to deal with the thoughts crashing through my brain like a damn hurricane.

A suspension.

Grant fought with a player.

This is a messy, complicated past. And somehow, I’m only finding out about it now.

I inhale sharply, forcing my legs to move. One foot in front of the other.

I kick off my shoes, shrug out of my jacket, make my way to the kitchen. Go through the motions like I’m fine.

But I’m not.

Because no matter how many times I try to push the thought away, it lingers.

I should’ve known.

I should’ve realized Grant wasn’t just some carefree, squeaky clean guy looking for a fun time.

Because that’s never who he was.

I should talk to someone.

Instead, I do what I do best—avoid, overthink, repeat.

I clean my kitchen. Twice.

I scroll through my phone without actually reading anything.

I turn on the TV, let some reality show play in the background, but I don’t absorb a single word.

Because all I can hear is Jake—dropping a truth I should’ve seen coming.

It loops in my head, over and over, like it’s trying to prove a point.

My phone vibrates.

I glance at the screen.

Jake.

I let it go to voicemail.

A second later, another text.

I flip my phone over, face-down.

A few minutes later, another buzz.

This time, it’s Grant.

I inhale sharply, my fingers twitching to pick it up.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Because I don’t even know what I’d say to him right now. I let the call ring out, my chest tightening when his name disappears from my screen.

The worst part?

I don’t know if he’ll call again. The door swings open without warning.

I groan, dragging my hands down my face. “Ever heard of knocking?”

Talia steps inside, kicking the door shut behind her, completely unbothered.

“You gave me a key. That’s on you.”

She waves a bottle of wine in one hand, a bag of takeout in the other.

“Anyway. I got your emergency text and immediately assumed the worst.” She plops onto my couch like she owns the place. “But then I realized if it was really a life-or-death situation, you’d be drinking already. So. Spill.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “Not everything is a crisis.”

Talia pops open the wine, raising a brow. “So you don’t need this then?”

I stare at the bottle. Debating.

She smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Ten minutes later, I’m curled up in the corner of my couch, staring at my untouched glass of wine.

Talia takes a sip of hers, waiting.

Finally, I sigh. “A few things… all at once. About Grant.” I pause. “First, Grant has a daughter. Second, he was suspended for a year from the NHL because he fought with a player in the locker room.”

Her eyes flick to mine, but she doesn’t look surprised.

“And that’s… shocking to you?”

I frown. “Well, yeah. He never told me.”

Talia tilts her head. “How long have you been sleeping with him?”

I scowl. “First of all, screw you.”

She grins. “Fair. I get why you’re thrown. But Kenz…” She sets her glass down. “Are you freaking out because he has a kid and lost his temper, or because this thing with him suddenly feels real?”

I stiffen. “It’s not real.”

Talia snorts. “Girl, you’re sitting here avoiding him like he just told you he’s married with a secret second family. He has a kid. He was suspended but now he’s back in the league coaching. That’s not some scandal—it’s just life.”

I cross my arms. “It’s more complicated than that.”

She leans in, eyes sharp. “Is it? Or are you just trying to make it that way so you have an excuse to run?”

I open my mouth. Then close it. Because I don’t have an answer.

I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at my wine glass, replaying Talia’s words over and over.

“Are you just trying to make it complicated so you have an excuse to run?”

The worst part?

She’s not wrong.

Because I’ve done this before.

Made things bigger than they needed to be. Used excuses to keep my distance.

And for what?

To protect myself? From what, exactly?

A man who has done nothing but treat me like I’m worth more than a one-night mistake? A man who has given me every damn reason to trust him, even when I didn’t want to?

I exhale slowly, setting my untouched wine down.

This is not who I want to be.

A runner. A coward. A woman who gets close only to push away the second it stops being easy.

No.

Not this time.

I don’t realize I’ve made a decision until I’m already moving.

Until I’m grabbing my keys, slipping on my shoes, walking out the door before I can talk myself out of it. The drive to the rink is a blur.

My pulse ticks higher with every mile.

What if he’s not there?

What if he is?

What if I’m already too late?

I don’t have an answer for any of those questions. But I know one thing. I have to find him.

The rink is dark when I pull up. But the lights inside? Still on.

I take a breath. Then another. Then I push inside.

The chill hits first. The sharp bite of cold air, the faint scrape of skates against ice.

And then, him.

Grant, alone on the ice.

He doesn’t see me at first.

His movements are slow, deliberate—a man lost in his own thoughts.

But then, like he senses me, he turns.

Our eyes meet.

And that’s when I know—this isn’t over yet.