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Chapter twenty-three

~ AVERY~

I can’t stop smiling.

It’s stupid, really. I woke up in Damien’s bed this morning with the kind of happiness I didn’t know was possible. He wasn’t there, so I woke up to a text from him saying that he was at a meeting with the Panthers’ manager.

The sheets smelled like him, and the memory of his arms wrapped around me was enough to make me feel warm all over. We’d showered and then went to bed like he said we would. I was half-asleep by the time he started looking for a T-shirt to give me, my legs barely holding me upright.

The things he said last night keep playing in my head on a loop—the praise, the compliments, how he’s in love with me.

Damien Colton is in love with me.

The thought alone sets fireworks off each time I remember it. I’ve never been in love before, never had anyone tell me they’re in love with me, and definitely never expected it to feel like this. Like I’m walking on air. Like I’m finally enough, just as I am.

But now, I’m sitting across the dinner table from Rowan, trying not to let the giddiness show too much. He’s been quiet tonight, pushing food around on his plate more than actually eating it. His shoulders look tight, his jaw clenched.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, setting my fork down.

“Yeah,” he mutters, not looking up.

I frown. “You sure? You seem… I don’t know. Stressed.”

He exhales sharply, finally meeting my eyes. “It’s been a long day, alright? The game, the press, all the questions… it’s exhausting.”

That makes sense. Rowan hates media days. He always says it’s the worst part of his job.

“You’ve been playing amazing, though,” I offer, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Thanks,” he says, but there’s no warmth in his tone.

I hesitate, studying him. Something feels off. Normally, Rowan is quick to shake off a bad mood, but tonight, there’s an edge to him that I can’t get rid of.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at me. “How are you feeling?”

The question catches me off-guard.

“I’m good,” I say carefully, watching his expression. “Why?”

“Can’t I just ask?” he says, but his gaze lingers on me for a beat too long before he looks back at his plate.

There’s something about the way he’s acting that puts me on edge. It’s like he knows something he’s not saying.

I take a sip of water, trying to figure out how to bring it up. I’d been planning to tell Rowan about Damien eventually. I even rehearsed it in my head, imagining every possible way he might react. But now, sitting across from him, I know tonight isn’t the right time.

He’s already wound up, and I don’t want to push him over the edge.

“I don’t think you’ve ever come home this quiet before,” I tease lightly, trying to cut through the tension.

“Yeah, it’s been a hell of a day.” Rowan smirks faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. My eyes fall on his hand, pushing the fork around. His knuckles are red, and I don’t know how I’m just noticing it.

“Oh my god, Rowan,” I breathe out. “What happened to your hand?”

He looks at me and then down at his hand before shaking his head.

“Boxing. I forgot my gloves today.” He shrugs and pops a cherry tomato into his mouth.

“Seriously, though. Is it just the press stuff? Or is there something else?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Because you’re being weird,” I say bluntly.

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Avery. Drop it, okay?”

I bite my lip, unsure what to say. I know him well enough to know that “fine” never actually means fine. But pushing him won’t get me anywhere, so I let it go.

Rowan stands up suddenly, walking over to the window. He looks out for a long moment, and then he snorts.

“Ah, of course,” he says, his tone laced with something bitter.

“What is it?” I ask, getting up to join him.

He doesn’t answer; he just tilts his head toward the window.

I follow Rowan’s gaze, my heart skipping when I see Damien’s house across the street.

The last thing I expect to see greets me. No.

The blonde girl is there, standing in his doorway, her arms crossed as she tilts her head up to him with a sly smile. Even from here, I can tell she’s dressed to kill. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts that barely cover anything and a cropped tank top that shows off every inch of her toned stomach.

What is she doing here?

Damien is leaning against the frame, his broad shoulders blocking part of the doorway. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable.

My stomach twists.

The girl says something I can’t hear, stepping closer to him. She laughs silently as I stare in shock.

Did he invite her? What is he doing?

Rowan chuckles beside me.

“Typical,” he says, shaking his head. “Damien’s always got some girl hanging around. You’d think he’d be tired of people after all the press, but I guess the dog needs his bone, right?”

The words hit me like a slap, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me.

Damien shifts slightly, and my heart halts.

For a second, it feels like time stops. His expression changes, his brows furrow, and he opens his mouth, telling her something I can’t hear.

The blonde chooses that exact moment to grab the hem of her tank top and pull it over her head.

The air rushes out of my lungs as her bare skin catches the glow of the porch light. She tosses the tank top aside, leaving her in nothing but the denim shorts.

Damien says something to her again, his lips moving quickly, but I can’t hear it. All I can see is the way she starts running her hands over herself.

A wrecking ball slams into me. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Damien bends down and sweeps her tank top off the polished wood floor.

“Alright, that’s enough dirty movies for you, kid.” Rowan laughs behind me, pulling me back. “Let’s leave them to enjoy their night.”

It’s enough?

It’s more than enough.

“Yeah,” I mumble, my voice shaking. “I’m… I’m going to call Sarah. Do you mind cleaning up?”

Rowan doesn’t even glance at me.

“Get some rest,” he says, his tone clipped. “You look like you need it.”

I force myself to nod, backing away from the window. The second I’m out of sight, I turn and bolt up the stairs, taking them two at a time. My vision blurs, hot tears spilling over as I reach my room and slam the door shut.

My chest heaves as I press my back against the door.

My chest tightens with a pain I haven’t felt before. It’s like everything inside me is breaking at once.

How could he do this?

How could I be so stupid?

Last night, I thought I’d found something real. I thought I’d found him . The Damien who held me, whispered that he’s in love with me, and made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

But that Damien doesn’t exist. Damien Colton will always be what everyone says he is. God, how could I even think that someone like him could ever be genuine? That one of the best NHL players, with women throwing themselves at him left and right, would actually want to be with me.

This is who he really is—the guy who lets girls show up at his house and throw themselves at him. I would know, because I did the exact same thing last night. I was that girl.

Will he feed her the same lines, too? Will he carry her to bed like he did with me?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the image of them together, but it’s no use.

I thought I was enough. But I’m not. I can’t believe I ever thought I could be.

I bury my face in my hands, letting the sobs take over.

For the first time since this whole thing started, I wish I’d never met him.