Page 42 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)

“I was going to tell you when I was ready,” I bite out. “Not when it was convenient for you. And yes, it’s Finn’s. And no, it’s none of your business.”

“You don’t tell your own family?—”

“I’m not reporting to a committee,” I snap. “This isn’t a team strategy meeting. This is my body. My life. I found out a few weeks ago, and I’ve been processing it on my own terms. Because that’s what grown women do. We don’t need clearance from our fathers to make decisions about our pregnancies.”

He flushes redder. “You’re my daughter?—”

“And I’m not your possession.” I throw the words at him like knives. “I’m not a contract you get to negotiate. I’m not one of your rookies to be lectured in the locker room. I’m a grown woman. And if you think you get a say in how I navigate this, then you’re even more out of touch than I thought.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Watch your tone.”

“No,” I shoot back. “Watch yours. Because coming into my office, interrogating me about my uterus like I owe you an update, that is not fatherly concern. That is control.”

His jaw clenches. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” He straightens, shifting tactics to concerned father. “A baby—babies change things. Your career, your freedom, your entire life.”

And there it is. The classic line.

The woman has no idea.

I laugh, sharp and humorless. He opens his mouth, but I’m already steamrolling.

“Tell me, Dad, what exactly did you give up when we were born? Which contracts did you turn down?”

“That’s not?—”

“But Mom gave up plenty, didn’t she? Raised us practically alone during seasons.” My voice drops to something deadly. “So don’t stand there and lecture me about sacrifice when you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He tries to change gears again. “The media will crucify you. Coach’s daughter pregnant by a player? They’ll?—”

“Ah… So you didn’t come here because you’re worried about me, ” I deadpan, low and bitter.

Because he cannot win this argument anyway he tries to approach it.

And the shadow that creeps onto his face tells me he is starting to realize it.

“You came here because you’re worried about headlines.

About how it looks that Coach Novak’s daughter ended up pregnant by one of his players. That’s what this is about.”

“That is part of it,” he fires back. “Do you understand what the media will do with this? With him ? You know his reputation. He’s not careful, Jessica. And he’s not subtle.”

The one player I specifically warned you about.

The words hit like a reflex.

He’ll ruin your future, Jess. That’s what Dad said last year. And for a while, I believed him. But now I know better. Because Finn O’Reilly didn’t ruin my future.

He’s the only one who made me believe I could build my own.

“I’m not yours to protect anymore.” My words rise, clear and furious.

“You told me to watch it with Finn. Well, guess what? I heard you, and I chose not to. And I’m not sorry one bit.

My personal life is exactly that—personal.

You don’t get to police my choices any more than you police Adam’s.

I’ve never once heard you warn him about staying away from a girl. ”

He flinches like I slapped him. “I raised you better than this,” he says quietly.

“You raised me to be strong,” I shoot back. “You just didn’t think I’d ever use it to put you in your place.”

For a long moment, we just breathe. Nothing but the air conditioning and the tension crackling between us.

He finally looks away. Out the window. “I didn’t want motherhood to happen like this for you.”

“Neither did I,” I say, my voice softer now, but still steady. “But it did. And I’m handling it.”

“Jessica—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I’m done. You asked me to be professional. To maintain boundaries. To remember my place.” I meet his gaze. “Well, today, I remembered exactly where my place is. And it’s not here.”

The color drains from his cheeks. “What does that mean? ”

“It means I’m done. Resignation letter will be on Rotschild’s desk Monday.”

“You can’t be serious. Not with the babies on the way.”

“I’m starting my own agency. My clients. My rules. My life.” I move to the door, hand on the knob. “And if you have a problem with your grandchildren or their father, you can take it up with me then.”

“Jessica, wait?—”

“Oh, and Dad?” I pause at the door. “When the media asks why your star PR director quit? Tell them the truth. Tell them Coach Novak thinks pregnant women can’t do their jobs. See how that plays with your female fan base.”

“Don’t you dare—” He follows me to the door, voice rising. “You’re throwing everything away! For what? For some player who’ll be traded next season?”

“For ME!” I whirl around. “For the first time in my life, I’m choosing what I want instead of what everyone else expects. And yes, I’m choosing Finn. I love him, Dad. He’s the only person who’s never asked me to be smaller.”

His expression contorts. “Love? You think this is love? Getting knocked up by?—”

“By the man who sees me. Not Coach’s daughter. Not the PR director. Me.” My words crack. “The one person who is not intimidated by my strength. The one man who knows how to catch me.”

“He’s using you?—”

“No, Dad. He’s not. Finnian O’Reilly is a good man.”

I yank open the door?—

And freeze.

Finn’s standing in the hallway, holding a Sweetgreen salad—the one he brings me every day since he found out. His face is completely still, but his knuckles are white around the container .

Our eyes meet. One second. Two.

He heard everything. Every word. Every declaration. Every way I just made this worse.

“O’Reilly.” My father’s words turn cold as he brushes past me. “This is on you.”

Finn stands his ground. Silent. Steady.

“My daughter is pregnant. She’s walking away from the job she built from nothing. And from the sound of it?” He takes a breath. “She’s doing it alone.”

Finn’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.

“ Coach ,” he says, quiet. Calm.

Dad steps closer, voice lowering into something lethal.

“If you leave her holding this by herself, I’ll come for you. And I won’t care what jersey you wear when I do.” Then he turns and walks out, footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

Finn and I stand there, the hallway suddenly too small, the air too thin.

He steps into the office, and I follow him as he sets the salad on my desk with trembling hands.

For one heartbeat, his fingers brush mine.

Then he pulls away like I burned him. There’s something raw in his eyes.

Sadness. Love. Maybe grief. He doesn’t say a word.

And that silence—that restraint—is what wrecks me.

He looks at me once more, a look that says everything and nothing, then turns to leave.

“Finn—”

But he’s already walking away, shoulders rigid. I watch him take the stairs, the same man who carried me to bed, who fought for contracts he could have lost, who loved me when I couldn’t love myself.

I stand there, frozen, letting him walk away. Shaking. The phantom warmth of him already fading, like he was never here at all.

Joy clears her throat from behind her desk. “Should I…reschedule your afternoon?”

I can’t find my voice. I just nod, barely, and close the door.

The salad sits on my desk.

Arugula. Dressing on the side. Extra parmesan. The same salad he’s brought me every day for three weeks, even though I’ve barely spoken to him. Even though I broke his heart. Even though he owes me nothing.

I stare at the salad and realize, this is love. Not the grand gestures or passionate declarations. It’s showing up with lunch for someone who destroyed you. It’s caring for someone who chose fear over you.

And threw it all away.

The knock is soft. “Jess?”

Liam steps in holding a coffee cup, concern written all over him. “Joy said—” He stops short when he sees my face. “Shit. That bad?”

I don’t answer. I’m still perched on the edge of my desk, too hollow to move.

“Decaf cappuccino,” he says gently, setting it down in front of me. That one small act—familiar, thoughtful, him—breaks something loose in my chest.

“I’m quitting.” The words tumble out. “I told my father off. Told him I love Finn. And Finn was standing outside the door, listening to me make an even bigger mess of his life.”

Liam doesn’t say anything at first. Watches me in that quiet way he has of sitting in the wreckage with you when there’s nothing left to say. Finally, he exhales.

“O’Reilly’s bleeding, Jess.” His voice is soft, but sure. “You’re the only one who can stop it. ”

I stare at the cup. “Do you think he can ever forgive me?”

He holds my gaze as he leans in. “Yeah. But not today. He needs more time.”

Before I can respond, there’s another knock.

Adam fills the doorway in his after-practice gear, hair damp from the shower. “Dad just stormed through the locker room looking like someone killed his dog.” His eyes scan my face. “You okay?”

“No,” I say. “I just quit…and apparently, I’m the one who killed the dog.”

He crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into a hug. I resist at first; I don’t want comfort, I want armor, but then his awful high school body spray hits, and my chest caves. I bury my face in his hoodie and let it come.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Adam says quietly. “He’s just being…Dad. The guy still plans my workouts. Yours and Mom’s too. Like it’s 2013, and we’re all expected to run laps before school.”

I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh.

“Sophie was the only one who dared to shut him down early,” he adds. “The rest of us let him boss us into thinking it was love.”

“I’m pregnant.”

It slips out. Quiet. But total. He stills. Arms frozen around me. Then leans back to look at my face.

“Wait—what?”

I nod. “Yeah. I found out a few weeks ago.”

He blinks, processing. “Is it…?”

“Finn,” I sniff.

Adam blows out a long breath. “Well. That explains Dad’s hallway murder-glare. He’s going to kill that scoundrel.”

Liam groans. “Don’t. ”

“I was there too, you know. It wasn’t some immaculate locker room conception. So unless you want me listing the names of your exes and assigning shame scores, I suggest you zip it.”

Liam lets out a laugh. “She’s not wrong.”

Despite myself, I grin.

Adam sighs. “Fine. Point taken. But if he hurts you, I will make him pay.”

“Dad already called dibs.”

“Of course he did.” He pauses, tuning serious. “You okay?”

I shake my head weakly. “Not even close.”

“Good. Means you’re taking it seriously.”

Liam lifts the coffee like a toast. “To Jessica Novak. Owner. Legend. Destroyer of old white men’s expectations.”

“Put that on your business cards,” Adam says, nudging me with a half-smile.

And for the first time today, it doesn’t feel impossible to laugh. I glance between them—Adam, who’s never let me fall, and Liam, who chose to show up like family—and something shifts. Something that almost feels like hope.

“I do need clients,” I say, my voice steadier now. “You two game?”

“Done,” Liam says immediately. “All in.”

“Same,” Adam adds. “And I’ll talk to a few guys. You’ll have a full roster by Friday.”

He hesitates. His smile falters just a little. “I’m glad you’re doing this, even with the timing. It’s been a long time coming.”

They share a look.

“And Finn…” Liam says. “That’s something you have to figure out. Just don’t mistake his silence for indifference. He di dn’t walk away because he doesn’t care, Jess.” He pauses. “He walked away because he does.”