Chapter 40 #2
It was stupid, really. I knew Ryan wasn’t Reid. Deep down, I knew that. Ryan had never so much as raised his voice at me, never made me feel small or scared. But my body wasn’t listening to logic. Every time I imagined saying the words out loud, I froze, paralyzed by memories of the past.
Reid had a way of turning any confrontation into a minefield.
The smallest disagreement could set him off.
Whenever I tried to bring something up–even something minor–he’d snap, his words sharp and cutting, his presence overwhelming.
It was easier to just stay quiet, to push down anything that might upset him.
I spent years learning how to tiptoe, how to avoid the cracks in his fragile ego.
Even though I knew Ryan wasn’t like that, the muscle memory of silence was hard to shake. What if this was different? What if I said the wrong thing? What if he reacted in a way I hadn’t seen before?
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight, clipped.
“You don’t seem fine.”
The words were gentle, but they hit harder than I expected. I slammed the dish into the rack harder than I intended, water splashing over the edge. I froze, gripping the counter to steady myself. My heart raced, my breath shallow. I braced myself, waiting for the explosion that never came.
Ryan put the dish towel down on the counter, his movements slow and deliberate. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine with that unwavering focus he always had when he was worried.
“Harper.” His voice was soft, steady, and free of any edge or irritation. There was no anger, no frustration–just genuine concern. “What’s going on?”
The gentleness of his tone nearly undid me.
My chest tightened, and I had to fight to keep my breath steady.
I wanted to explain, to tell him what I was feeling, but the words wouldn’t come.
The way he said my name, the way he looked at me, like whatever I was about to say mattered more than anything else, made it harder and easier all at once.
I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor as if it might hold the answers I couldn’t find. Even in my silence, Ryan didn’t push. He just stood there, patient and steady, waiting for me to let him in.
I took a deep breath, forcing my eyes to meet his. The tension inside me built, the anger and confusion bubbling to the surface, and I couldn’t stop it.
“What’s going on?” I repeated, my voice shaking with frustration. “That’s what I’d like to know, Ryan.”
His brows knitted together, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “What do you mean?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “I got a text earlier. No idea from who, but it had a bunch of articles attached.”
His face paled slightly, yet he didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened as his gaze shifted to the floor for a brief second, like he was trying to find the right words–or avoid them altogether.
“Articles about you, Ryan,” I continued, my voice growing louder, the frustration bubbling over. “About your time in the NHL. About the fights. The hits. About Kyle.”
Ryan’s shoulders tensed, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place–guilt? Regret? His hands clenched at his sides, still he didn’t move, didn’t try to speak yet. The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, the hurt in my voice betraying the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface. “Why have you been hiding this from me?”
“Harper, I–”
“Do you not trust me?” I cut him off, my words sharp, my chest tight with emotion. “Or is it worse than that? Are you still that person? The guy in that article who doesn’t care about hurting people?”
His eyes widened, and for a brief moment, I saw a flash of panic. He took a step closer, his hands raised in surrender, his voice low but firm. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?” I snapped, the tears threatening to spill over. “Because I don’t even know what to think right now. You put a guy in a wheelchair, Ryan.”
Ryan’s face crumpled, the weight of my words hitting him harder than I expected.
He ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming out in a sharp exhale.
“Harper, I was going to tell you. I just–” He stopped, as if he was trying to find a way to explain something that didn’t have a good explanation.
“When?” I interrupted, my voice rising in disbelief.
The question stung, Ryan stepped back, his face twisting in pain as if I’d slapped him. He swallowed hard, his hands falling to his sides as he tried to compose himself.
“It’s not who I am anymore,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, Harper, I’m not that guy.”
His words hung in the air, but they didn’t seem to ease the tension inside me. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, though I couldn’t shake the doubts crawling through my mind.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered, my voice trembling, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipped down my cheeks. “If it’s not who you are, why keep it a secret?”
Ryan’s face softened at the sight of my tears, but he didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the floor, his gaze focused on something only he could see. The silence between us felt suffocating, stretching out longer than I could bear.
Finally, Ryan’s voice cut through the tension, low and strained. “Where did the texts come from?”
I folded my arms tight across my chest, the weight of my emotions threatening to spill over. “How does that matter right now, Ryan?” My voice wavered, cracking under the strain of everything I was holding in.
He exhaled sharply, a flash of frustration flickering in his eyes as he ran a hand across his face. “Harper, I wanted to–”
“When?” I snapped, cutting him off. My patience was gone, replaced by a wave of anger and hurt. “You had months, Ryan. Why didn’t you?”
Ryan hesitated, his gaze still fixed on the floor like he was searching for the right words. “Because I didn’t know how,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, but the weight of his admission hung in the air like a heavy fog.
I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. “You didn’t know how to tell me that you were this… this violent player who ended someone’s career and put them in a wheelchair?”
He flinched, his eyes flicking up to meet mine with a look that seemed both pained and defensive.
“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice firm yet strained.
“Yes, I was an aggressive player. I’m not denying that.
But the media exaggerated a lot of it. They wanted a story, and I gave them one.
I was that guy on the ice because that’s the only way I could make it through. But it’s not who I am. Not anymore.”
I bit my lip, trying to steady the storm of emotions raging inside me.
I could feel the tension in every part of my body, the anger mixing with the hurt.
But there was something else, too. A question that had been eating at me, something I hadn’t been able to voice until now.
“And Kyle?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, like I was afraid to hear the truth.
“Did you really… did you really do that to him?”
Ryan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. The silence between us was thick, but then he nodded, his face filled with a mixture of regret and guilt. “Yes,” he said, quietly.
My breath caught in my throat, the weight of his confession pressing down on me like a physical blow.
I took a shaky step back, my chest aching with the magnitude of what he had just admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice cracking, the vulnerability in it cutting deeper than any anger could.
“You didn’t tell me. This is a huge part of who you were, and you kept it from me. What else don’t I know about you?”
Ryan’s face twisted, a mixture of regret and defensiveness flashing across it. “I wanted to tell you, Harper,” he said, his voice rising slightly, frustration leaking into it. “I was going to before everything with Reid happened, but–”
“Don’t use that as an excuse,” I interrupted, my anger flaring again, pushing aside the sorrow that had started to take over. “There was plenty of time before that. But you didn’t. I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”
His frustration boiled over, and before he could stop himself, he shot back, his words sharp and raw. “You didn’t tell me about your past right away either, Harper. You don’t think that’s something I should’ve known?”
The second the words left his mouth, he froze, his face draining of colour. The regret was instantaneous, but it couldn’t undo the damage.
I stared at him, the sting of his words cutting deeper than anything I could have imagined. My heart shattered in a thousand pieces as I processed his accusation. The raw pain I felt was overwhelming, like a weight that I couldn’t shake.
“I’m a survivor of violence, Ryan,” I said, my voice trembling, a tight knot forming in my chest. “Not the person who caused it. There’s a difference. And I did tell you. You didn’t have to hear it from someone else.”
The room fell into an unbearable silence, the air thick with the weight of my words. Ryan’s face crumpled, his regret so palpable it felt like it might suffocate us both. But I couldn’t look at him anymore, not with the way my heart was splintering in my chest.
I turned away, wrapping my arms tightly around myself, as if I could hold all the pieces together before they scattered.
The ache in my chest was sharp, almost physical.
I’d let myself believe this could work, that I could finally fall for someone good–someone safe.
Ryan had been that. He’d been steady, patient, kind in all the ways I hadn’t dared hoped for.
But his violent past said otherwise. I felt like I didn’t even know him. How could I trust him?
A voice in my head screamed at me to take it back, to let him pull me into his arms and promise me that we’d be okay.
Another voice, though–the one that had learned the hard way–told me I couldn’t.
That love wasn’t enough if trust wasn’t there.
And right now, I wasn’t sure if I had that with him anymore.
“I can’t do this again,” I mumbled under my breath, more to myself than to him. But his sharp inhale told me he’d heard.
Ryan stared at me, his expression a mix of disbelief and heartbreak.
He let out a shaky breath, then took a step toward me, his hand twitching at his side before slowly reaching out–hesitant, almost desperate to bridge the gap between us.
He wanted to touch me, to offer comfort, but something in my posture must have stopped him.
“Harper,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hand falling back to his side.
“I never meant to hurt you. I swear, that wasn’t my intention.
” His jaw clenched, like he was forcing himself to hold it together.
“I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t want to lose you. ”
I held up my hand, stopping him before he could come any closer. “But you didn’t tell me,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “And now, I don’t know if I can trust you.”
His shoulders slumped, the weight of my words hitting him harder than anything else I had said. He hesitated, like he was still trying to find the right thing to say, the thing that would make this better. But there wasn’t one.
“Where does this leave us, Harper?” His voice was low, raw, hoarse with emotion.
He stood there, watching me, his expression raw with desperation and hurt. The weight of it all pressed down on me, stealing the air from my lungs. My fingers dug into my skin, grounding me, as I forced myself to look at him.
“Ryan, I’ve been here before,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute, the tears threatening to spill once more.
“I was with someone who was so sweet at first. He put on this perfect, caring front for almost an entire year. And all the while, he was hiding who he really was–bottling up things he should’ve told me.
” I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
“I didn’t see the truth until it was too late.
And I can’t make that mistake again. I can’t put Connor through that again. ”
Ryan’s jaw clenched, his face full of pain. “You think I’m like him? Like Reid?” he asked, his voice cracking, the hurt in it slicing through me.
I hesitated, my heart aching as the question echoed in my mind.
The doubt that had settled there like a poison.
I wanted to believe in him, I really did, but I was terrified.
“I don’t know what to think right now,” I admitted softly.
“But you didn’t tell me, Ryan. About Kyle, about everything. And that scares me.”
Ryan opened his mouth as if to protest, but the words died in his throat. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, pacing as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I’m not him, Harper,” he said, his voice desperate, pleading for me to understand. “I’m not Reid.”