Chapter 33
BELLE
Walking back into the rink felt like breathing again. The sound of wheels on the polished floor. The echo of laughter. The low bass of whatever playlist Sonia had commandeered for warm-ups. I couldn’t skate yet, but just being there loosened something tight in my chest.
Mel spotted me first.
“Hey, Belle, you skating yet?”
“Not yet, but hopefully I’ll have the go-ahead by the end of the week.”
Robin rolled over, steady and watchful as ever. “You good?”
“I’m good.” That wasn’t entirely a lie.
Practice ran long. I sat on the sidelines, helped track penalties, yelled encouragement, and tried not to twitch every time the jammer broke through the pack. My body still wanted to move.
Afterward, sweat-soaked and loud, half the team peeled off toward home.
Eleanor kissed my cheek and said she needed sleep because Ava had her first day of school in the morning.
But Mel hooked an arm around my neck.
“Trixie’s.”
I hesitated for half a second. Then I nodded.
Trixie’s was dim, sticky-floored, and perfect. We commandeered a corner booth. Robin ordered something sensible. Mel ordered a beer. Zella ordered something neon. Sonia stole fries from all of us.
For a little while, it was easy. We laughed and gossiped, even complained about referees.
Then Mel leaned back and narrowed her eyes at me.
“Okay. Spill.”
I sighed.
“I got reassigned.”
Robin’s head tilted. “To what?”
“Another house. Full-time.”
Mel’s expression darkened immediately. “That slimy little—”
“If I don’t take it, I’m fired,” I added.
Silence fell around the table.
“And?” Sonia asked.
“And Raph told me to quit.”
Mel snorted. “Of course he did.”
“He offered to pay me double what I make.”
Zella choked slightly on her drink. “Well damn.”
Sonia leaned forward. “And?”
“And I didn’t say yes.”
Robin watched me carefully. “What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t want to belong to someone.”
Mel’s eyes softened a fraction.
Zella tapped her nails against her glass. “Girl,” she said, “if a rich, sexy man wants to pay you to cook and exist, you take the money and run.”
A few of them laughed. Sonia raised her glass.
“I mean. There are worse exit strategies.”
Robin didn’t laugh. “Be careful.”
The table quieted.
“I know,” I said.
I frowned slightly.
“You’ve worked your ass off your entire life,” she continued. “You’ve survived things alone. That independence matters to you.”
“It does,” I agreed.
“If you let a man become the solution to every problem, even a good man, you lose negotiating power,” Robins said.
“Yes!” I looked at her like she was a lifeline. “I was trying to explain that to him, but he just didn’t get it.”
Mel leaned forward. “He loves you.”
The table went still.
My throat tightened. “He hasn’t said that,” I muttered.
“He doesn’t have to,” Mel said bluntly. “The man looks at you like you invented oxygen.”
Zella smirked. “Facts.”
Robin held up a hand. “That’s not the issue.”
“It kind of is,” Mel shot back.
“No, the issue is control,” Robin said. “Is he offering because he loves you? Or because he needs to control the environment to feel safe?”
I stared down at my drink.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“And what do you want?” Sonia asked softly.
I exhaled slowly. “I want him,” I said.
There it was. Plain and honest.
Mel squeezed my hand. “Then you need to figure out if he wants you,” she said, “or if he wants to manage you.”
Zella leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Are you falling in love with him?”
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water. No one laughed. No one teased. They just waited.
I swallowed. “I think,” I said slowly, “ . . . I don’t know.”
Silence wrapped around us. I did know, I just wasn’t ready to admit it.
“Then don’t let money be the reason you stay,” Robin said quietly. “And don’t let fear be the reason you leave.”
I nodded. Because that was the real tightrope, making sure whatever I chose was mine
The drive back felt longer than usual.
The roads were mostly empty, streetlights casting pale gold across the windshield in rhythmic intervals. My music played low, something soft and forgettable, but I barely heard it.
It was time. I knew it was time.
We couldn’t keep dancing around it. Couldn’t keep pretending that this was still just insurance, cooking, and six months on paper.
But what if I brought it up and he didn’t say what I wanted him to say?
What if he reminded me, calmly, rationally, that we had agreed to six months?
And then what? Fall would come. The pool would close. The leaves would turn. And I would be staring at my van again. Trying to convince myself it was freedom.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
I didn’t want to live like that again. Not after knowing what it felt like to wake up beside someone and not feel alone.
I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.
The house loomed tall and quiet against the river, lights glowing warm in the windows.
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. I kicked off my shoes and climbed the stairs slowly, heart pounding harder with every step.
If we were going to have the hard conversation, it needed to be now. I turned toward his room first. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. The bed was still made. Untouched.
My stomach dipped.
A soft line of light stretched across the hallway floor from the direction of his office.
Of course. He was working, solving something.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the thin blade of light cutting through the dark hall.
I could walk down there. I could knock. I could say the words. Are we real? What happens in two months? Do you love me?
But what if the answer wasn’t what I wanted? What if I’d imagined it? What if I’d built a castle in my head and he was still living inside a contract?
I felt small suddenly and exposed. Without thinking too hard about it, I turned away from the light. I went back down the stairs and into the guest room. The room I hadn’t slept in for weeks.
It felt strange standing in it again.
The bed was neatly made. The window seat was untouched. The space was tidy and waiting, like it had never been abandoned.
I closed the door quietly behind me.
For the first time in a long time, I felt the old fear creep back in.
I wish it were a fear of poverty or Tripp. I knew how to manage those fears. This was different. It was the fear of loving someone more than they loved me.