Chapter 8 #2
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe that somewhere out there, Danny thought about me. Wondered where I was. Maybe even looked for me the way I'd looked for him in those first desperate years before I'd finally accepted that some doors stayed closed no matter how hard you knocked.
"They lived in Fort Collins," I said, not sure why I was still talking. "When I left, anyway. They could be anywhere now."
"Fort Collins isn't far."
"It's far enough." I stood abruptly, unable to sit still anymore. "I should get back to work. The rookies have physicals scheduled, and I need to review their files."
Nancy didn't try to stop me. She just watched with that knowing expression that said she understood I was running but wouldn't call me on it.
"Cinder." Her voice caught me at the door. "Whatever you decide about Taranis, about your family, about any of it—you don't have to decide alone. You know that, right?"
I turned back, something loosening slightly in my chest despite everything. "I know."
"Good." She smiled, warm and fierce. "Now go be brilliant. And if anyone gives you trouble about that article, send them to me."
I almost laughed. "I'm pretty sure you terrify half the team and the coaching staff."
"Only half?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'm losing my touch."
I left her office feeling lighter than I had in days, even though nothing had actually changed.
The rookie physicals took longer than expected—three of them had paperwork discrepancies that needed sorting, and one kid was so nervous about the blood draw that I had to talk him through breathing exercises for ten minutes before he'd let me near him with a needle.
I also had to handle medicals for a player that had been transferred to us at the last second before the window closed.
By the time I finished, my shoulders ached and my eyes burned with the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than physical.
I gathered my things, said goodbye to Nancy, and headed for the parking lot with nothing on my mind except a hot shower and maybe four hours of sleep before I had to be back for tonight's game.
My car sat alone in the far corner of the lot, looking even more pathetic in the afternoon light than it had this morning. The rust on the fender had spread since last week, and I made a mental note to check whether the muffler was still attached or just hanging on through sheer stubbornness.
I was halfway across the asphalt when I saw him.
Gavin leaned against a silver sedan parked two spaces from my car, arms crossed, that familiar half-smile on his face that used to make my stomach flip. Now it just made my skin crawl.
"Cinder." He straightened as I approached, holding up both hands like he was surrendering. "Before you say anything—"
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out flat. Cold. Good.
"I needed to see you." He took a step closer, and I took one back, keeping the distance between us. "You won't answer your phone, and I couldn't just—"
"You couldn't just what? Take no for an answer?" I clutched my keys tighter, the metal biting into my palm. "How did you even know where I work?"
"It's not exactly a secret." He gestured vaguely at the building behind me. "Colorado Dragons. It's all over the news."
Right. The article. The one that had dragged up every painful detail of my past and spread it across the internet for strangers to pick apart.
"You need to leave," I said.
"Just give me five minutes." He moved closer again, and this time I didn't retreat. I stood my ground, even though my heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. "Please, Cin. I know you're upset. But you're not seeing the whole picture."
"I saw it just fine," I said. "You wrote an exposé about a child's death using information I told you in confidence while I was grieving. You named me specifically. You got a promotion out of it."
"That's not what happened." He rubbed the back of his neck like this whole thing was exhausting. "You're twisting it. I never used anything you told me directly. I protected you as much as I could."
"You printed my name."
"Because it was already in the records." His voice softened, patient, like he was explaining something obvious to a child. "Cin, that information was public. Anyone could have found it."
"And I was just collateral damage."
"No," he said quickly. "You're acting like I targeted you. I didn't. I was exposing the hospital. The system. I thought if people knew what really happened, they'd have to change things."
"And ruining my life was acceptable collateral for that?"
He frowned slightly, like the question itself was unfair. "No one's life was ruined," he said. "You're working for an NHL team now. Seems like things turned out pretty well for you."
My stomach twisted.
He reached for my arm, and I jerked back so fast I nearly stumbled.
"Don't touch me."
Something shifted in his expression—irritation flashing beneath the practiced concern.
"You're being unreasonable," he said, voice cooling. "I came all the way here to apologize, and you won't even listen."
"I don't owe you anything." My voice shook, but I forced myself to keep talking. "Not my time. Not my forgiveness. Not a single goddamn thing."
"We were together for two years, Cinder. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"It meant everything to me." The words ripped out before I could stop them. "That's why it hurt so much when you destroyed it."
Gavin sighed like I was the one being difficult.
"You always do this," he said quietly. "You take one thing and turn it into the worst possible version of events."
My chest tightened.
Gavin stepped closer again. "I made you," he said softly. "You know that, right? Before me, you were just some traumatized kid playing nurse. I helped you become someone. I believed in you when no one else did. I pushed you to apply for that promotion."
The cruelty of it stole my breath.
It had taken me a long time to see it, but comments like that had been the beginning—small, insidious cuts that slowly eroded everything I believed about myself.
"Get away from my car," I managed.
"Cin—"
"Now."
He didn't move. Just stood there, blocking my path, that familiar smile returning like he thought he could still charm his way through this.
"I'm not leaving until we talk properly," he said. "You owe me that much."
"He said leave."
The voice came from behind me—low, steady, and carrying a weight that made Gavin's expression falter.
I turned.
Taranis stood at the edge of the parking lot, hair damp from his shower. He wasn't moving toward us, wasn't making any aggressive gestures. He was just... there. Solid. Certain. His eyes locked on Gavin with an intensity that made the air feel colder.
"This is a private conversation," Gavin said, recovering quickly. "Who the hell are you?" I almost laughed at Gavin's ignorance in challenging the one person half of Denver was in love with.
"Someone who heard him ask you to leave." Taranis's voice didn't rise, didn't threaten. It didn't need to. "Twice."
Gavin's face reddened. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but this doesn't concern you."
"It concerns me." Taranis took a single step forward, and something about the movement made Gavin take a step back. "Because he doesn't want you here. And when someone says no, you listen."
Gavin laughed, but it came out thin. Nervous. "What, you're his boyfriend now? That's rich. He can't even—"
"I'm someone who has his back." Taranis cut him off, and the words landed in my chest like something heavy and warm. "Which is more than I can say for you."
For a long moment, nobody moved. The parking lot felt suspended in time. Gavin's face cycling through anger and calculation, Taranis standing like a wall between us and whatever came next, and me frozen somewhere in the middle, trying to remember how to breathe.
Then Gavin smiled. That sharp, cruel smile I'd seen directed at sources who wouldn't cooperate, at editors who questioned his angles, at me when I'd dared to push back on anything.
"Fine," he said, backing toward his car. "Fine. But this isn't over, Cinder. You can hide behind hockey players all you want, but eventually you're going to have to face reality."
"Reality is that you're leaving," Taranis said. "Now."
Gavin's jaw worked, but he didn't argue. He climbed into his sedan, slammed the door hard enough that I flinched, and peeled out of the lot with more aggression than the situation warranted.
The silence he left behind felt suffocating.
I stood there, keys still clutched in my hand, watching his taillights disappear around the corner. My whole body was shaking, adrenaline crash, probably, or maybe just the accumulated weight of too many terrible days piling on top of each other.
"You okay?" Taranis's voice was gentle now, all that contained intensity softening into something that made my eyes sting.
"No," I admitted. "But I will be."
He moved closer, slow and careful, like I was something fragile he didn't want to startle. "He shouldn't have come here. The parking lot's restricted."
"He shouldn't have done a lot of things." I laughed, the sound watery, not surprised Gavin got through with whatever BS he spouted. "But Gavin's never been great at understanding boundaries."
Taranis stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the cold radiating off him despite the afternoon sun. His temperature was dropping again. I could see it in the faint fog of his breath, the way his skin had gone pale at the edges.
"You're cold," I said automatically.
"I'm fine."
"That's not—" I stopped myself, remembering Nancy's words. If he's been managing this for years, maybe trust that he knows his own body. "Okay."
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or relief. "Okay?"
"Okay," I repeated. "I'm trying something new. It's called not arguing with people about their own health when they've clearly survived this long without my intervention."
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "That sounds difficult for you."
"It's excruciating." I finally unclenched my hand from around my keys, feeling the indentations they'd left in my palm. "But thank you. For... that. You didn't have to."
"Yes, I did."
The certainty in his voice made something ease open in my chest—something I'd been trying very hard to keep sealed shut.
"Taranis…Taz—"
"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted gently. "I know you said you couldn't get involved with someone from work. I respect that. I'm not asking for anything."
"Then why?" The question came out smaller than I intended. "Why do you keep showing up? Why do you keep—" Protecting me. Seeing me. Making me want things I swore I'd never want again.
He was quiet for a long moment, his breath misting in the air between us despite the warmth of the day. When he spoke, his voice was low. Honest in a way that made my chest ache.
"Because you matter to me," he said simply. "Whether or not you ever let me close enough to matter back."
I stared at him—this impossible man with his impossible temperature and his steady eyes and his quiet, devastating kindness—and felt something shift inside me. Something that had been frozen for five months starting to thaw.
"I'm terrified," I whispered.
"I know." He didn't move closer, didn't push. Just stood there, patient and certain, like he had all the time in the world. "So am I."
The admission startled me. "Of what?"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment I saw something flicker behind his eyes—old pain, old fear, something he kept locked away the same way I kept my own wounds hidden.
"Of hurting you," he said quietly. "Of not being able to control what I am. Of wanting something I'm not sure I deserve."
What I am? Not who? I should have walked away. Should have gotten in my car and driven home and maintained the professional distance I'd promised myself. Should have protected what was left of my shattered heart from another person who could destroy it.
Instead, I stepped closer.
"What if it's okay we're both terrified?" I asked. "What if we figure it out together?"
Taranis's eyes widened slightly, hope and fear warring across his features. "Cinder—"
"I'm not saying I'm ready for anything," I continued quickly. "I'm not saying I trust myself, or you, or anyone. But maybe..." I swallowed hard. "Maybe I could try. If you're willing to be patient."
The smile that spread across his face was slow and wondering, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
"I've been patient all my life," he said softly. "I can be patient a little longer."
The cold radiating off him should have been alarming, but right now, standing in this parking lot with the afternoon sun warm on my back and Gavin's cruelty still echoing in my ears, it felt like something else entirely.
It felt like shelter. It wasn't threatening. It wasn't uncomfortable.
"I have to go home," I said reluctantly. "Get some sleep before the game tonight."
"I know." He didn't move to stop me, didn't try to extend the moment beyond what I was ready for. "I'll see you at the arena?"
"Yeah." I fumbled with my keys, suddenly awkward in a way I hadn't been even when Gavin was threatening me. "Taz?"
"Yes?"
"Your temperature." I hesitated, then pushed forward anyway. "If it drops again during the game—if something feels wrong—will you tell me? If I promise not to escalate it?"
Something softened in his expression. "You want me to trust you with that?"
"I want you to trust someone." I met his eyes, holding his gaze even though it made my chest tight. "And I'd like it to be me."
The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren't saying. Then Taranis nodded slowly, a promise settling into the lines of his face.
"Okay," he said. "I'll tell you."
"Okay." I unlocked my car, sliding into the driver's seat before I could do something stupid like reach for him. "Get some rest. You look tired."
His laugh was soft, surprised. "So do you."
"I'm always tired." I started the engine, the familiar rattle somehow comforting after the chaos of the day. "It's my natural state."
I pulled out of the parking space, and in my rearview mirror, I watched Taranis stand there until I turned the corner and he disappeared from view.
My hands were still shaking on the steering wheel.
But for the first time in five months, it wasn't entirely from fear.