Chapter 3
three
Minns
The moonlight reflected off the calm waters lapping on the private beach outside our bure.
The luxury hut was set back a little way from the water, a narrow strip of grass the only thing between us and the wide sandy beach.
We were surrounded on three sides by lush tropical gardens filled with flowers.
Jasmine and hibiscus scented the air, and the leaves on the palm trees rustled quietly in the gentle breeze coming off the Pacific.
This place was paradise. It was a private oasis that truly was exactly what Kam and I needed.
The bures were traditional log huts on the outside, but there was nothing plain inside them.
The simple but luxurious interiors had towering ceilings, hardwood floors polished to a rich honey sheen, pristine white linen on the oversized four-poster king bed, a bathroom with uninterrupted views of the ocean, and a tub that could comfortably fit three adults in it.
There was only a small kitchenette, but we didn’t need anything more—room service was available, or we could walk or take the golf cart along the sandy track to the small restaurant and bar in the central section of the resort.
We could be as social as we wanted, swimming in the larger pool instead of our own private plunge pool, use any of the facilities in the resort, and do whatever water sports we wanted—jet skiing, snorkeling, or windsurfing.
Or we could keep it private, our bure one of only a handful on this side of the island, totally detached from one another.
We’d done a bit of both so far. It was only our third night on the island, but Fiji had already delivered on its promise of spectacular.
We’d started opening up to each other again.
We’d spent our days together, walking and talking, swimming and snorkeling among the shallow reefs, laughing, and just rediscovering why we fell in love all those years ago.
But now we were having the conversation—the one that we should’ve had months ago.
I needed liquid courage for it, and the whiskey was going down far too easily.
I set my glass down, already feeling the buzz of the liquor.
Kam deserved for me to be present rather than half drunk, and the drinks weren’t relieving the pressure on my chest anyway.
It was tight, and I was finding it hard to breathe under the weight of my failure.
I was an awful, selfish, self-centered human being.
I’d been so blinded by my fear of being outed that I’d dismissed what I’d done to Kamirah—or maybe I’d subconsciously buried my head in the sand—until it was too late.
The moment she’d seen the TMZ scoop, she warned me that I was throwing her under the bus.
I hadn’t believed her prediction of how bad it would be.
I’d told her to ignore it, to forget about what other people thought because they weren’t important.
What a joke. It was such an incredibly cruel and inconsiderate thing to say.
I’d fed her to the wolves.
Every day since I’d been drafted to the NHL, Kamirah had worked with charities.
She volunteered her time every day. She often told me that we were white, educated, and rich enough that she didn’t need to work, so she had a responsibility to use her privilege to better the lives of others.
She wanted to give back to the communities that so generously opened their hearts to the hockey teams I played for so I could make the big dollars.
She had single-handedly raised millions of dollars for survivors of domestic violence, youth mental health and drug services, and training programs for rescue dogs to become therapy dogs for veterans.
But with the release of one brief segment on TMZ, it all came crashing down.
All her credibility and the recognition for her work disappeared in a puff of smoke.
She’d spent years building her social media profile to amplify the good that her chosen charities did, and now it was overwhelmed with trolls.
Our families were angry. They were as hurt as I was, but I was hurting for an entirely different reason—my own stupidity.
Kamirah’s sister has taken it the hardest. The person Kam was closest to now refused to have anything to do with her.
I would never forgive myself for singlehandedly destroying their relationship. I didn’t know how to fix it either.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. I’d done something even more unforgivable.
I pulled away from her. I was frustrated and angry about everything that had gone down.
I felt so alone. But instead of turning to Kam and actually being the united front that we were pretending to be, I pushed her away.
I broke my vow to her, and not because we were sleeping with Hux.
I promised to love her in good times and bad, yet I didn’t hold her close.
I vowed to be there to support her when life got hard, but I closed the door on her.
I promised to hold her in the highest regard, but I trashed her reputation without a second thought.
She was the love of my life, and though I once believed would give anything and everything to make her happy, I failed.
Spectacularly.
My penance was to bear the weight of guilt for not stepping forward and acting to protect both Kamirah and Hux when I should have.
I had control of the puck, but I fucked up the shot.
I hesitated when I should have slapped it straight into the net.
If I’d spoken up, even if I’d fabricated a story like Kam suggested, this would have all died down by now.
Instead, we were both drowning under the weight of my failure.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said quietly, the night swallowing my whispered apology. “I hate myself.”
Kam reached for my hand, interlacing our fingers across the daybed. It was warmth and love, still giving me comfort even when I’d fucked up so badly. “It’s been a hard few months,” she acknowledged.
The weight constricting my chest tightened, and my heart broke for her all over again.
“I felt cornered, like if I said anything at all, everyone would know. I know now that I should have released a statement. Nothing will excuse what I let happen by staying quiet. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. ”
She sighed. “You did hurt me. A lot. You hurt Hux too. He didn’t deserve the way we both treated him.
At the very least we should have explained it to him.
I know you had a good reason. I understood then, and I understand now.
The thing is, I got the choice—you told me your reasons.
We never gave him the same courtesy, and I haven’t forgiven you for that. ”
Her words weren’t unexpected, but they still hit me like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind out of me. I knew she had more to say too. She was gathering her thoughts. Kam pulled her hand away from mine, paused and sat up, then rested her elbows on her crossed legs.
I waited.
“I understood your reasons, but we should have handled things differently,” she continued after a time. “We’ve always been a team. We’re equals in this relationship. But you gave me no say. You took away my voice and made me choose between our marriage and my identity.”
“And you chose me.” Shame and love warred inside me.
This woman, this beautiful goddess who had captivated me the moment we’d laid eyes on each other in our high school homeroom, had chosen me.
She loved me—of that I had no doubt. I just wished that I could undo the damage I’d done. But it was impossible.
The band around my chest snapped tighter, and my head went under the surface. I was drowning, and I didn’t know whether I’d ever be able to take a full breath again.
“I don’t ever expect you to forgive me for what I did.
” I looked down, too ashamed of myself to look out over the picturesque nighttime vista.
The moon reflected off the ocean, casting a wide arc of silvery light.
But I didn’t deserve to see it. “Not speaking was… wrong. I wish I could turn back time. I would have handled things so differently.”
“Would you? What would you have done?” Kam shifted to face me, giving me her full attention.
With her gaze locked on mine, my words fled.
The truth was, I had no idea what I would have done differently. I was still trapped between impossible choices. Hux was happy now. Maybe if I’d spoken up, he wouldn’t have that. But would I trade his happiness for my wife’s? Never.
“I… don't know,” I admitted.
Kam sighed and lay back down on the daybed, crossing her arms over her waist.
“I wish we could stay here,” I murmured and reached for her hand again.
I needed to touch her. The contact was the only thing tethering me.
If I ever broke the surface of the ocean of guilt I was drowning in, being connected to her would give me the chance to gasp for air.
I interlaced our fingers, holding tight.
“The outside world feels far away from here.”
“It does,” she answered simply, longing in her voice. “If only we could magically figure us out before we have to go back.”
My heart beat hard. My belly dropped through the floor, a sick lurching sloshing my insides around. I’d ruined everything.
“I don't want to lose you, baby. I can't lose you.” I could hear the panic in my voice. I didn’t care that I sounded pathetic. She was the other half of my heart and soul. Without Kamirah, I was nothing.
“I don't want to lose you either,” she responded, but her quick reply didn’t unknot the lump in my throat. “But we can't keep going like this. We’re becoming strangers. I don't want that.”
“As long as I have you, I have everything,” I choked out.
“You’re all I need.” I just hoped she felt the same.
Six months ago, I know she wouldn’t have hesitated in answering positively.
After all, she’d chosen me over her own professional reputation.
But now I wasn’t as sure. The uncertainty terrified me, and the sick sense of dread that washed over me at her lack of an answer only intensified that precariousness.