Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Rhodes
I play like a man looking for a fight.
Which, to be fair, I am.
Just not with the other team.
With myself.
With every thought in my head.
With the image of Chloe crying into her pillow.
With the excitement in Finn’s voice fading after I snapped at her.
With the memory of how fucking empty my bed felt sleeping without her just for one night.
With the truth…that I should have already broken things off.
But was too much of a fucking coward to do it.
I wanted a little more time, a few more stolen moments.
I didn’t get those either.
Because I’m a little bitch.
I slam my fist into the asshole’s face, taking my rage out on Lex Ambrose because he clipped Rome with a cheap shot, because he’s a motherfucker through and through, because…
It’s easier to lose myself in my anger instead of my grief.
It’s simpler.
Cleaner than the truth—which is that I’m about to blow up the best thing in my life because…
Fuck, why am I doing it again?
I grunt when Lex lashes out, his fist glancing off my jaw.
Pain sears through my face but it’s negligible to the agony that’s churning through my insides.
I shove him backwards, sending him to the ice, landing one good right hook before the linesmen are pulling me off.
He’s cursing and spitting, his nose dripping blood.
Or maybe that’s mine.
But I can’t find a fuck to give about it. Because—
Finn.
Fuck, I don’t want to do this shit.
But…I know what’s going to happen if I don’t.
So much pain it hurts to breathe.
So much grief the air in the house threatens to suffocate me.
So many regrets I can’t think straight.
So—
“Enough,” I whisper, skating to the bench and heading down the hall to the locker room. There are only a couple of minutes left in the game and my penalty’s longer than that. There’s no point in going to the box.
I’ll get undressed, get a headstart on cooling down so I can get the fuck out of here.
King tosses his glove at me when he comes into the locker room a little while later. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I throw it back at him. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” he mutters.
I ignore him and head for the showers.
Of course, he follows me all of a minute later. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
I soap up my hands, scrub them over my body.
Someone laughs in the other room. But not King.
And sure as fuck not me.
“I’m showering, asshole,” I mutter. “Then I’m getting dressed and going home so I can sleep.”
“No,” he says, filling his palm with shampoo and rubbing it into his hair, the suds bubbling up, skating over his skin. “You’re going to go home and make the biggest mistake of your life.” He shoves his head under the water, scrubs his hands over his hair, rinsing it.
I hurry.
But unfortunately, I’m not done by the time he finishes with his hair.
“Yup, man.” He sighs. “I can see it on your face. You’re about to fuck up. Big time.”
I finish washing my body, crank off the shower, reach for my towel.
He grips my shoulder when I turn to go.
“Don’t—”
His fingers tighten. “You don’t.” He releases me. “Just don’t, man. You’re going to regret it.”
I just shake my head and walk out.
Because the second I stop moving, the reality of what I’m going to do…
No.
But I can’t stop picturing Finn’s face.
The worry in her eyes. The hurt in her voice.
Her soft knock on the door. The empty space next to me in bed.
I drag a hand through my damp hair and stare at my clothes.
I know I can still stop this.
Know if I walk in the door, kiss her, tell her what I’m feeling she’ll forgive me, she’ll find a way to make it better.
But Chloe’s face keeps flashing through my mind too.
That tear sliding down her cheek, the sadness in her voice.
I could stop this, could hold on tighter.
But…it won’t last.
Because eventually, Finn will go.
And I can’t do that to Chloe.
Or, a very quiet voice in my mind whispers, is it that you can’t risk it for yourself?
I shove that away.
Then do the only thing I can: I get dressed, I avoid my teammates’ eyes—King’s in particular—and I get the hell out of the locker room.
I climb into my car, drive home, and spend the entire trip feeling like I’m walking toward my own execution.
And I’m not wrong.
Because when I get inside, Finn is waiting in the hall.
And I know this is going to kill something inside me.
Her eyes go straight to my face. “Are you okay?”
I almost laugh. Because, fuck, I’m so fucking far from okay.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“I have some ice in the kitchen for your nose—”
For a second, that throws me. Then I remember the fight. “No, Finn. I don’t need ice.”
I drop my bag to the floor, nudge it with my foot into the laundry room. Then move by her, heading for my office.
And the papers there.
“What’s going on?” she whispers.
I can’t answer that here in the hall.
Or maybe I just can’t answer it at all.
So, I keep walking.
And she follows me. Of course she does.
Gut twisting, I open the desk drawer, take out the stack of papers I shoved there last night, and hand it to her.
She frowns down at the pages. “What are these?”
“Your replacement.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
Then she looks up slowly. “What do you mean?”
Yup. There’s the hurt.
Fuck. I hate myself for what I’m about to do.
But I force the words out anyway. “I need you to be here for Chloe.”
Confusion flickers over her face. “I am here for Chloe.”
“Except that you’re planning to flit off on a vacation in a couple of months.”
She flinches like I’ve slapped her.
And I nearly stop right there.
Nearly apologize.
Nearly tell the truth instead.
But then I think of my daughter.
Of the pictures in her memory box.
Of what happens when Finn leaves and Chloe has to lose another woman she loves.
When I have to.
So I steel myself.
And I press on.
“I need someone reliable,” I say, each word more bitter than the last. “Someone who’s going to follow through. Not some irresponsible little girl who—”
I don’t finish.
Because I don’t have to.
The damage is already done.
I can see it in her face.
In the way she goes so very still.
Like she’s heard these words before.
Like she knows exactly how to survive them.
That realization should stop me, should drop me to my knees, should have me groveling.
Because I know she has heard them before, know she’s been wounded deeply by them.
Instead…
I stand there as the silence grows between us, heavy and dark and rotted through.
Because I can’t fix what I’ve just broken.
She turns to leave.
And I know, with sickening certainty, that she’s taking a piece of me with her.
A piece I will never get back.