Chapter 28
Denton
My gaze sweeps the bakery, instantly finding her. She looks… shattered. Like a dropped fragile ornament. Her shoulders are curled inwards, arms wrapped tight around herself like she’s barely holding the pieces together.
“Holly.” My voice comes out weird, tight with the adrenaline still pumping from her call, from the drive through the snow, from seeing her like this.
Her head snaps up. Her eyes, wide and red-rimmed, meet mine. For a second, desperate relief floods her face.
“Denton.” Her voice is raw. She points a trembling finger towards the document next to her.
My gaze follows. Official-looking papers. The top sheet screams at me in bold, black type: FINAL NOTICE: EVICTION.
Taviani’s slick, predatory face flashes in my mind. He wasn’t bluffing.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. The familiar, icy surge of protective fury rises, hot and immediate. I’ll destroy him.
I take a step towards her, my hand reaching out instinctively. “Holly, look at me.”
She flinches. Like my touch might burn. The raw hope in her eyes flickers, dimmed by a fresh wave of tears.
“He… he did it,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “He… evicted me. December 26th.”
She swallows hard, staring down at the papers as if they’re venomous snakes. “You said… you said you’d handle it.” The words aren’t an accusation – they’re a broken plea.
The icy fury inside me splinters. Because beneath the rage at Taviani, beneath the desperate need to fix this for her, another current surges. The voice that’s been whispering in my ear since Paul’s call last night. Security. Stability. Tabby.
The image Paul painted – Tabby in a sunny park, safe schools, a house we own, no more contract-year stress, security – shimmers like a mirage. Tangible. Achievable. A clean break. A power play that guarantees a win. For Tabby.
Then I look at Holly. At the devastation etched on her face. She’s clinging to me as her lifeline. And what am I? A defenseman facing a five-on-three penalty kill with no goalie. Outmatched. Outmaneuvered. Taviani holds all the cards.
“I had a meeting with Taviani yesterday,” I say, my voice flat, detached.
Holly stares at me, her tears momentarily stalled. “What did he say?”
“He made it clear.” I keep my gaze fixed on hers, forcing myself to hold it.
“He sees us as leverage. He threatened to make you look like you’re using me for the publicity.
To make me look like I’m using my status to threaten a legitimate business.
It’s a PR nightmare waiting to happen. For the league. For both of us.”
I see the moment the implication sinks in. The fragile hope in her eyes flickers and dies. Replaced by a dawning horror. “So… so he wins?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Just like that? Because he threatened bad press?”
“It’s not just the press, Holly.” The words feel like shards of glass in my throat. I force them out anyway. “It’s the fight. The legal battle to stop this eviction… it’ll be brutal.”
I shake my head, the movement stiff. “Taviani has the resources and the city’s approval for his project. The law, twisted as it is, is on his side. Fighting him… it’s a huge gamble. And a long shot.”
I pause, the next words forming like ice on my tongue. “I can’t do that to Tabby. She’s been through too much.”
She straightens slightly on the stool, her arms tightening around herself again. “Tabby? What does that… Denton, what are you saying?”
“My agent called,” I say, the words clipped, like I’m reading a stat sheet. “The San Francisco Gold has made me an offer.” I meet her bewildered gaze. “Four years. Top-tier salary. Massive signing bonus. A leadership role.”
“It’s a fresh start. Sunshine. Great schools. No more Chicago winters.”
Her face goes completely pale. She stares at me, her brown eyes wide, searching mine. Like she’s looking for the man who kissed her under the mistletoe, who held her tight in bed, who vowed to protect what’s his. She doesn’t find him. The man standing here is a wall –impenetrable and cold.
“You’re… leaving?” The words are barely audible. A broken thread of sound.
“I’m taking the trade,” I confirm – trying desperately to keep my voice steady. The voice of a responsible father making a tough call.
“It’s the best thing. For Tabby. It gives her a stable environment to grow up in. No more uncertainty.” I’m repeating Paul’s points, hammering them home.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. She just looks at me. The disbelief in her eyes is slowly hardening. The warmth that usually radiates from her is gone, replaced by a glacial stillness. When she finally speaks, her voice is low. Like the quiet before a storm surge.
“For Tabby.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
“Yes.” The word feels like a stone dropped into a deep well. “It’s the only responsible choice. For her future.”
A harsh, humorless sound escapes her. She pushes herself off the stool. She’s unsteady for a second, gripping the counter’s edge. Then she straightens, facing me. Her eyes, red-rimmed but dry now, burn into mine.
“Don’t you dare hide behind your daughter, Denton Blake.”
The words land like a slap. I actually take a half-step back.
“This isn’t about Tabby,” she continues, her voice gaining strength, cutting through the thick air. “This is about you. Your fear. Your need to run away from anything that feels complicated. And instead of fighting, instead of trusting us… you’re running.”
Each word is a precise, devastating shot. Finding the chinks in my armor. Exposing the raw, terrified thing beneath.
“It’s not running,” I manage, but the protest sounds weak. “It’s choosing security. Stability. For Tabby—”
“You’re terrified of getting hurt. Terrified of loving someone and maybe… maybe losing them. Like you lost Sarah.” Her voice softens on Sarah’s name, but the accusation doesn’t waver.
“So you’re sabotaging it. You’re choosing the safe path because it’s easier than being brave. Easier than believing in something true and real and good.” She takes a step towards me, her eyes blazing.
I stare at her, at the furious, heartbroken conviction in her eyes, and I know she’s right.
Every word. The trade offer… it’s just an excuse.
The real reason is the icy knot of fear in my gut.
The fear of loving her, of needing her, of building something beautiful and fragile only to have it ripped away.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. I have no words left. My throat is locked tight. All I can do is hold her gaze for one more terrible, endless second.
So I do what cowards do.
I turn.
My feet carry me towards the door. Away from the wreckage. Away from her.
I step out into the swirling snow and the cold wind hits my face, a welcome numbness after the suffocating warmth of the bakery. The city lights blur. The instability, the risk, the terrifying vulnerability… it’s behind me.
I walk towards my car, the snow crunching under my boots and the silence inside my head is deafening.