21. Evan
Chapter 21
Evan
" Y ou're doing it again," Julia says over lunch.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you grumpily stab your food like it personally offended you." She steals a fry from my plate. "Very Ice Man of you."
"I don't grumpily stab…" I stop, realizing I'm now aggressively attacking my sandwich. "Shut up."
"Very mature. This is definitely the emotional intelligence I expect from a pro athlete and single father."
"Did you invite me to lunch just to criticize my eating habits?"
"No, I invited you to lunch because you're spiraling and someone needs to call you on it." She leans forward. "What happened with Sophie?"
"Nothing happened."
"Right. That's why she's not answering anyone's calls. That’s why Natalia cried over math homework yesterday. That’s why Ryland says practice feels like a funeral."
"It's complicated."
"It's really not." She steals another fry. "You're pushing her away because you're scared."
"I'm not…"
"Save it for someone who didn't watch you fall apart after Chelsea." Her voice softens. "But Sophie's not Chelsea, E.”
"You think I don't know that?"
"I think you're so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt that you don't see you're hurting everyone else." She pulls out her phone. "Want to see how many times Natalia has asked about her this week? Or should we count the practice sessions Ryland's missed because the tension is too much?"
"Jules…"
"Or maybe we should talk about how Mom keeps making extra portions of everything 'just in case Sophie stops by’."
"That's not fair," I mutter, but the guilt is immediate and crushing.
"No? Then let's talk about last night's practice."
"Rather not."
"Too bad." She scrolls through her phone. "According to Ryland, you missed eight easy shots, snapped at three different players, and made Coach Martinez say, and I quote, 'I haven't seen him this bad since the divorce’."
"Are you done?"
"Not even close. Want to hear what Mom said when Sophie missed Sunday dinner?"
"Julia."
"Or maybe we should discuss why you're really angry. Because Clark's sniffing around Ryland? Or because he's sniffing around Sophie?"
I freeze with my water glass halfway to my mouth. "What?"
"Oh, you didn't know?" Her smile is sharp. "They're having dinner tonight. At Giovanni's."
The glass hits the table hard enough to slosh water. "They're what? I told her to absolutely have nothing to do with that jackass."
"Interesting." She sits back, studying me. "That got a reaction."
"When did you—how did you…"
"Helen from copy editing tells me everything. Occupational hazard of bringing her my famous banana bread every week." She tilts her head. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
I think about this for a moment. What can I do? Apparently, she’s not listening to me anyway. "Nothing. She can have dinner with whomever she wants."
"Even someone who tried to destroy your marriage?"
"She doesn't know about that."
"Because you won't tell her!" Julia throws a fry at me. "God, you're infuriating. This amazing woman walks into your life, looks at you like you hung the moon…"
"She doesn't…"
"…and you push her away because you're afraid she might be like Chelsea? Here's a newsflash, E-boy: she's not."
"You don't know that."
"Actually, I do. Want to know how?" She pulls out another phone. "Because I found this while cleaning out the office. It’s her old work phone from her Blades internship days. Her notes from back then are particularly interesting."
"Jules…"
"Let me read you something." She scrolls through files. "Here we go. Day one of her internship. 'Everyone warns me about the Ice Man, but they don't see how he stays late to help the rookie goalies. How he keeps protein bars in his locker for anyone who needs them. How he lights up when his daughter visits practice...'"
"Stop."
"Day twenty-eight, 'It's fascinating how someone they call cold can contain so much warmth. The way he teaches, the way he leads, the way he loves his family…'"
"Julia, please."
"Day sixty-two, 'Sometimes I think I'm the only one who sees him. Really sees him. Not the Ice Man, or the divorced dad, or the grumpy old dude. Just...him. And maybe that's dangerous because…'" She looks up. "Want to know how that entry ends?"
I stand abruptly. "I have to go."
"Evan."
"Practice."
"It's your day off."
"Then I have...something."
"Right." She gathers her things slowly. "Just remember—Sophie saw you before she had any reason to. Before family dinners and stolen kisses and whatever happened in her office that has Brad from Sports News Now giving you knowing looks."
I try not to redden. "Jules…"
"The point is, she chose us. Chose you. And now she's having dinner with the one person who could actually hurt this family." She heads for the door, then pauses. "But hey, at least you're protecting yourself, right?"
She leaves me there feeling like an idiot.
My phone buzzes.
Natalia: Dad? Can Sophie come to my game Saturday? I really miss her...
Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Ryland: Just saw Clark at the rink. He said something about having dinner with Sophie? Might want to handle that before he handles it for you.
I stare at the messages, remembering Sophie's face when I snapped at her. The hurt in her eyes. The way she backed away like I was someone to fear instead of...
Instead of someone she trusted.
Someone she...
My phone rings—it’s Julia.
"What?"
"Forgot to mention—dinner's at eight. Giovanni's." I can hear her smile. "In case you were wondering."
"I wasn't."
"Sure." She pauses. "You know what the last line of that entry was?"
"Jules…"
"'Maybe that's dangerous because, for the first time, I understand why people risk everything for love.'"
The words slam into me like a check to the boards.
"She wrote that," Julia continues softly, "three months before you kissed her. Six months before you really let her into our lives. A year before you started pushing her away."
"What's your point?"
"My point is, she saw you when no one else did. And now? Now she sees all of us. She's family, Evan. Whether you like it or not."
She hangs up before I can respond, leaving me with too many thoughts and not enough excuses.
Because she's right.
Sophie is family.
My phone buzzes yet again.
An unknown number: Dinner with Ms. Bennett should be interesting. So many stories to share about the Daniels family...
It’s Clark, of course. How does he even have my fucking number?
The rage is immediate and familiar.
But this time, it's not about protecting myself. It's about protecting her.
Even if she doesn't want me to. Even if it means facing things I've buried for years. Even if it means finally telling her the truth.
I pull up Sophie's contact, thumb hovering over the call button. But what would I even say?
Sorry I pushed you away?
Sorry I made you think you weren't trustworthy?
Sorry I'm falling in love with you and it terrifies me?
Instead, I find myself driving to her office, needing to see her. To explain. To fix this before Clark can break it beyond repair.
But when I get there, her cubicle is empty.
"She left early," Brad calls from his desk. "Something about getting ready for dinner?"
Shit. I’m too late.
"When?"
"About an hour ago." He studies me carefully. "You know, there's still time to stop this."
"Stop what?"
"Whatever game Clark Ellis is playing." He starts gathering his things. "Because from where I'm sitting, he's not the one Sophie wants to have dinner with."
I think about all the moments I took for granted until they were gone.
"Thanks," I say, already heading for the elevator.
"Hey, Evan?"
I turn back.
"Don't screw this up again." Brad's voice is serious. "Some stories are worth fighting for."
He's right.
Some stories are worth everything. Even if you have to risk everything to tell them. I pull out my phone one last time, dialing her Cynthia's number.
"Hello?"
“Hey, Cyn. I think I’m only supposed to use this number for emergencies, but…is, um, Sophie there?"
A pause. "Why?"
"Because I need to tell her something. Before dinner. Before Clark…"
"Before Clark tells her what really happened with Chelsea?"
My blood runs cold. "How did you…"
"Because she's my best friend. And because she's been crying over you for days." She sighs. "But you're too late. She already left for the restaurant."
I check my watch. Seven-thirty.
"Thanks," I say, already running for my truck.
Because maybe I am too late. Maybe I've ruined everything. But maybe...
Maybe some stories deserve a better ending. Even if I have to write it myself.