23. Evan
Chapter 23
Evan
T he parking lot of Giovanni's is eerily quiet after the chaos inside. Like the calm after a particularly brutal storm.
Fitting, since I feel like I just weathered one.
My hand throbs where it connected with Clark's jaw. Good. The pain gives me something to focus on besides the look on Sophie's face when I walked in. I’m trying to forget the way she was sitting there, listening to him, like everyone else who…
"Evan!" Sophie's voice carries across the lot. "Wait!"
I keep walking. Because if I stop, if I look at her...
"Please," she calls out. "Let me explain!"
"Explain what?" I turn so fast she nearly runs into me. "How you went behind my back to meet with him? How you let him manipulate you just like…"
I cut myself off, but it's too late.
"Just like Chelsea?" Her voice is soft. Too soft. "That's what this is really about, isn't it?"
"You'll love Clark," Chelsea had said three years ago. "He really gets it. Gets us. The whole hockey family brand we could build..."
I should have seen it then. The gleam in her eyes. The way she was already planning her exit strategy.
The way she was using us all for content.
"This is about trust," I say roughly.
"No, this is about fear." She steps closer, and I hate how well she reads me. "Fear that I might be like her. That I might choose my career over…"
"Over what, Sophie?" The words come out harsh. "Over me? Over my family? Because from where I'm standing, you already did."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it? Then why were you having dinner with him?"
"Because I wanted to understand!" Her voice cracks. "Because you keep pushing me away and I thought if I knew why—if I understood what happened before..."
"So you went to him? The one person who…" I run a hand through my hair, trying to stay calm. "Do you have any idea what he did?"
"I do now." She wraps her arms around herself, and something in my chest aches at the gesture. "He told me. About him and Chelsea."
The words hit like a body check to the boards.
"Great." I laugh harshly. "Perfect. Did he tell you everything? About how they worked together to destroy my career? About how they used my family for content? About…"
"Stop." She steps closer, and I hate how much I want to pull her into my arms. "Whatever you're thinking right now, whatever you're afraid I'll do with this information…"
"I'm not afraid."
"Liar." She reaches for me, but I step back. "You're terrified. Of letting anyone in. Of trusting anyone. Of believing that maybe, just maybe, someone might choose you."
"Choose you?" Sophie had asked that first night in my kitchen, chocolate sauce on her shirt and love in her eyes. "I already did. Every day since I first saw you staying late to help rookie goalies. Every moment you let me see the real you."
I should have believed her then.
Should have trusted that she was different.
Should have...
"The way you chose to meet with Clark?" The words taste bitter.
"I chose wrong!" Her voice echoes through the parking lot. "I know that now. I knew it the moment he started talking about using this—using us—for a story."
"Us?" I gesture between us. "There is no us, Sophie. There's just a reporter who got too close and a story that got too personal."
"Is that really what you think? That everything between us was just...research?"
"Wasn't it?"
"No!" She swipes angrily at her eyes, and I hate that I put tears in them. "God, for someone so smart, you can be really stupid sometimes."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You're so convinced everyone's going to hurt you that you don't see when someone's trying to love you!"
The word hangs between us like a shot neither of us saw coming.
"She loves all of us, Dad. Even when you're being grumpy," Natalia had said.
"It's not that simple," I'd told her.
"Yes, it is," my too-wise daughter had replied. "You're just making it complicated."
"Sophie…"
"I didn't go to Clark for a story," she says quickly, like she needs to get the words out before I can stop her. "I went because I thought if I understood what happened with Chelsea, I could understand why you keep pushing me away. Why you won't let yourself believe that someone might actually want you. Just you. Not the Ice Man or the star goalie or any of it. Just...you."
"That's not…"
"But you know what? I already knew why. Since the moment you looked at me like maybe, just maybe, I could be someone worth trusting."
"Stop."
"No." She steps closer again. "Because you need to hear this. Need to understand that what happened with Chelsea…with Clark? That's not us. I'm not her, Evan."
"She's not Chelsea," Julia had said just yesterday. "She doesn't want your fame or your story or anything except you. How can you not see that?"
"Because seeing it means risking everything," I'd replied.
"No, little brother. Not seeing it means losing everything."
"I know that," I say finally.
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt that you can't see you're the one doing the hurting."
The words hit too close to what everyone's been telling me.
"You went to him," I say again, but the anger is fading, leaving something worse in its place. Something that feels like truth. "After everything, you still…"
"I made a mistake." Her voice breaks. "A huge, stupid mistake because I was hurt and confused and wanted answers. But that's not..." She takes a shaky breath. "That's not why I'm here now."
"Then why are you?"
"Because I think I'm falling in love with you, you idiot! And not because of some story or some career opportunity or anything else. Just because you're you."
The words hang between us, heavy with everything we've been afraid to say.
My phone buzzes.
Julia: Whatever you're about to do, whatever walls you're about to put up... don't.
"Sophie…"
"And I know that scares you. It scares me too! But maybe..." She steps closer one last time. "Maybe some things are worth being scared for."
"Some things are worth the risk," Sophie had said during that first golf lesson, eyes bright with challenge. "Even if you're terrible at them."
"I'm not terrible at golf."
"No, but you're terrible at letting people in." She'd smiled then, soft and knowing. "Good thing I'm patient."
I look at her—really look at her—standing there in the dim parking lot light. She has that determined set to her jaw that means she’s not giving up.
She still looks at me like I'm worth knowing. Worth trusting. Worth...
"I can't," I hear myself say, even as everything in me screams to take it back.
"Can't what?"
"Can't do this. Can't be what you want. Can't..." I step back. "Can't trust that this won't end the same way."
"Evan…"
"You should finish the feature," I say, already turning away. "Keep it professional. That's... that's what's best."
"Best for who?"
"For everyone."
"Liar." But her voice is resigned now. "You know what the worst part is? I actually thought... for a minute there, I really thought..."
"Sophie."
"No, it's fine. You're right." She straightens her shoulders. "Professional is better. Safer."
The word hits like another punch.
"I…"
"I'll have the new draft on your desk tomorrow. Very objective. Very...distant."
The way she says it makes my chest hurt.
"And after that?" I find myself asking.
"After that?" She laughs, but it sounds wrong. Wrong in a way that makes me want to take everything back. "After that, I'll do what I should have done from the start. Stay away from your family. From you."
"It's better this way," I say, but the words catch in my throat.
"Is it?" She starts backing toward her car. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like we're both losing something that could have been...everything."
She drives away before I can respond, leaving me standing alone in a parking lot that suddenly feels too empty.
My phone buzzes.
Sophie: For what it's worth? I meant what it said. All of it. Especially the part about falling in love with you.
I start typing, delete it, start again.
Finally: I know. That's what scares me.
But I don't send it. Because some fears are safer than the alternative. Even if the alternative might have been everything. Even if...even if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.
I know I'm letting fear win. Letting Clark win. Letting the past destroy my future.
But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to be brave. To trust. To love.
Even if that's exactly what I want to do.