Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
You’re such a bad fucking liar, Havoc
Carina
The next few days blur.
I keep to myself mostly, staying late at the hospital and taking on extra cases when I can. Anything to fill the void of one hundred internalized questions a minute. I stop answering Heidi’s texts unless they’re about the clinic roster. Skip yoga. Decline invites.
I sleep, but it’s not restful. My body goes under like a switch has been flipped, and when I surface again, it’s with a dry mouth and a throb in my temples.
The sun’s already up this morning when I wake. Light seeps through the edges of the curtain, casting long shadows across the floor. My phone is on the nightstand, face down. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, then reach for it.
Three unread messages, two from last night, one from this morning.
REID HUTCHISON: Back in town.
REID HUTCHISON: Can I see you?
REID HUTCHISON: Hope everything’s okay.
The last message is a voice memo, but I stare at the waveform for a beat too long, and don’t press play. I open the reply box and type out half a dozen things, trying to figure out the best way to brush him off.
Me: Long days right now.
Me: I’m fine, just tired.
Me: I can’t do this right now.
Me: I’m sorry.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
I lock the screen and tuck the phone against my chest as though that’ll keep the ache at bay. My hand stays pressed to it for a second, as though I can hold the weight of him through glass.
As though maybe if I hold it close enough, I won’t want to answer.
But I do.
God, I do.
And I can’t answer, because if I do, I know what will happen. I’ll let him in, just a little. He’ll say something soft, or stupid, or steady, and I’ll fall into it like it’s safe. As though it doesn’t change anything.
Because I’ve already changed everything.
Instead, I take a scalding hot shower and brush my teeth, hoping it’ll fix the sour taste of fear at the back of my throat, then head to the hospital before I can think too hard about anything.
It’s not just fatigue anymore; it’s nausea blooming behind my ribs. A wariness in my limbs. A shift in my body that no longer feels like stress alone. I sip water. Eat half a banana. Pretend it helps.
I make it through two surgeries and a consult before I feel that familiar drag in my hips again. A pulse low in my belly that has nothing to do with my cycle and everything to do with the blood vessels starting to shift.
I feel it all, the constant reminders of the subtle changes no one else can see.
By the time I get to the clinic later in the afternoon, I’m operating on adrenaline and sheer willpower. Heidi eyes me as I slide behind the counter to grab a file, but says nothing. I think she knows if she asks, I’ll either lie or break.
Both feel dangerous.
I move through the motions like I always do. Efficient and professional. The same words patients use to describe me, but I’ve never felt less like them in my life. I’m pretending, down to my bones, and no one can tell.
Not even Heidi.
Until she corners me in the supply room two days later, catching me in a rare moment of stillness.
I’m leaning against the cool wall with my eyes closed, trying to breathe through the wave of nausea that’s overtaken me without warning.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me for a beat before stepping closer.
“You’re pale,” she says softly. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, not meeting her eyes. “Long few days.”
“Okay…” She watches me with narrowed eyes. “You’re avoiding me, though.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I tug at my lab coat and try not to sway. The low-grade nausea has been my shadow for days now, quiet but persistent. “Just tired.”
“You always say that.”
“That’s because I’m always tired.”
She gives me a long look, then leans forward to rest her elbows on a shelf. “Reid popped in yesterday.”
That gets my attention, and my head lifts. “What?”
“Asking for his discharge notes.”
I keep my expression neutral, focused on the sleeve of my coat. “Maybe he needed them for the team?”
“He’s already cleared, Carina. I signed off weeks ago, and he has the Storm’s athletic trainer handling his rehab. He doesn’t need my notes.” She tilts her head, studying me. “He asked if you were around, but you were still at the hospital. He looked… worried. And disappointed.”
My mouth is dry.
“I didn’t say anything,” she adds quietly. “Didn’t ask, either. But something’s wrong… and I’m not sure it’s just him.”
I swallow. “I—I’ll check in. It’s just I’ve been—busy.”
Heidi tilts her head. “Right. And that’s why you looked like you were going to throw up in the stairwell an hour ago?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I grip the folder in my hand a little tighter and stare at the floor. The silence stretches, and my lower lip wobbles.
“Hey,” Heidi’s hand darts out, anchoring onto my arm. “Babe. What’s—”
“I made a mistake.”
The words feel too big and too small all at once, but I whisper them out into the supply room, filling the air between us.
“Okay,” Heidi says gently, frowning at the glassiness in my eyes. “What do you need?”
I blink. It’s such a simple question, with no judgment or assumptions. And still, I don’t know how to answer it.
Time, maybe? Distance. A second chance to go back and remember the pill I fucking missed. To rewrite the moment I forgot to count, or rewrite the moment I climbed into bed with Reid Hutchison, over and over again.
But none of that matters now, because I know exactly what I need.
Him.
And I’ve been turning him away.
Not because he’s unreliable. If anything, Reid strikes me as the type who never makes promises he won’t keep. But that’s what makes it harder, and that’s what makes this worse.
Because if he stays, it’ll be because he thinks he’s supposed to, not because he wants to. And I can’t live with that. I won’t make him choose.
So I keep my head down, move through the rest of my week, and pretend I’m fine while every unread message from him knots something deeper in my gut.
He doesn’t flood my phone with words or repetitive missed calls, but the ones he does send linger.
REID HUTCHISON: You don’t have to say anything, just let me know you’re okay.
REID HUTCHISON: I meant what I said. I want to see you.
REID HUTCHISON: Carina.
I type and delete at least four different replies, and at one point, I almost hit send. Sometimes, I close the app before I can even read them properly. Another time, I nearly call him, but I don’t.
Because if I hear his voice, I’ll break.
And if I break, I might not be able to put myself back together again.
***
The apartment is dark when I get home, and I don’t turn on the lights.
There’s something about the dimness that feels helpful, as though keeping the shadows close will mean I won’t have to see the consequences of everything I’ve done.
My coat slips off my shoulders and lands somewhere near the table, and I don’t bother to pick it up. I kick off my shoes then press a hand to my sternum, trying to will my pulse to slow.
Every part of me aches, and I tell myself I’ll fix this. I’ll make a list. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
The knock at the door makes me jump, then freeze. It’s not even a loud knock, just two quiet taps.
My stomach drops, because I already know who it’ll be. I cross the living room, my heart hammering in my throat as I move down the hallway.
I look through my peephole as I twist the lock and open the door a few inches, and there he is.
Standing in the foyer with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, broad shoulders braced as if he’s expecting a fight.
“Reid.”
My voice scrapes out quieter than I intend, and my fingers tighten on the door handle.
His eyes drag over me slowly, scanning for something. Damage, maybe. Or guilt. “You okay?”
“…Yeah.”
“You haven’t replied.”
“I know.”
“And you weren’t at the clinic the other day.”
I nod, feeling hollow. “I was at the hospital.”
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I’ve been busy.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. “You read my messages.”
It’s not a question, and I don’t try to deny it. I wrap my arms around myself instead, bones aching from more than just fatigue. “Thought you might want space for playoffs. Figured I’d make it easy for you.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
He takes a step forward, close enough to fill the space between us with heat and tension and the smell of his cologne. His voice stays low, but there’s a sharpness beneath it now. It’s not cruel, more concerned. And pissed.
“What the hell happened, Carina?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and refuse to make eye contact.
“You disappear, you don’t text, don’t return calls.
You don’t even let me know you’re alive.
” His tone tightens. “And I let it go the first few days. I figured you were tired or swamped. So I waited another day, then another. But I’m not a fucking idiot, and I’m not a stranger… So tell me the truth.”
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly. “I just—things got busy.”
His laugh is short and humorless. “Busy?”
“I don’t have time for this conversation.”
“Too bad. We’re having it.”
“Fine.” I push the door wider and turn my back on him, walking back down into the living room, arms crossed like it’ll hold me together. He follows, the door shutting gently behind him.
“I don’t know what you think this is,” I say, not looking back, “but we were clear. We said—”
“No strings or expectations,” he snaps. “But not radio silence. You don’t get to act like I imagined the last few months.”
“I didn’t ask you to imagine anything.”
He swears sharply under his breath, clearly frustrated. “Carina, come on. I’m not fucking stupid. I know what this was, and it was never just that.”
I spin around. “It had to be that.”
“Bullshit.”
“That doesn’t mean it was ever more than what we agreed,” I say, too quickly. “It was physical, and—and stress relief. That’s all.”
He steps up closer to me. “You’re such a bad fucking liar, Havoc.”
“Reid—”
“No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to ghost me and act like I imagined that you didn’t care.”
My voice rises before I can stop it. “Because I did care, Reid. I do. That’s the goddamn problem!”
The words hang in the air like smoke, thick and consuming as he blinks, thrown by the heat in my voice. His arm twitches like he wants to reach for me, but doesn’t. Instead, he studies me, voice soft.
“Talk to me.”
“I can’t—”
“Try me.”
My laugh is bitter and too bright. “You don’t understand what this would cost me.”
“Then fucking explain it to me!”
His voice echoes louder than it should in the stillness of my apartment, and something cracks.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words tear out of me so fast, I don’t even realize I’ve said them until they’re already out of my mouth.
Reid is silent, and it’s the only sound louder than the ringing in my ears. He fully stops and freezes in time. His arms fall slack at his sides, and his lips part like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out.
I fold in on myself without meaning to, backing a step down the hallway, suddenly desperate to get away from the depth of his blue eyes. From the stillness. From what might come next.
He doesn’t chase me, but he doesn’t leave either. He just stands there, breathing and watching as I move backward until I grip the doorknob to my bedroom.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” I whisper. “I’m not trying t-to trap you, or… or fuck up your life.”
His voice is quiet when it comes. “You’re…?”
I shakily nod. “I haven’t been with anyone else, so…”
The echo of my announcement lingers between us, and I stare at him.
“I didn’t—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t plan for this.”
His brows pull together, like maybe he’s thinking through a thousand things at once and trying not to let any of them show.
I don’t know what I expected. Anger? Disbelief? Cold detachment? But not this. Not the quiet weight of his eyes on me like he’s seeing the whole shape of me for the first time. I need him to say something, anything, to let me know what he’s thinking.
“Carina.”
My name, soft and slow and so fucking gentle.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” I admit. “I didn’t even want to acknowledge it. I told myself it was just stress and I was exhausted, and emotional, and off-balance because I’ve been pushing too hard—because that’s easier than saying I missed a pill and changed everything without meaning to.”
He takes a single step toward me, and I step back.
“Don’t,” I say, voice catching. “Please, don’t—”
He stops, but his voice softens even further.
“Carina…”
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I can’t drag you into a decision I haven’t even made yet. And I won’t let you feel obligated. You’ve worked your whole life for this season. This is your career. I won’t be the reason any of that changes, Reid.”
The words come fast, crumbling around the edges as he tries to take another step toward me, and I keep babbling.
“Carina. Baby…”
“I’m not… I—I don’t know what I’m doing. And if you try to say something kind right now, I’m going to fall apart, and I can’t—” My voice cracks, and I pause. “I can’t fall apart, Reid. I have to stay focused, or I’ll lose the whole thread.”
His eyes are too gentle, studying my face and patiently waiting for me to finish. I shake my head and disappear into my bedroom, clicking the door shut before I say something I can’t take back, willing the burn in my eyes to stop.
I sit on the edge of the bed with shaking hands and try to breathe through the storm inside my chest. And even though I wanted him to stay where he was and not come closer, part of me aches with the fact that he listened.
He doesn’t follow, doesn’t barge in.
But he hasn’t left, either.