Chapter 21 Sloane
SLOANE
"Josh called me," I say finally, looking around this apartment that will become an important part of my life, no matter what I think of its occupant.
Tucker's swollen eyes drift closed. "What did he have to say?"
"A lot of things. Most of them angry." I move closer, sinking into the chair across from him. "He said you have the same decorator and that you were crying in the shower."
Tucker's face flushes. "I didn’t think to tell her it was a secret. I bet that fucker didn’t tell you he attacked Alder."
“He did what?”
Tucker's hands clench into fists. "Thought he was me. Punched him. Knocked out his tooth."
"Jesus." I lean back, processing. "How is Alder?"
"Okay. Pissed. Lena's taking care of him—the team dentist. Wasn’t sure who all you know.” He looks at me, and I see fear in his eyes.
Raw, genuine fear. "Sloane, I'm so sorry. I never wanted it to come out like this. I was trying to respect your timeline, to wait until you were ready. Think of the right way to tell the team…”
"I know."
"And now Coach has me on probation. I have to do anger management therapy with Grentley. Team building exercises. The whole thing." He laughs bitterly. "My agent just told me the condom company dropped me. Apparently, getting your hookup pregnant is bad for the 'Thin Ice' brand."
Despite everything, I feel a small laugh bubble up. "I guess that makes sense."
"It's a disaster." Tucker drops his head into his hands. "Everything I touch turns into a disaster."
I watch him for a moment, this man who's usually so confident, so sure of himself. Seeing him like this—vulnerable, scared, beating himself up—does something to my heart.
Josh never looked like this. Never showed this kind of raw emotion, this kind of self-awareness about his mistakes. When things went wrong in our marriage, he'd retreat into cold silence or redirect blame. He'd act first and tell me later, presenting his decisions as the right and only way forward.
Tucker acts impulsively, too. But he tells everyone. Announces his intentions, asks for help, doesn't hide when things fall apart.
It's a subtle difference. But maybe it's an important one.
I stand and move to the couch, sitting beside him. Close enough that our shoulders touch.
"It's not all a disaster," I say quietly.
He looks at me, hope and disbelief warring in his expression. "How is any of this not a disaster?"
"You have a job. You have a family who supports you. You have—" I gesture around the apartment. "All of this. And you have two babies on the way who are healthy and growing."
"I have the twins because you let me." His voice cracks. "And I'm terrified you're going to take them away."
"I'm not taking anything away."
"Then why are you here?" The question is desperate. “Grentley called you. I'm sure he said terrible things. I'm sure he told you to stay away from me. So why are you here?"
I think about Dr. Khan's words, and I think about Josh's accusation.
And here on this couch sits Tucker, destroyed but owning it.
"I'm here because I'm drowning," I admit. "And I need help."
Tucker's eyes widen. "What do you need?”
"I'm failing statistics. My professor basically told me I need to either drop the class or take an incomplete. Mel's moving out in two weeks, and the lease is ending, and I can’t have babies in that building.” I take a shaky breath.
"And I'm pregnant with twins and I'm terrified and I can't do this alone. "
"You're not alone." Tucker's hand finds mine. "Sloane, you're not alone."
"I know. Theoretically, I know that. But—" My voice breaks. "I'm so scared of losing myself again. Of disappearing into someone else's life. Of staying cut off from community. I did that with Josh for five years, and I can't—"
"You won't." Tucker shifts to face me fully, both hands holding mine now.
"I promise you won't. Whatever you need, whatever boundaries you want—I'll respect them.
You want your own space? Done. You want to keep working on your degree?
We'll figure it out. You want to make your own decisions about the babies? They're your decisions."
"But you'll have opinions."
"Of course I'll have opinions. But I'll tell you my opinions and then we'll decide together." His shoulders tense, like he’s anticipating a blow.
I close my eyes, and a single tear rolls down my cheek. “He got a vasectomy,” I whisper. I owe it to Tucker to come into whatever this is with wide eyes. “He never told me. Not until years later. That was the beginning of the end.”
Tucker squeezes my hand, and I let myself feel the comfort and warmth of his touch.
"We'd talked about kids when we first got together—I was nineteen at the time. I said I wanted them someday. He said..." I pause, remembering. "He said, 'Maybe.' I thought that meant yes, eventually. But three years into our marriage, I found the paperwork. He'd done it without telling me."
Tucker's jaw tightens. "That's fucked up."
"The worst part?" My voice cracks. "When I confronted him, he didn't apologize.
He just said, 'I told you I wasn't sure.
' Like 'not sure' meant 'absolutely never' and I should have known.
" I wipe my eyes. "He wasn't cruel about it.
He was just... blank. Like he'd already decided I'd either accept it or leave, and either way, he'd be fine. "
Josh was always distant with his emotions. He suffered his own trauma as a kid—something we bonded over initially. My mistake was believing our love would heal him. And me, I guess.
Tucker growls. “That's really fucked up, Sloane. He had no right."
"He thought he was protecting his future.”
"He was controlling yours." Tucker's voice is firm. "And that's not the same thing."
The validation—someone seeing it, naming it, being angry on my behalf—breaks something open in my chest.
"He said I use people," I whisper. “On the phone today, he said I take what I can get and move on."
"He's wrong." Tucker's voice is fierce now. "You're nothing like that. You're strong and smart, and you're trying to build a life for yourself. That's not taking—that's creating."
I want to believe him. Want to believe I'm not repeating harmful patterns, not using people, not running from one disaster into another.
“About my living situation,” I say slowly. “You got room here for a few more people?”
Tucker goes very still, striking blue eyes dancing in the fading light. "Yes. God, yes. But Sloane, I don't want you to feel pressured. If you're not ready—"
"I'm not ready," I interrupt. "But I'm also out of options. Failing school. Living alone. It’s not safe."
"Okay." He nods quickly. "Okay. We can make it work. Whatever you need—"
"Boundaries," I say firmly. "This is temporary. Just until the babies come, and I figure out something more permanent. We're roommates. Co-parents. Nothing more."
Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or disappointment—but he nods. "Whatever you need."
"I need my own space. My own room."
“Done. Easy. The main bedroom even has a full bathroom, walk-in closet, sitting area. I’ll move my crap down the hall to the guest room.”
“You don’t have to give up your room.”
He waves a hand. “All the bedrooms have an ensuite in this place. You need the bigger room because you are growing Stag babies.” He gestures to his frame.
“We make ‘em big, Sloane.” Then he winces, as if just realizing the implications of that declaration.
I clutch my midsection and breathe through a twinge of panic, reminding myself that the babies will not start out as massive Vikings like their father.
“There are some things I won’t bend about,” I tell him. “Like vaccines.”
He holds up a hand. “We are pro-science in the Stag family. No worries there.”
I purse my lips. “We’ll be raising Black kids.”
He sits up, fully alert, and looks me in the eyes. “Of course, Sloane. I want to learn all I can and make sure these nuggets feel whole.” Tucker stops himself. "You have my word. Your autonomy, your independence—that's non-negotiable."
I study his face, looking for any sign that he's just telling me what I want to hear. But all I see is sincerity. Determination. Fear that I'll say no.
"Okay," I say. "I'll move in."
Tucker's whole body seems to sag with relief. "Thank you. I promise you won't regret this."
"I already regret it a little," I admit. "But I also don't have a better option right now."
He laughs, the sound almost breaking with emotion. "I'll take 'better than nothing.' It's more than I thought I'd get after today."
We sit there for a moment, hands still clasped, the weight of this decision settling over us.