Chapter 33 Rina
Rina
Oliver is up and out the door before I’m awake the next morning. After only a few nights in his bed, it’s unsettling how much I miss his warmth beside me. The sheets still hold his scent. It’s a woodsy spice mixed with something darker that clings to the cotton.
It’s ridiculously comforting.
Even now, feeling relatively at peace, my mind refuses to stop spinning. There are too many what-ifs pressing in from every angle.
What if this blows up in my face like every other relationship has?
What if there are whispers at work?
Or worse, what if the picture from yesterday surfaces?
If that photo gets out, it won’t just be whispers. There will be full-fledged questions about ethics, favoritism, and why the PR department can’t manage its own scandal.
What if Hugh or Evelyn start questioning my judgment?
And the thought that scares me most—what if the stress I’m carrying affects the baby?
What if I’m already failing as a mom before they’re even here?
The weight of it all presses down on me until my chest tightens.
After a few restless minutes of tossing and turning, I throw off the covers and pad down the hall. The penthouse is quiet. The only sound is the creak of the floor beneath my bare feet. I stop when I find Kia’s door cracked open.
Her duffel sits on the floor, half-unpacked, clothes spilling out in a way that screams temporary stay rather than a permanent living situation.
For a few moments, I hover, unsure if I should bother her, before lifting my knuckles to the doorframe and giving a light tap.
What struck me last night while watching the siblings together was the genuine connection they have. Oliver has this larger-than-life reputation—Big O, the Railers’ hotshot wing who soaks up attention without even trying.
But with Kia, there was none of that.
With her, he isn’t the guy splashed across gossip sites or swooned over by Railers fans. He’s just Ollie. The protective older brother who would burn the world down if it meant keeping his little sister safe.
Watching them interact stirred something in me I wasn’t prepared for.
An ache I couldn’t name.
Maybe it was envy.
Or longing.
Whatever it was made me realize how rare it is to be loved without condition or caution.
And there’s something about Kia that tugs at me. I don’t know what she’s dealing with, and I’m not about to pry, but whatever it is must be heavy if she chose to walk away from her life at school.
The way she’s trying to mask it feels familiar.
Maybe a little too familiar.
I’ve been in that place, pretending you’re fine when you’re one second away from falling apart.
Unsure what to do, I clear my throat. “Morning, Kia. I’m leaving for work in about thirty minutes. I’m not sure what your plans are, but you’re welcome to come with me if you’d like.”
Her blonde head pops up from the pillow, hair sticking out in every direction, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, as if she crashed hard the night before.
She squints at me. “So it would be kind of like a bring-your-baby-daddy’s-sister-to-work day?”
“Nailed it,” I say with a laugh, already warming to her.
Her lips twitch before curving upward. “Sure. It beats sitting around and thinking about what a disaster I’ve made of things.”
Her eyes widen as if realizing what just popped out of her mouth.
The comment lingers for a beat before I push past the hesitation lodged in my throat. “I know we just met, and we’re not friends or anything, but…” I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
Even I’m surprised by the offer. Maybe I threw it out there because I’m better at managing other people’s crises than my own.
With a tilt of her head, she studies me with eyes so much like Oliver’s it makes me blink.
Seeing that same blue gaze softened by vulnerability is… disorienting.
After a beat, her expression eases. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Okay then.” I point down the hall toward Oliver’s room. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. Then we can stop at this fab little bakery near the arena and pick up something to eat.”
A hint of a smile touches her lips. “That sounds good.”
“Perfect.”
For the first time since moving in, the morning doesn’t feel like I’m tiptoeing through someone else’s life.
I’ve barely taken a step in retreat when she says, “Rina?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. “No problem.”
Forty minutes later, we’re pushing through the door at Lakeshore Sweets. Morning light filters through the front windows, glinting off glass jars filled with biscotti and pastel macarons.
Normally it’s enough to make my mouth water, but today my stomach flips. I swallow hard against the sudden queasiness and force a smile.
Sloane looks up from behind the counter, her grin quick and familiar. “Hey, girl. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“Not a chance,” I say, moving closer to the display case. “Coffee and—” I stop short, the bitter aroma of the dark roast hitting me like a wave, and my stomach rolls. “Scratch that. Hot tea, please. Whatever Lilah usually drinks. And maybe a scone.”
Sloane narrows her eyes. “You look five minutes away from hurling.”
“Then I look exactly how I feel.”
Her attention slides past me, landing on the younger woman. “I see you’ve got a new sidekick.”
I snort. “Possibly. This is Kia, Oliver’s sister. She’s staying with him for a while.”
Sloane gives her a casual chin lift. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sloane. What can I get you?”
With a tilt of her head, Kia studies the menu board. “What’s a dirty hustler? It sounds… interesting.”
Sloane grins. “That just so happens to be one of Rina’s favorites. It’s basically rocket fuel in a cup. Espresso, dark chocolate, and more caffeine than is probably legal.”
My hand drifts automatically to my stomach. “For obvious reasons, I won’t be having that anytime soon. Unless the goal is to give the baby a head start in skating drills.”
Kia’s eyes widen before she laughs. “Right. Smart choice. You don’t want to start them on caffeine before they’re even born.”
“Exactly,” I say dryly. “I figure I’ll wait at least until they’re in kindergarten.”
“You’re the only one who could make morning sickness sound like a punchline,” Sloane says with a shake of her head.
Kia clears her throat before glancing back at the board. “I, um… I’ll have what Rina’s having.”
“Two herbal teas with scones coming right up,” Sloane says, grabbing mugs.
Once our drinks and pastries are in hand, we claim a table near the front window as sunlight spills across the polished wood.
Callie pops out from the back with a dusting of flour smudged across her shirt and streaked on her cheek like war paint. “I didn’t know you were stopping in this morning.”
I motion toward Kia. “I had to introduce Oliver’s sister to a Chicago staple.”
“Welcome to the only place in the city that runs on caffeine and sarcasm,” Callie says warmly, sliding onto the chair across from us.
Kia lets out a small laugh. “Sarcasm I can handle. Not sure about the caffeine, though.”
“Don’t worry,” Callie says, grinning. “Sloane makes herbal tea taste like it belongs in a real coffee shop. It’s practically a miracle.”
“She also serves judgment with every cup, but that part’s free of charge,” I add loud enough for our friend to hear.
“I accept tips in lieu of payment,” she hollers back.
Callie smirks. “As you can see, customer service is our strong suit around here. Plus, now that we know you’re more like family, the carbs and unsolicited advice are always on the house.”
Their laughter bubbles around me, and for a second, I forget about the uncertainty waiting outside this little pocket of safety.
The worry and fear, the endless what-ifs all fall away, replaced by the simple comfort of belonging.
It’s strange how something as ordinary as shared laughter with women who understand you can feel like the safest place in the world.
The easy banter earns another laugh from Kia, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She doesn’t touch her tea, only swirls it in the mug, gaze fixed on the dark liquid like it might hold the answers she’s searching for.
It hits me again that she’s pretending.
Pretending to be fine.
Pretending she isn’t carrying something heavy enough to drag her under. I just hope she opens up to Oliver and lets him help her through whatever she’s struggling with.
Callie studies her. “So, Kia, are you in school, or are you one of those free-spirited gap-year types?”
The younger woman hesitates, the question hanging between them. “I was in school,” she says finally. “But it stopped feeling like the right place for me.”
Something in her tone sounds too solemn for her age. Callie’s smile fades into something gentler before she rises to greet a customer at the counter.
The second she’s gone, the energy between us shifts and settles into something quieter.
Kia traces the rim of her mug with her fingertip. Even though I don’t ask, she says, “Everything just got… complicated. It was one thing after another, and before I knew it, I was drowning. So, I left.”
There’s no self-pity in her tone.
Just exhaustion.
It’s a feeling I know all too well.
I want to ask more, but she’s staring down at her tea like she realizes she might have said too much. So, I don’t push. Some stories need space before they’re ready to be told.
“I get it,” I say. “Sometimes leaving is the only way to take back control again.”
Her eyes flick up, surprise flashing in them before she nods. “Yeah. Something like that.”
For a while, we sit in silence, the hum of the espresso machine filling the space where conversation should be.
After finishing our tea and scones, we gather up our things and step outside.
The sharp bite of the wind steals the last traces of warmth from my skin as we make our way toward the arena.
The closer we get, the louder everything becomes.
The traffic, conversations, and rush of the city coming to life around us.
By the time the glass doors slide open, the comfort of the bakery feels miles away.
The warmth disappears entirely the moment we step inside the rink.
The cold hits my lungs like a warning. The scrape of blades and the crash of players feel too much like the world I’m standing in.
One wrong step, one slip, and everything could come tumbling down.
Steel slices across the ice in long, clean strokes as the players move in fluid lines, sticks clacking against pucks, skates carving into the smooth surface.
The head coach barks instructions. Every mistake is called out, every lazy stride corrected.
We settle in the first-row seats against the glass, and the impact vibrates through me every time a player collides with the boards. Sweat glistens on their faces as they push harder, drills increasing in speed and brutality under Coach Cole’s watchful eye.
The energy on the ice is a mix of focus and tension. It’s the kind of intensity that makes it impossible to look away.
A few minutes later, Laiken steps out of the goal, skating toward the bench for water.
He strips off his gloves, fingers flexing as steam rises faintly from his gear in the chill of the rink.
When he pulls off his helmet, damp hair falls in messy waves across his forehead, sticking slightly from sweat.
He tips the bottle back, throat working as he guzzles it down. Water spills over the chiseled line of his jaw before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. The movement is rough, like he couldn’t care less who’s watching.
Beside me, Kia stills as her fingers tighten around her cup. “Who’s that?”
“Laiken Lennox,” I tell her. “Our resident gruff goalie. Perpetually scowly, in case you haven’t noticed. Also, a fan favorite for obvious reasons.”
Her gaze doesn’t budge as she studies him under the arena lights. “Huh.”
I can’t help but grin. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that sounds suspiciously like appreciation.”
Color creeps into her cheeks. It’s a faint flush she tries to hide, though she doesn’t bother denying the comment.
As soon as I turn my attention back to the ice, my gaze catches on Oliver.
He’s in constant motion, power and precision all rolled into one as he weaves with ease through the drill.
Every stride is purposeful, every shot sharp and clean.
Even in a sea of elite players, he stands out, commanding the ice as if he was born to own it.
My heart gives a traitorous twist. It doesn’t matter how much I remind myself of the risks or the potential fallout. One glance at him—at Ollie, not the Big O everyone else sees—and I know I’m already in deeper than I ever wanted to be.
The way he’s drawn me in so effortlessly is dangerous.
I keep telling myself I can stay objective.
Detached.
Yet every time I’m near him, it gets harder to believe my own lies.
A small voice inside me wonders if falling for him isn’t the failure I’ve been terrified of…
But maybe the start of something I never imagined could be mine.