Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Alie
Everything is quieter. Work. Home.
The couch doesn’t dip on the right side anymore. The kitchen feels bigger somehow. Too much counter space. Too much air. Even the hallway light stays off because no one forgets to turn it off now.
I’m being ridiculous. He’s only been gone for three days.
Three.
But the shift in our routine is immediate.
There’s no knock on my office door. No lunches with Sera.
No giant presence behind me while I cook.
No warm chest brushing my back when he reaches around for the salt.
No low commentary about my knife skills.
No stealing pieces off the cutting board like he’s doing me a favor.
No deep voice reading bedtime stories in slightly overdramatic character accents.
And Seraphina asks for him every night.
“Daddy at football?” she says, tilting her head.
“Yes, baby,” I tell her gently. “Daddy’s working.”
“Auntie Pwes too?”
“Yes, she’s working too. She has to make sure no one gets hurt at camp.”
She nods like that all makes sense.
Then she insists on FaceTiming him, and he answers every time he has his phone nearby. Even when I know he shouldn’t.
The first night, he was still buzzing from drills.
The second night, he looked tired but steady.
Tonight, there’s something restless in him. His eyes keep darting off-screen, like he’s calculating something. Or missing something. Or both.
“I hate not being there,” he says quietly while Sera runs off to grab her Walker Stallion mid-call.
“Just a few more weeks,” I remind him.
“Four weeks is a long time in toddler years. Right? She’s already so advanced for her age. She’s saying new words every day,” he adds quietly. “What if I miss something big?”
I smile softly. “She won’t forget you.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I know what he means. He’s worried about missing more moments. The tiny things, the new words, new habits. Even more so because he’s already trying to make up for two years. Now he feels like time is stealing from him again.
“You’re doing what you’re contractually obligated to do.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, yeah, boss.”
We sit there for a minute, smiling stupidly at each other. Not saying anything. Just looking. Like we’re both memorizing this version of the other through a screen.
“And you’re doing okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, automatically.
But the truth is, I feel unsettled with him gone. I leave the hallway light on longer than I need to. I triple-check the stove. And I sleep on his side of the bed because it still smells like him.
It happens on a Tuesday.
I’m going over sponsorship contracts in my office when there’s a knock at the door. But most everyone is gone at camp, minus me, my dad, and a few other administrative staff. And I’m definitely not expecting someone.
When I open it, Aaron is standing there with his hands in his pockets.
My stomach drops instantly.
He looks tired and a little less … polished than usual. The expensive haircut has grown out slightly. His jaw is shadowed. There’s a tightness in his face that wasn’t there before.
And he looks angry.
Not explosive.
Contained.
Which is worse.
“Hi,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I hold the door, blocking his entry.
“Can we talk?”
I hesitate because every instinct tells me to shut the door. But I don’t.
“I called you and texted you for weeks without a response or even an acknowledgment.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. My hand tightens on the edge of the door, knuckles pale.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says quickly. Rehearsed. Like he practiced the cadence in the car.
“You get five minutes,” I say stiffly.
I hold the door, and he steps inside like he belongs here.
As if he isn’t responsible for detonating my life two years ago, and as if he hasn’t been lying to me since.
As if he isn’t responsible for my daughter being without her dad.
As if he isn’t responsible for taking my chance at something real with Liam, even if we’re making our way back to something real now.
I shut the door, then move behind my desk, creating space between us.
“What do you want?” My tone is cool. Professional. It costs me.
His jaw tightens. A muscle flickers near his ear.
“You brought him here.”
My pulse spikes. How dare he?
“We did, yes.” I keep my chin lifted. Refuse to flinch.
“And you’ve talked to him?” His eyes search my face like he’s looking for something. Guilt? Hesitation? Weakness?
“If you read my messages, you would know the answer to that.”
“I did read them, Alie. I just want to hear the words come out of your mouth.”
“What is it you want me to say, Aaron?”
He lets out a sharp laugh. “He knows about Seraphina?”
“He does.”
“And?”
“And what?” I lean forward slightly, bracing my hands on the edge of my desk. I refuse to shrink. “Liam’s relationship with her is none of your business.”
“What did he tell you?” Aaron’s jaw flexes. His fingers curl briefly at his sides before he tucks them back into his pockets.
“That you told him I didn’t want to have anything to do with him and that he had no idea about the baby.”
“And you’re just taking his word?” he huffs, shaking his head like I’m the unreasonable one.
“I asked you,” I snap. My restraint fractures. “I asked you what he said.”
“And I told you.”
“You lied.”
His eyes flash with something cold. “I protected you, Alie.”
“From what? The truth?”
“From getting hurt,” he shoots back, stepping closer now. Not aggressive. Just closing space. “You think I didn’t see how wrecked you were when you got back and told me he was with someone else? That he got someone pregnant? That he was probably using you because of your family name?”
The words hit because they’re not entirely false.
I remember the sleepless nights. The swollen ankles. The terror of doing it alone.
But that doesn’t absolve him.
“You don’t get to rewrite this,” I say, quieter now. Sharper. “You didn’t protect me. You decided for me.”
He starts pacing and running his hands through his hair.
“You were vulnerable,” he insists. “Pregnant. Alone. He wasn’t answering. He wasn’t here.”
“Because you made sure he wasn’t.”
He doesn’t deny it.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me like I’m a problem he hasn’t solved yet.
“You were barely holding it together,” he says, voice lowering.
“I stepped in when no one else did.” He points at his chest. “I was there when she was born. I was there for the late-night feedings. I was there for the diaper changes. I was there for her first steps. First words. First tooth.” His voice cracks. “He wasn’t.”
Aaron steps closer.
“Who are you going to believe here, Alie?” He puts his hands on his hips. “This guy you’ve really only known for a short time? Or someone who’s been in your life forever?”
I stare at him. “You manipulated me.” My hands flatten harder against the desk. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. “You don’t get credit for inserting yourself into a story that wasn’t yours,” I say steadily.
His expression tightens.
“And now what?” he asks. “You just let him waltz back in? Play dad?”
The way he says dad—like it’s a performance—makes something inside me snap into clarity.
“He is her father,” I say, each word precise. “You don’t get to minimize that because it’s inconvenient for you.”
“I love you,” he says, abruptly.
The words slice through the room.
I blink. My brain doesn’t process them fast enough. “What?”
“You think I did all that because you’re my friend?” he says, voice lowering. “I loved you. I loved her. I still do.”
My heart feels like it’s pounding outside my chest. My fingers curl against the desk to brace myself.
Love.
He says it like it explains everything. Like it absolves him.
“You had no right.”
“And he does?” Aaron counters immediately. “Don’t you think it’s weird that he came here and suddenly decided he was okay with being a dad?”
“He didn’t know.”
“That’s what he’s telling you.”
The crack widens a fraction.
I freeze.
Aaron sees it. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, not triumphantly—clinically. Like he’s testing structural weakness.
“You didn’t hear it from his mouth back then,” he continues, calmer now. Controlled. “You heard it from me. And you trusted me.”
The memory flickers in my mind. The night I sat on the couch, swollen and exhausted, phone pressed to my ear. Aaron’s voice firm.
“He doesn’t want this, Alie. Football comes first.”
“You said he didn’t want her. That football was his priority.”
“Maybe he didn’t want her. But I think we both know football is his priority.”
Tap.
“He said you never told him about her.”
“Now that he’s made a name for himself in the NFL, he wants her. It’s just convenient—don’t you think?”
Tap.
“Is that the kind of guy you want around your daughter? When it fits into his timeline? When it fits around football?” Aaron challenges.
Tap.
Doubt flickers again—sharper now.
Tiny. Unwanted.
But louder.
I think of contracts. Trades. Injuries. Headlines. The way the season swallows him whole. The way I’ve already learned what it feels like to be left.
“He’s charming,” he continues. “He knows how to win people over. He’s good at saying what you want to hear.”
Tap.
My chest tightens.
“That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is that I was the one who was there. I stayed.” His voice softens now. “I was here. Not him.”
And that one lands deeper.
Because it’s true. He was here. He held Sera when she cried at two in the morning. He drove us to appointments. He assembled cribs and stayed when I was unraveling.
Guilt creeps in like a slow fog.
“You’re angry because he’s here,” I say quietly.
“I’m angry because I built something with you,” he says, stepping closer again. “And you let him walk in and take it.”
“I never promised you anything. We aren’t a couple.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The room suddenly feels too small.
“He’s going to leave when his contract is up,” Aaron says firmly. “Football will always come first.”