Chapter Twenty-Nine
NATALIA
The second the wheels hit the runway, I’m already reaching for my phone, turning off airplane mode before the plane has even slowed enough for the captain to finish his welcome back announcement.
I stare at the screen as if the act of willing it hard enough might conjure his name into existence. The little spinning wheel pauses and updates.
Nothing.
No missed calls, no text messages from him, no ‘we need to talk.’
I would take him yelling at me, telling me that I broke his trust, that he never wants to see me again, over silence.
The silence hurts the most because I know this is what he does when he’s in real pain and I’m responsible for it.
Carey was right… it was my secret to keep, and though I didn’t know she would use it, I should have kept my promise.
As much as I want him to say something, his silence tells me everything his words won’t.
Don’t contact me. Whatever we might have been, you’re not worth fighting with… or fighting for.
I lost him, and it’s my own fault. I’m going to have to live with that if he won’t give me a chance to make it right. But in all honesty, how can I make it right? I damaged his trust, and the information about the email won’t magically dissolve that. There’s no time machine to fix this.
The cabin fills with the usual impatient choreography of travelers unbuckling too soon and standing before there’s anywhere to go. I stay seated longer than necessary, fingers wrapped too tightly around my phone, hoping maybe something will come through in the seconds I’ve been sitting here.
Still nothing.
By the time I step into the terminal, the familiar damp Seattle air wrapping around me like a memory I didn’t ask for, my chest feels hollowed out. It’s over and I need to come to terms with that. I chased him once when he didn’t want it. I can’t force myself on him again.
My phone rings.
I jump so violently that it nearly slips from my hand, hope flaring in my chest before I even look at the screen.
It isn’t Luka. It’s Molly.
I swallowed the disappointment before answering. "Hi."
"Are you back in Seattle yet?" she asks without preamble, her voice brisk and already in motion.
"Yeah," I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as I step onto the escalator. "I've just landed."
"Good. Stay where you are."
I blink. "What?"
"I’m coming to get you."
I stop mid-step on the escalator before remembering that I’m not the only person trying to move forward. "You’re… here?"
"Yes."
"In Seattle?" I say to clarify.
"You’re having a crisis," she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Gabriella approved the travel when I told her it was in regard to our new client, Randolph. It’s billable. You’re welcome."
"This isn’t a crisis," I say automatically, even as my voice sounds thinner than I want it to. "I only fell in love with my client, slipped his secret to my boss, and now he won’t answer my calls. Completely normal work week."
I hear honking through her side of the phone, and then I hear her yell, "Learn how to drive, asshole."
"Exactly," Molly says, returning to our conversation. "It’s a completely normal work week… which is exactly what I told Gabriella to get the approval."
I close my eyes briefly as I step off the escalator. "You didn’t have to fly out here."
"I absolutely did. You sound like someone who’s about to spiral alone."
"I’m not spiraling," I protest.
"You’re absolutely about to."
I can’t even argue with that.
"I just need him to talk to me," I say quietly, stepping toward baggage claim even though I don’t have checked luggage. "He won’t even give me five minutes."
"And how’s texting him twenty times working out?" she asks gently.
"It’s probably making it worse. At the very least, I have pretty much zero pride or dignity left in my body."
"Perfect! Rock bottom, that’s right where I need you to be. I’ll be outside in ten," she says. "Don’t disappear."
As if I could.
Molly pulls up in a silver rental SUV like she’s staging an intervention, sunglasses on despite the gray Seattle sky, her expression entirely too composed for someone who lied to our boss to expense a trip to supervise my emotional collapse.
The second I close the passenger door, she looks at me properly.
"You look terrible," she says, not sugarcoating it.
"Thank you," I reply dryly.
"You haven’t slept."
"Nope."
"You haven’t eaten."
"Nope."
She nods once, filing that away as if it were relevant data.
"Okay," she says, easing the car into traffic. "How do you feel about hot dogs and beer?"
"What…? Where are we going to get that?"
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she merges onto the freeway, steady hands on the wheel, expression unreadable.
"Molly… ?" I ask carefully. Not completely sure if I want to know what she has planned.
"Relax. And if you’re good, I’ll let you get some cotton candy after you eat all of your dinner."
"You have to tell me where we are going? This is kidnapping."
"No, this isn't kidnapping… it's adult-napping. Or as I like to call it, this is 'save your friend from making a huge mistake'. And besides, it’s a surprise."
My stomach tightens. "Adultnapping? Really?"
"You can’t fix something if you don’t face it. If I have to force you to do it, so be it," she says calmly.
"I am facing it," I argue. "I flew here."
"You flew here, and then what? Planned to cry in your childhood bedroom while he continues ignoring you?"
I hate that she’s right.
"I’m not crying."
She glances at me.
"You’re right, your eyes don’t look puffy and your cheeks aren’t splotchy. You look like today is the best day of your life."
I turn toward the window so she doesn’t see the fresh sting in my eyes.
"He thinks I used him," I say after a moment, the words finally pushing their way out. "He saw Carey’s text. The way she worded it. It sounds like I slept with him to manipulate him into agreeing. He’s been used before."
Molly’s jaw tightens. "That’s bad."
"I didn’t," I say quickly. "You know that."
"I know that. But he doesn’t."
I press my fingers into my temples. "He won’t even let me explain."
Molly goes quiet for a second before asking, "Did you tell Carey about the email?"
"Yes."
"Did you give her the email?"
I shake my head. "No. I don’t even have it."
"Did you tell her to leak it?"
My eyebrows stitch together. She knows I wouldn't do that. "Of course not. I would never have sold him, or any other client, out like that. I told her that Luka didn't want to use it."
"Then you didn’t weaponize him."
I let out a shaky breath. "That’s not how he sees it. He told me not to tell anyone. He made me promise."
"And Carey is on your team," Molly counters. "You had no reason to assume she would push hearsay to a magazine without documentation. Or that she would go against the client wishes."
"You don’t know Luka," I say softly. "Trust isn’t complicated for him. It’s binary. You’re either in or you’re out."
"And showing up to talk to him is crossing a boundary?" she presses.
"Yes," I answer immediately. "He hates surprises."
She smiles faintly. "Who doesn’t like grand gestures?"
"Six-foot-four Russian ex-mafia hockey players with trust issues," I reply without hesitation.
That earns a laugh from her, but I wish she knew just how much I’m not joking about him.
We drive in silence for several minutes before I recognize the skyline shifting, the freeway exit signs changing.
And then I see it.
The arena.
"Molly," I say, dread creeping up my spine.
She turns into the parking garage as if it’s a casual Tuesday errand.
"Molly," I repeat, sharper this time.
"He won’t even see you," she says lightly. "There are twenty thousand people in that building."
"He will see me," I say. "He sees everything."
She parks but I don’t move.
"He hates me," I say quietly. "The last thing he’s going to want is to see me at his game."
"Then at least you’ll know. Instead of sitting in limbo," she says. "Like I said, there are twenty thousand people and security everywhere the team goes. If he doesn’t want to see you, he won’t."
She has a point. Maybe I can stroll in undetected and get one last look at him before I let him go and fly back to Arizona. One last time to be in the same room with him.
The arena is louder than I remember from the last time I was here. The sound wraps around my ribs and vibrates straight through me, down to my toes. The ice glows under the lights, the Hawkeyes logo stretched across the center like a declaration of power and belonging.
This is his territory, and I know that I shouldn’t be here.
Our seats aren’t front row, but they’re close enough that I can see the tension in his shoulders when he skates out for warm-ups. Close enough to see that he looks different tonight—sharper somehow, every movement controlled to the point of severity.
I immediately reach over and steal Molly’s baseball cap.
"Hey," she protests.
But I don’t stop until I have it pulled down as far as I can to hide my face.
"This is your fault," I mutter, sinking lower in my seat like that might make me invisible, crossing my arms over my chest as high as possible to block as much of me as possible.
"You act like he’s going to turn you into dust if he sees you."
"You haven’t met him," I reply. "He might."
She laughs.
I don’t.
When his name is announced, the crowd erupts in a wave of sound, cheering for the team…
cheering for him. I don’t know why that brings tears to my eyes.
Seeing how loved he is here and how proud I am of him and everything he’s overcome in his life.
How much he loves it out here and how much I hurt him.
He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t scan the stands. He skates his line, focused and deliberate.
The game starts while I try to watch it like a normal person.