Chapter 40 #2
I wait a few seconds, holding my breath and hoping to see those three little chat bubbles that’ll tell me she’s typing out a reply.
Nope. No bubbles. No reply.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, already pulling on my clothes over my still-sweaty compression gear.
I don’t bother with a shower or any of my usual post-game routine. I just grab my bag and head for the door.
“Grant, wait—” someone calls behind me, but I’m not stopping.
I need to get home so I can see Heather and April with my own eyes. I have to know they’re okay.
The arena hallways are still crowded with staff and lingering fans, but I push through them without stopping. My truck is parked in the players’ lot, and I make it there in record time, then peel out of the parking lot.
The drive feels endless. Every red light is torture. Every car in front of me is moving too slow. I try calling Heather again, then again, but it goes straight to voicemail every time.
“Heather, it’s me. I’m on my way home right now. Please call me back. Please just let me know you’re alright.”
My mind races through possibilities, each one worse than the last. An accident. An emergency. Something with April. Something with work.
But none of those explanations feel right.
I try calling one more time as I turn onto my street. Still nothing.
My house comes into view, and the first thing I see is Heather’s car in the driveway.
Relief hits me so hard I almost have to pull over. She’s here. She’s home. She’s alive.
But then the relief flips to something darker and more urgent.
Her car is here. That’s all I know for sure so far. If she was okay, she would’ve—but no. Fuck that. I’m not letting my brain go there, even though I haven’t been able to come up with a better excuse all night.
I park behind her car and practically throw myself out of the truck, leaving my bag behind as I run for the front door.
It’s unlocked.
I push it open, and the sight that greets me makes my heart stop.
Heather is in the living room, frantically throwing clothes into a suitcase. April’s backpack is on the couch, already stuffed full. There are bags and boxes scattered everywhere, like she’s been packing in a panic.
“Heather.”
She doesn’t respond or even look up to acknowledge I’m here. She just keeps moving, grabbing things from around the room and shoving them into bags with shaking hands.
“Heather,” I say again, louder this time as I take a step into the room.
Still nothing. She’s either deliberately ignoring me, or lost in whatever panic has taken hold in her mind.
I watch her for several long seconds, trying and failing to make sense of what I’m seeing in my own living room.
And then I spot it.
There’s a bruise on her upper arm. It’s dark and ugly, in the shape of fingers.
Someone grabbed her. Someone hurt her.
A wave of protective fury crashes over me so intense it makes my vision narrow. My hands clench into fists at my sides, and every muscle in my body contracts with the need to do something. To fix this. To find whoever did this and make sure they never touch her again.
“What the hell happened?” The words come out low and controlled, but barely. I’m holding on to my composure by a thread.
She finally stops moving, with her hands frozen over the suitcase, but she doesn’t turn around.
“Heather, look at me.” I’m losing that composure by the second. My eyes keep flicking back to that bruise, and the rage starts to churn all over again. “What happened? Who did that to your arm?”
She slowly turns to face me, and the look in her eyes nearly takes me to my knees. All the light and happiness from this morning is gone, replaced by fear, exhaustion, and defeat.
“I…” She starts, then stops and shakes her head. “I need to pack. We need to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.” I take another step closer. “Who hurt you?”
“Grant, please. I just need to—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “Tell me what happened. Now.”
She flinches slightly, and I immediately force myself to take a breath and soften my tone. The last thing I want is to scare her more than she already is.
“Please,” I say, quieter this time. “Just tell me.”
I even take a half-step back to give her some breathing room even though all I want is to scoop her into my arms.
For a long moment, she just stares at me, and I can see her trying to decide whether to let me in or shut me out. Then something in her seems to crack, and the words start tumbling out.
“Steven called me this morning at work. I don’t know how he got my number, but he—” She swallows hard. “He called, and I hung up on him, and I thought that was it. That he’d just go away.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t interrupt.
“But then the school called.” Her voice breaks on the word. “They called and said someone claiming to be April’s father was there, trying to pick her up.”
Ice runs through my veins. “He went to April’s school?”
She nods, and her eyes are focused somewhere over my shoulder, like she’s reliving every horrible second.
“I drove there as fast as I could, and he was outside waiting. He was so angry, Grant. He said I stole his daughter. That I was shacking up with some hockey player.” She looks down at her arm, at the bruise.
“He grabbed me and told me this wasn’t over. ”
The fury that was simmering just beneath the surface erupts like a volcano inside me. Steven put his hands on her. He threatened her and tried to take April.
“Where is he now?” My voice is deadly calm now. There’s no need to yell anymore. My only goal in life is to make that son of a bitch pay. “Where is Steven?”
“I don’t know. He left after I threatened to call the police, but Grant—” She shakes her head frantically. “He knows where we are. He knows about you. He found April’s school, which means he can find us anywhere. April and I have to leave. We have to go somewhere he can’t find us.”
“You don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Yes, I do!” Her voice rises, and it’s full of pure desperation.
The kind that only comes from a mother defending her child.
“You don’t understand. He’s not going to stop.
He’s going to keep coming back, and I can’t let that happen.
” Her whole body is trembling as she looks around the room at the half-packed bags, and I can see the panic starting to set in again.
“I can’t put April through this. I can’t put you through this. ”
“Put me through what?”
“This!” She gestures wildly at the chaos around us. “All of this. This mess. This nightmare from my past that won’t stay in the past.”
I want to reach for her, but her stance tells me she’ll bolt if I get too close.
“Heather—”
“No. Listen to me.” She takes a shaky breath.
“You didn’t sign up for this. You offered me a place to stay because you’re a good person, and I took advantage of that.
I dragged you into my mess, and now Steven knows about you, and—” Her voice cracks.
“You could get hurt because of me. April could get hurt. I can’t let that happen. ”
“So your solution is to run?”
“My solution is to protect the people I care about.” Her eyes are fierce now, and so is her tone. “That includes you.”
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Yes, I do.” She turns back to the suitcase, resuming her frantic packing.
“This is my past. My mistake. You didn’t sign up for this mess.
You shouldn’t have to deal with my ex showing up and threatening people.
” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.
I should have just stayed at Margo’s or found a hotel or something. Anything but this.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out harder than I mean it to. “Don’t try to spare me from your life like it’s some kind of burden I can’t handle.”
She looks away, her jaw trembling. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” The frustration is building in my chest, right alongside the fear and anger until I don’t know which emotion is stronger. “You’re trying to protect me by pushing me away.”
“Because you deserve better than this!” The words burst out of her, loud and raw. “You deserve someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage and drama.”
“No. Stop.”
She doesn’t stop. She turns back to the suitcase and grabs another armful of clothes from the pile on the couch.
I can see it happening. She’s pulling away, shutting down, and building those walls back up that took us weeks to break down. She’s trying to convince herself that pushing me out and leaving is the right thing to do.
But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that happen.
I step forward and put my hand on the suitcase lid, stopping her from adding anything else to it.
“Grant, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“No.” The word doesn’t come out as harsh this time, but it isn’t negotiable, either. “Please, Heather. Just stop for one second and listen to me.”
I’m actually surprised when she freezes. Yes, she’s still holding on for dear life to a sweater she was about to pack. Her breath is uneven, coming in short gasps like she’s been running. And yes, the fight is still there in her eyes, that stubborn determination to protect everyone by running away.
But she’s listening.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say. “I don’t want you to take April and disappear.”
“It’s the only way.”
“I’m not done.” I move closer, close enough that I could reach out and touch her, but I don’t. Not yet. “You keep saying this isn’t my problem, and how I didn’t sign up for this. But you’re wrong.”
“How am I wrong? You offered me a place to stay for a few weeks while we sorted out our housing. That’s it. That’s all this was supposed to be.”
“Maybe that’s how it started.” I force myself to hold her gaze, to let her see everything I’m feeling. “But that’s not what this is anymore. Not for me.”
“Don’t you understand? Steven knows where we are. He’s not going to stop. And the longer I stay here, the more danger I put all three of us in.”
“That’s not your decision to make alone.”
“Yes, it is!” Her voice breaks. “This is my mess. My past. My responsibility.”
“And what about us?” The question hangs in the air between us. “What about what we’ve been building? Does that not matter?”
She closes her eyes, and I can see the war happening behind them. The pull between what she wants and what she thinks is right.
“Of course it matters,” she whispers. “That’s why I have to go. Because you matter too much to risk.”
“You’re not listening to me.” I move even closer now, and this time I do reach out, gently taking her hands in mine. “You’re not in this alone. We’re going to deal with this together.”
She’s shaking her head again and pulling her hands away. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You have too much to lose. Hockey has always been your whole life. You’ve said it yourself a hundred times. It’s all you think about, all you care about.”
“Used to be.”
“What?”
“Hockey used to be my whole life.” I take a breath as the truth of what I’m about to say settles into my bones. “But not anymore.”
She stares at me but doesn’t say anything this time.
“For years, hockey was the only thing that made sense. The only thing I could control when everything else felt chaotic.” I step closer again, and this time she doesn’t pull away.
“It gave me purpose when I didn’t have one.
But that’s not enough anymore. Hockey isn’t enough.
Being the best goalie in the league isn’t enough.
None of it means anything without someone to share it with. ”
“Grant, please don’t do this.” She sounds so desperate that it hurts. “Don’t make me more important than your dreams.”
“You’re not more important than my dreams, Heather.
” I reach up and cup her face in my hands, making her look at me.
“You are my dream. You and April. Coming home to you. Helping April do her homework at the kitchen table. Making breakfast together. Going to sleep with you in my arms. That’s what I want. That’s what matters.”
“You’re not thinking clearly. You need to stop before you say something you’ll regret. Something we’ll both regret.”
“I’ve never thought more clearly in my entire life.” I lean my forehead against hers, feeling her breath mix with mine. “Hockey used to be everything. But now? Now it’s just what I do. You and April? You’re who I am.”