Chapter 48
forty-eight
Liana
The morning settles into something quieter after breakfast.
Not silent, not heavy, just… softer.
I can feel it in my body first.
That’s what strikes me the most.
Not the room. Not the conversation. Not even the men around me.
My body.
There’s a lingering warmth under my skin, a slow, steady ache that isn’t pain, not anymore. It’s something deeper than that. Something that feels like being brought back into myself instead of pulled away from it.
Like I exist in my body again. Fully.
I shift slightly in the chair at the table, my laptop open in front of me, fingers moving lazily over the keys as I fall back into the rhythm I’d found last night. The words come easier today. Not perfect. Not clean. But real.
That’s what matters.
Real.
I can feel it as I write, everything I’ve been carrying, everything that’s been sitting just under the surface, starting to loosen, starting to move. It isn’t pretty, and it isn’t neat, but it’s mine. It’s how I’m making sense of what happened.
How I’m taking it back.
A soft buzz against the table pulls me out of it.
I blink, my gaze shifting to my phone where it lights up with a notification.
Appointment reminder. For a second, I just stare at it. Then it clicks. The pregnancy appointment. Next week.
The word pregnancy lands differently this time. Not distant. Not abstract. Not something I’m still trying to wrap my head around in theory.
Real.
My hand drifts almost unconsciously to my stomach, fingers resting there lightly as something small and strange twists through me. Not fear. Not exactly.
Awareness.
And then, almost on cue, my body reminds me.
A wave of nausea rolls through me, sudden and sharp enough that I have to pause, my breath catching slightly as I close my eyes and lean back a fraction in the chair.
“Hey.”
Zach’s voice is immediate. Soft. Close.
His hand comes to the back of my neck, grounding, steady.
“You okay?”
I nod, swallowing slowly, letting the feeling pass before I open my eyes again.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Just… a little nauseous.”
His expression shifts instantly, focused, attentive in that way that’s so completely him.
“I’ll make you some ginger tea,” he says without hesitation. “It’ll help.”
I nod again, softer this time.
“Okay.”
He brushes a kiss to my temple before moving toward the kitchen, already shifting into action, already thinking ahead of what I might need.
I watch him for a second.
Then my gaze drifts across the table.
Jackson is sitting opposite me, his phone in his hand, his thumb moving over the screen but slower than usual, like he’s not actually seeing anything he’s scrolling through.
Like his focus is split. I can feel it. That tension in him. That edge that hasn’t settled since yesterday.
He looks up suddenly, like he felt me watching him.
“Are you ready?”
I blink.
“For what?”
He lifts the phone slightly.
“I’m about to post.”
Oh.
That. My stomach tightens again, but this time it has nothing to do with nausea.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
It feels small when I say it. Simple. But I know it isn’t. I know exactly what it means. It’s just a photo. That’s what I keep telling myself.
Just a photo of our hands, fingers laced together, his thumb brushing over mine. No faces. No identifiers. Nothing that screams who I am to the world.
Just enough.
Just enough to say he’s not alone anymore.
Just enough to start something that can’t be undone. And that’s what makes my chest tighten.
Because Jackson isn’t quiet. He isn’t hidden. He’s visible. He’s watched. He’s wanted. And the last time that kind of attention turned on me... I have to swallow the thought before it finishes.
The sex tape.
The comments. The way it spread. The way it consumed everything. The way it took me apart piece by piece until there was barely anything left.
I can already see it happening again. People digging. Pulling it back up. Re-sharing. Re-telling. And this time, this time it won’t just be me.
It will be us. A warm, steady hand covers mine. I hadn’t even realized I’d gone still. Jackson’s eyes are on me now, searching.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”
I force myself to breathe.
“I’m okay,” I say, and this time I mean it more. “Just… nervous.”
His grip tightens slightly, grounding.
“That’s fair.”
He studies me for a second longer, then nods to himself.
“I’ve already spoken to my mom,” he adds. “We’re going to get ahead of it. Media strategy. Control what we can.”
A small, tired smile pulls at my mouth.
“It doesn’t matter how much we try to control it,” I say gently. “It’s going to come up. The past is there.”
I don’t flinch when I say it. That’s new. That’s… something. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays steady.
“You’re not dealing with that alone,” he says. “Not ever again.”
I look at him for a long moment. Then nod.
“Okay.”
That’s enough. For now. He exhales softly, like something in him eases just from that, then looks back at his phone.
“Alright,” he mutters. “Let’s do it.”
I watch him as he taps the screen. As he hesitates for just a second. Then hits publish.
And just like that, it’s out there.
The shift is immediate. His phone lights up. Then again. Then again. Notifications stacking over each other so fast it’s almost ridiculous.
I let out a quiet breath.
“God,” I murmur. “That was quick.”
He huffs a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it.
“It’s been weeks since I posted,” he says. “They were waiting.”
Of course they were. He sets the phone down on the table like it’s suddenly heavier than it was a second ago.
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
I nod, more certain this time.
“I will be,” I say. “It’s just… a lot.”
“It won’t touch you,” he says, sharper now. “I won’t let it.”
I don’t argue. Because I know he means it. Even if I also know some things can’t be stopped. Zach returns then, setting a mug of ginger tea in front of me along with a plate.
“Eat,” he says softly. “It’ll help.”
I take a small sip, the warmth settling into my stomach, easing the lingering nausea just enough.
“Thank you.”
He brushes his fingers through my hair absently, affectionate, grounding.
“We’ve got you,” he murmurs.
I nod, letting that settle. Jackson leans back slightly, dragging a hand through his hair.
“You know the game this weekend is away,” he says.
I glance at him.
“I think I know that.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, then his expression softens.
“I’m going to miss you.”
The honesty in it hits me more than I expect.
“It’s only a couple of days,” I say gently. “I’ll miss you too.”
Zach leans his hip against the table beside me, his hand settling at my shoulder.
“We both will.”
Jackson nods, glancing at his phone again before forcing himself to ignore it.
“I’ll text you,” he says. “Every day.”
“I know you will.”
I reach for his hand again, squeezing it lightly.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I add. “You need to keep doing this. You need to go.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods slowly.
“If we win this one,” he says, “there’s a chance. Not a big one, but… a chance we could still scrape into playoffs.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“Are you upset about that? If you don’t?”
He shakes his head immediately.
“Not at all,” he says. “This is my first year. I’ve got time. Plenty of time to make it count.”
There’s no hesitation in it. No regret. Just certainty.
I turn to Zach.
“What about you?”
He doesn’t even need a second.
“I think I checked out a long time ago,” he admits quietly. “I’ve had my time. I’m ready for what comes next.”
His hand slides down to mine, threading our fingers together.
“I just want this,” he adds. “Us.”
Something soft settles in my chest. Then I look at Elijah. He’s been quieter. Watching. Holding himself just slightly apart from the rest of us, even sitting here.
“Are you going back?” I ask. “After the suspension?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“No.”
I blink slightly.
“What does that mean?”
He holds my gaze.
“It means hockey’s done for me.”
There’s no wavering in it. No second guessing.
“I’ll take over here,” he continues. “With Christian. Running things.”
A small pause. Then, quieter,
“Is that going to be okay with you?”
That catches me off guard.
“Of course it is,” I say immediately. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Because this world is violent,” he says. “And it’s part of what put you in that position in the first place.”
Something in my chest twists.
“Elijah,” I say softly, leaning forward slightly, “you need to stop blaming yourself for that.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt.
“That was my past,” I continue. “My ex. What he did had nothing to do with you.”
I hold his gaze.
“Even if your world touched it… he made that choice. Not you.”
There’s something almost pleading in me now. I need him to understand that. To let that go. At least a little. His expression doesn’t change much. But I see it. The shift. Small. Subtle. A nod. Then his phone rings.
The moment breaks.
He answers it without hesitation, already stepping slightly away, already shifting back into that other space.
That controlled space. That distant space. And I feel it again. That separation. That space between us that I don’t know how to close.
I exhale slowly and turn back to my laptop.
My fingers hover over the keys for a second.
Then I start typing again.
Because this, this is how I process it.
This is how I move through it.
If I stop, I feel everything all at once. And I’m not ready for that yet. So I write. And I keep writing. And I tell myself, I’m not going to lose myself again.
Not this time.