Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KATE
Everything changes in the space of a breath.
One second, I’m standing beside Hudson outside the arena, still warm from the game, Lukas’ smile, and the easy happiness that’s been building between us for weeks.
Next, I’m watching the colour drain from his face as he stares at a woman holding a little boy’s hand, as if the ground beneath him has disappeared.
And somehow, before anyone says the words out loud, I know.
Not exactly who she is yet. Not what she means to him. But enough to feel something cold and sharp slide straight through the centre of my chest.
Hudson shifts beside me, his phone lowering slowly as he looks between Lukas and the woman near the players’ entrance. His expression tightens immediately, instinctive and wary in that quiet way teenagers get when they know something adult is happening around them.
I reach for him without thinking. My hand settles lightly against the back of his neck, drawing him a fraction closer to my side under the pretence of warmth, but it isn’t really about that. It’s protection, not just for him but for me too.
The little boy standing beside the woman can’t be older than two, maybe three at most. A tiny gloved hand is wrapped tightly around her fingers as he watches Lukas with huge blue eyes that feel devastatingly familiar, even from where I’m standing.
Oh God.
My stomach twists hard enough to make me feel briefly sick.
Lukas looks stricken. Completely and utterly blindsided in a way I’ve never seen before. He’s usually so composed underneath everything else, even when he’s teasing or distracted or tired after a game. There’s always something steady underneath him.
Not now. Now he looks like someone dropped him into freezing water.
The woman says something quietly to him that I can’t fully hear over the noise of the crowd still lingering outside the rink, but I catch enough.
His name is Félix.
The little boy looks up at Lukas again. And the look on Lukas’ face; Jesus. It’s not guilt. That’s what hits me first. It’s shock, real, genuine shock.
Hudson leans closer to me. “Mum,” he says, uncertainty threaded through the word.
I tighten my hand gently against his shoulder. “It’s okay.”
But I don’t know if that’s true. Because suddenly I can feel it, every fragile piece of happiness I’ve been carefully letting myself believe in beginning to shift beneath my feet.
Not breaking, not yet. But moving.
I watch Lukas drag a hand over his face as if trying to wake himself from something. His gaze keeps flicking back towards the little boy, drawn there every time.
The child’s eyes catch the light from the overhead arena. Blue. Exactly like his.
Fear curls low in my stomach before I can stop it. It’s not jealousy or anger, it’s fear, because this is real in a way nothing else has been before.
This isn’t an ex-girlfriend appearing out of nowhere for drama or unfinished feelings or closure. This is a child. A tiny human being standing in the middle of Lukas’ life, gazing at him as if he naturally belongs there.
And maybe he does.
The thought hurts far more than I’m prepared for.
Lukas finally looks back toward me then, and whatever he sees on my face seems to affect him instantly.
His expression tightens further, panic flashing briefly across it now, too.
It’s as though he’s suddenly realised I’m here.
Not only me, but Hudson too. And that all of this is happening in front of us.
“Kate…” he starts, voice rough.
I shake my head before he can continue, not because I’m angry but because I genuinely don’t think he owes me explanations right this second. He looks overwhelmed enough already.
If he’d looked defensive or evasive, maybe I could’ve found something steadier to stand on emotionally. But he looks devastated.
The woman, Camille, I assume, follows his gaze towards me. Towards Hudson. Her expression changes subtly when she realises who we are. She doesn’t look hostile or volatile; she looks sad and a little guilty, maybe.
Hudson shifts again beside me, uncomfortable now. “Should we go?” he murmurs quietly enough that only I hear him. My chest aches instantly because I know exactly why he’s asking. He recognises this feeling.
Not the specifics, obviously, but the instability. The sensation of adults suddenly becoming unpredictable. Of something changing without warning.
And God, I hate that he’s standing here experiencing that again. I smooth my hand gently over the back of his hoodie. “Maybe in a minute.”
The little boy says something softly in French to Camille, words too quiet and quick for me to understand, but Lukas reacts immediately to the sound of it. His entire expression shifts into something painfully soft before confusion crashes back over him again.
It tells me everything I need to know. This matters to him already. Maybe not because he understands it yet, but because he can’t help it.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm even as my thoughts start spiralling dangerously fast. What happens now? Does Camille live here, and is she staying?
If that child is his. My stomach flips violently again. Because where exactly does that leave Hudson and me?
I hate myself for thinking it immediately, but I can’t stop it.
The fear arrives before logic does. Before maturity, patience, or understanding.
I’ve only just started allowing myself to imagine a future again.
Only just started believing maybe I wasn’t done being loved.
And now suddenly there’s a child standing in the middle of everything.
A child who would always come first. As he should.
That’s the worst part. I would never ask Lukas not to care. I know exactly what it does to a child when someone chooses not to stay.
The memory of Hudson at four years old waiting by the window for a father who never came home hits me so hard my throat tightens painfully.
No.
I won’t let him go through anything remotely like that again. Even accidentally.
Lukas says something low and tense to Camille that I can’t hear before she nods slightly. Her grip shifts on Félix’s hand gently, protective and uncertain all at once.
The little boy looks tired and overwhelmed by the noise, lights, and adults talking around him. Without thinking, Lukas crouches slightly in front of him. The movement is instinctive and natural. My heart cracks a little as I watch it.
Félix studies him from beneath his tiny woolly hat while Lukas speaks softly in French, his voice gentler than I’ve maybe ever heard it before.
The little boy answers him quietly.
And just like that, I see it happen. Something inside Lukas changes. It’s enough that I know this isn’t something he’s going to walk away from.
Hudson notices it too. I feel him tense beside me. “Mum,” he says again, quieter this time. I look down at him immediately. His expression is carefully blank in that way he gets when he’s trying very hard not to show emotion. But I know him too well not to see what’s underneath it.
Worry.
Not for himself but for me. That nearly undoes me. I slide my arm gently around his shoulders and pull him closer against my side without taking my eyes off Lukas. “I’m okay,” I murmur softly.
It’s only half true. Because standing here outside the rink with cold air burning my lungs and fear coiling tighter in my chest by the second, I realise something awful.
I love him enough already for this to hurt.