Chapter 26 Collin #3
“That doesn’t matter. You don’t get to comment on my life anymore,” Iris says, her voice growing louder. “We share Jamie. That’s it.” Owen’s face darkens as he steps closer to her again.
“This isn’t like you.” He shakes his head in disgust. “You’re not thinking clearly. What about Jamie? Have you even considered how confused he’ll be when this guy inevitably moves on to his next conquest?” I can see Iris’s hands ball into fists at her sides.
“Don’t pretend this is about Jamie.”
“Of course it’s about Jamie! And it’s about you!
” His voice softens suddenly, taking on a honeyed tone that makes my skin crawl.
“I still love you, Iris. I don’t understand why you’re doing this to us, to our family.
We could try again. I could forgive you for all of this”—he gestures vaguely toward my car, toward me—“and we could be a family again. The way Jamie deserves.” My hand clenches the door handle so hard my knuckles turn white.
The audacity of this guy to talk about forgiveness when he’s the one who broke everything.
To act like Iris is the one who needs pardoning.
I watch as Iris’s shoulders tense further, her body language shifting into something smaller, more defensive.
It’s subtle—probably imperceptible to most people—but I’ve spent months learning every nuance of her movements.
I know what it looks like when she’s bracing for impact, whether it’s a difficult landing on the ice or emotional shrapnel from her ex-husband.
“Owen, please,” she says, and the slight quaver in her voice ignites something primal in my chest. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“You know what, Iris?” he says, voice dropping to a cruel whisper.
“I see exactly what you’re doing. Trying to prove something by hanging around with this guy.
” He jerks his chin in my direction. “We both know how this ends—he’ll get bored and leave.
You’ll never be good enough. Not as a fling, not as a mother, and not as a wife.
” He steps closer, invading her space. “But I love you anyway. I’m the only one who ever really has, who sees you for what you actually are and still wants you.
When this fantasy falls apart—and we both know it will—I’ll still be here.
I’m willing to be generous, for Jamie’s sake.
” His hand reaches for her arm, and though his touch looks gentle from where I sit, I can see Iris flinch almost imperceptibly.
My vision tunnels. Blood pounds in my ears.
I’m out of the car before I even realize I’ve moved, door slamming behind me.
The cold January air hits my lungs as I stride up the walkway, stray raindrops pelting my skin.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, then release, then curl again.
Owen spots me coming and his features darken, lips curling into a smirk that makes my jaw clench so tight it aches.
“Well, well,” he drawls, keeping his hand on Iris’s arm. “Look who couldn’t mind his own business.” Iris turns, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Collin—”
“Everything okay here?” I ask, voice coming out steadier than I feel as I reach the bottom of the porch steps.
“Perfect timing,” Owen says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We were just having a private conversation. Family matters.”
“Collin, please go back to the car,” Iris says, her eyes pleading.
“I’ve got this.” I hesitate, one foot on the bottom step.
The rational part of my brain knows I should listen to her.
But then Owen’s hand tightens on her arm, so slightly maybe only I notice because I’ve held that same arm to steady her through countless spins on the ice. I take another step up.
“You should listen to her,” Owen says, smiling like we’re sharing a joke. “Women, right? So emotional. Sometimes they need a firm hand to guide them back when they’ve gone astray.”
“Let her go,” I say, the words grinding between my teeth. Owen raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, but his hand remains where it is.
“I don’t think you get to tell me how to interact with my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Iris and I say simultaneously. Owen’s face hardens. He steps forward, placing himself between Iris and me.
“Look, hockey boy, I don’t know what she’s told you about me, but—”
“This isn’t about what she’s told me,” I cut him off, climbing another step. “It’s about what I just witnessed. You don’t talk to her like that.”
“Like what?” Owen laughs, the sound sharp and humorless.
“With honesty? Someone needs to. She’s always needed guidance.
” He glances back at Iris. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?
Remember how lost you were before me?” Iris opens her mouth, but whatever she might have said is lost as I climb the last step, now standing eye-to-eye with Owen.
“Collin, please,” Iris says, moving toward me, one hand outstretched. “This isn’t worth it.”
“Yes,” I say, not looking away from Owen’s face, “you are.” The rain is falling harder now, plastering my hair to my forehead, but I barely notice it. Owen shakes his head, his fingers still wrapped around Iris’s arm as he looks directly at her.
“You always did like the attention, didn’t you?
Funny how quickly you forgot everything I did for you.
” His voice softens, taking on that manipulative tone again.
“What we had was real, Iris. What we still have. This little rebellion of yours”—he gestures toward me with his free hand—“doesn’t change what’s between us. ”
“What you did to her is more like it,” I growl, the words escaping before I can stop them. My eyes fix on his hand gripping her arm, his knuckles whitening slightly. Owen’s gaze snaps back to me, his eyes cold.
“You think you know what our marriage was like? She needs someone who helps her make the right choices. Someone who knows her flaws.” He lowers his voice, fingers tightening around Iris’s arm.
“Trust me, once you see them all, you’ll be running too.
But I’ll still be here.” He turns back to Iris.
“I’ll always be here for you, not just for Jamie.
Because despite everything, we have history. We have a relationship that—”
“Relationship?” I laugh, the sound sharp and humorless.
“Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like intimidation.
Real men don’t need to grab women to make their point.
” Owen’s face flushes crimson. His hand drops from Iris’s arm, turning his full attention to me.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snarls, stepping toward me.
Something in me snaps. Not just because of his words, but the way Iris rubs her arm where his fingers had been, the slight wince she can’t quite hide.
I step forward, closing the distance between us.
In one fluid motion, I reach for Iris’s hand, gently pulling her around me and away from him.
My body becomes a physical barrier between them, shielding her.
“As far as I’m concerned,” I say, my voice dangerously low, “your relationship with Iris outside of Jamie is nonexistent. You don’t get access to that part of her anymore.
You don’t deserve it.” Owen’s eyes widen slightly, but he quickly regains his composure, a sneer forming on his lips.
The rain intensifies around us, plastering my shirt to my skin.
“I will not ever hear the words, ‘I love you, Iris’ come out of your mouth again.” My hands curl into fists at my sides.
God, I want to hit him. One clean shot to his jaw.
But Jamie’s inside. And this is Owen’s house.
And as much as he deserves it, I won’t be that guy.
“You don’t love her, you never did. Because when you love someone, you accept them for everything that they are, all of it. ”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Owen snaps, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. No one’s ever called him on his bullshit before.
“You don’t love them if you try to change every little thing about them,” I continue, thinking of all the small ways Iris had described him chipping away at her confidence over the years.
“You don’t love them if you try to make them smaller just so you can feel better about yourself.
” I feel Iris’s hand close around my arm from behind, whether to support me or hold me back, I’m not sure.
But her touch grounds me, keeps me from crossing a line I might regret.
“Did hurting her make you feel big?” I ask, stepping closer, raindrops running down my face.
“Did tearing her to pieces make her easier to swallow?” Owen’s jaw works silently, fury emanating from him in waves.
His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and for a second I think—almost hope—he might swing at me. Give me a reason.
“I want you to look me in the eyes when I tell you this,” I say, forcing his gaze to meet mine.
“Man to man, disrespectfully, you can choke. She will never be small for you again.” For a moment, the only sound is the drumming of rain on the porch roof and our ragged breathing.
Owen’s face contorts with rage, his chest heaving with each breath.
“You think you can come to my house and talk to me like that?” he grits out.
“I think I’ve shown remarkable restraint, considering,” I reply, not backing down an inch. Owen steps forward, closing what little distance remains between us.
“Get off my property before I—” The front door creaks open behind him, cutting him off mid-threat. Jamie’s small face appears in the doorway, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air around him.
“Daddy? Are you coming? I got the crackers all by myself,” he announces proudly, then his eyes widen when he notices us all still standing there.
“Why is everyone all wet?” The transformation in Owen is immediate and disturbing.
His face smooths out, the murderous rage replaced by a warm smile as he turns to his son.
Jamie disappears back inside, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
Owen’s mask slips instantly, his expression hardening as he turns back to us.
“Sunday. Five o’clock,” Iris says, her voice steadier than I expected. “I’ll be here to pick him up.”
“This isn’t over,” Owen says, the threat implicit in his tone.
“Yes, it is,” she replies, her fingers finding mine.
“Goodbye, Owen.” Without waiting for a response, she tugs gently on my hand, leading me back down the steps.
I feel his eyes burning into my back the entire time.
As we near my car, something catches my eye—a quick flash in my peripheral vision from across the street.
I turn sharply, squinting through the rain, and my stomach drops.
There, partially hidden behind a parked van, is a man with a camera.
The telephoto lens is unmistakable, even in the downpour. Paparazzi.
Fuck me.
Someone must have followed us from the rink, hoping to catch the skating world’s newest “it” pair in an unguarded moment.
Instead, they got front-row seats to me an inch away from losing my shit like a caged animal.
I quickly angle my body to shield Iris, guiding her toward the passenger side with a protective hand at the small of her back.
My mind races through the inevitable headlines: “Skating Star’s Explosive Confrontation,” “Love Triangle On Ice,” or worse.
Marcus is going to lose his mind. I’ll no doubt be traded if not outright fired.
This is exactly the kind of tabloid nightmare he warned me about.
But as I open Iris’s door and she slides in, hair dripping and eyes meeting mine with concern, I can’t bring myself to regret a single word I said to Owen.
The rain soaks me completely as I circle around to the driver’s side.
I catch one last glimpse of Owen still standing on the porch, watching us with undisguised hatred, completely unaware of the photographer documenting his rage.
I slide behind the wheel, water running down my face.
Before starting the engine, I glance at her.
“There’s a photographer across the street,” I say quietly, nodding subtly in that direction. “Has been for a while, I think.” Her eyes widen slightly, but instead of the panic I expected, she just exhales slowly.
“Of course there is.” A tired laugh escapes her. “Perfect timing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, starting the engine. I pull away from the curb, my hands still shaking with adrenaline. We drive in silence for several blocks, the only sound the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers and the drumming of rain on the roof.
“You okay?” I ask, glancing over at her, trying to push thoughts of career suicide from my mind. Iris lets out a long, shuddering breath.
“I feel like I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine.” A blatant lie. I’m anything but fine.
I’m furious and protective and terrified all at once.
Terrified that I’ve made things worse for her.
That Owen will find a way to use this against her somehow.
That tomorrow’s tabloids will make everything more complicated, my job, whatever this is between us.
As if reading my thoughts, Iris reaches over and places her hand on mine where it grips the steering wheel.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For what you said back there.” I lace my fingers through hers, swallowing against the tightness in my throat.
“I meant every word.” Her thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand.
“I know you did.” We stop at a red light, raindrops racing down the windshield in jagged patterns.
I turn to look at her properly for the first time since leaving Owen’s house.
Her hair is plastered to her head, makeup slightly smudged from the rain.
Beautiful. Always beautiful. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Probably Marcus, already getting wind of the situation. I ignore it. The light turns green.
“Take me home,” she says softly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Whatever storm is coming our way tomorrow, at least for tonight, we’re heading somewhere safe.