Chapter 27 Iris
IRIS
Early morning light filters through the kitchen windows, casting muted shadows across the worn wooden table.
Outside, rain drums a steady rhythm against the roof, the sound both comforting and melancholy.
Steam rises from my coffee mug, mingling with the gray half-light.
The house feels too quiet. Too empty. Without Jamie’s constant chatter about dinosaurs or superheroes.
Without Collin’s deep laugh filling the spaces between rooms, or the way he hums under his breath when he thinks no one’s listening.
I trace the rim of my mug with my finger, remembering how Collin had kissed me goodbye last night—softly, his hand cradling my face like I might break if he pressed too hard.
How he’d hesitated at the door, car keys jingling in his hand.
“You sure you’re okay?” he’d asked, eyes searching mine.
“I can stay if you want. I can call someone to check on Ace.” I should have said yes.
Should have asked him to come back after checking on his dog.
But something held me back. That familiar hesitation, the voice in my head whispering that I was getting in too deep, too fast.
“I’m tired,” I’d said instead. “And you need to take care of Ace. I’ll see you tomorrow.
” Now I wish I’d been braver. My eyes drift to the small stack of mail on the counter—bills, flyers, and on top, Jamie’s latest drawing.
A family portrait drawn in bright crayons.
Me, Jamie, and now Collin and Ace, standing in front of a house with a yellow sun beaming down on us.
Almost identical to the one he gave Collin.
So simple in a child’s eyes. So complicated in reality.
Yesterday at Owen’s comes flooding back in vivid detail.
The way Owen’s fingers had tightened around my arm, his words cutting in that precise way he’d mastered over years of knowing exactly where to strike.
And then Collin, stepping out of his car, his face flushed with anger as he placed himself between us.
No one has ever defended me like that before.
Against Owen, against anyone. You don’t love them if you try to change every little thing about them.
You don’t love them if you try to make them smaller just so you can feel better about yourself.
Had Owen done that? Made me smaller? I think about how I’d stopped singing in the shower during our marriage because he complained about the noise.
How I’d changed the way I dressed, the foods I cooked, even the way I spoke—all subtle adjustments to avoid his criticism.
So gradual I hardly noticed until one day I barely recognized myself.
She will never be small for you again. I take a sip of cooling coffee, feeling something warm unfurl in my chest that has nothing to do with caffeine.
Pride, maybe. Or the realization that Collin sees me—really sees me—in a way Owen never did. In a way no one ever has.
Owen’s words still echo in my head too, souring my mood even now.
I take another sip of coffee, trying to wash the taste of that memory away.
I don’t believe what he thinks is true. Not really.
Not when I see the way Collin looks at me across the ice, or how gently he treats Jamie.
But then again... his reputation speaks for itself.
The string of short-lived relationships, the women who never lasted more than a few months.
He’s never been the relationship type. So where does that leave me?
All twisted up and confused by my own feelings, what I think Collin is feeling, and the undeniable truth of his past. I’ve been down this road before, believed in someone who ultimately proved unworthy of that belief.
I can’t do that again, not with Jamie in the mix.
I’ve got to be smart. Careful. The phone rings, startling me from my thoughts. My sister’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Max—”
“Turn on SportsCenter. Now.” Her voice is tight, urgent.
“What? Why?”
“Just do it, Iris. Right now.” Something in her tone makes my stomach drop.
I reach for the remote with suddenly clumsy fingers, fumbling until I manage to turn on the TV and find the right channel.
My coffee mug nearly slips from my hand.
There on my screen is Collin, standing on Owen’s porch in the rain, his face contorted with anger as he faces off with my ex-husband.
The footage is grainy but clear enough—someone filmed the entire confrontation from across the street.
I watch in horror as the camera captures Collin pulling me behind him, his body language protective as he towers over Owen.
I can’t hear what they’re saying over the commentator, but I don’t need to.
I lived it. Felt the rain soaking through my clothes, saw the tension between the two men, experienced the simultaneous relief and uncertainty of having someone stand up for me in a way no one ever had before.
“—hockey star Collin King in what appears to be a heated altercation with an unidentified man,” the anchor is saying, his voice carrying a false gravity that makes my skin crawl.
“Sources confirm the woman in the video is King’s skating partner, Iris Clark. ”
The footage cuts to different images, and a fresh wave of embarrassment heats my cheeks.
Photos from months ago when Collin and I went bar-hopping with his friends.
In one, Collin’s arm is wrapped possessively around my waist at the bar, my face tilted up toward his with a lazy, intimate smile.
In another, we’re on the dance floor, bodies pressed close, our faces mere inches apart in what looks like the moment before a kiss.
I remember those photos. They’d circulated briefly in a few tabloids after someone recognized Collin at the bar.
I’d managed to ignore them at the time, telling myself they looked more scandalous than the reality had been.
But seeing them now, broadcast nationally alongside yesterday’s confrontation, they tell a very different story.
“These images raise questions about the nature of their partnership,” the anchor continues, his tone turning conspiratorial.
“Insiders claim King’s management team has been working to rehabilitate his image after the rookie made a name for himself as hockey’s most notorious playboy.
This incident could be devastating to his career.
” They cut to a montage of Collin’s past—hockey games where he’d been penalized for fighting, tabloid headlines linking him to various women.
“Iris? Are you there?” Max’s voice sounds tiny and distant from the phone I’ve forgotten I’m holding.
“Yeah,” I manage, my throat suddenly dry. “I’m here.”
“What the hell happened?” I sink back into my chair, unable to tear my eyes from the screen as they replay the footage from Owen’s porch in slow motion. It looks worse somehow, more deliberate, each frame analyzed like it’s game footage.
“Owen was being... Owen,” I say, the words inadequate to describe what actually happened. “Collin stepped in.”
“Stepped in? Iris, he looks like he’s about to rip Owen’s head off!
And now it’s all over national TV!” The anchor moves on to a panel discussion.
A woman in a crisp blazer leans forward with an expression of rehearsed concern.
“Sources close to King suggest this behavior could jeopardize his standing with sponsors. There are contractual morality clauses that—” I mute the TV, my hands shaking.
Rain streaks down the kitchen windows, blurring the world outside like watercolors bleeding together.
Inside, my carefully constructed life seems to be unraveling just as quickly.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” I ask Max, though I already know the answer.
“It depends on what you want,” she says carefully.
“If you want everyone knowing your business, then sure, it’s great.
If you want privacy and for Collin not to lose his career over defending you, then yeah, it’s pretty bad.
” My phone beeps with an incoming call—Collin.
I ignore it, too overwhelmed to talk to him right now.
I need to think, to process what this means for me, for Jamie, for the life I’ve worked so hard to rebuild after leaving Owen.
“I didn’t ask him to defend me,” I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. “I specifically asked him to stay in the car.”
“Well, he didn’t,” Max says, practicality cutting through my shock. “And now you both have to deal with it. Have you talked to him since this broke?”
“No, he’s calling now, but I... I need a minute. God, Max I don’t even know what this is. We haven’t talked about it. I don’t know what he wants.”
“Ugh, Iris,” she groans through the phone, and I can imagine her rolling her eyes. “What the hell do you want?” I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out. I’m pacing my living room, mind reeling.
“Him.” I croak. “But at what cost, Max? I can’t be the reason he loses his career.
His once in a lifetime career.” I close my eyes, tears threatening to spill over.
I know what it’s like to be at the peak.
To have your dream and have it pulled away from you because someone didn’t give you a choice.
I wouldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t. My phone buzzes in my hand and his name lights up my screen.
“I have to go,” I tell Max. “He’s calling again. ”
“Iris, think carefully before you do anything rash—”