Chapter 9
ANNE
Four and a half hours of highway. Four and a half hours where I didn't have to pretend I was holding it together. Where I could cry if I needed to. Where I could think about Liam without feeling guilty.
Except I couldn't shake the guilt.
I felt guilty about shutting him down Thursday when he'd asked what was wrong. About the lie that we're just PT and client when we both knew better. About leaving him hurt and confused because I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth.
My phone rang through the car speakers. My mom.
"Hey, Mom."
"Are you driving?"
"Yeah. About two hours out."
"Good. Finn's been asking about you every ten minutes. I told him you'd be home for dinner, but he's convinced you're not coming."
My heart clenched. "Tell him I'm coming. Tell him I can't wait to see him."
"I will. How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"Anne."
"I'm fine, Mom. Really."
"You don't sound fine. You sound exhausted."
"It's been a long week."
Long didn't begin to cover it.
"The contract going okay? The player responding to treatment?"
"Yeah. He's healing well. Ahead of schedule, actually."
"That's good. That's what you're good at."
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Yeah."
"Anne, what's wrong?"
Everything. Everything was wrong.
"Nothing. I'm just tired. I'll see you in a couple hours, okay?"
"Okay. Drive safe. I love you."
"Love you too."
I ended the call and focused on the road, trying not to think about Liam. About the way he had looked at me Thursday morning when I'd told him we're not friends. About the way his voice had cracked slightly when he'd said The hell it isn't after I'd told him my problems weren't his concern.
About the way I'd wanted to tell him everything. About Finn. About the guilt I'd been carrying for years. About how seeing him again had made me realize I'd never stopped loving him either.
But I couldn't.
Because the moment I told him about Finn, everything would change. He'd hate me for keeping his son from him. He'd try to take Finn from me. Or worse—he'd stay out of obligation, and I'd spend the rest of my life knowing he'd chosen us because he'd had to, not because he'd wanted to.
I couldn't survive that.
So I kept driving. Kept running. Kept choosing the coward's way out.
I pulled into my mom's driveway just at dusk..
Before I could even turn off the car, the front door flew open and Finn came running out, all five years of him moving like a hurricane.
"Mommy! Mommy! You're home!"
I barely got out of the car before he crashed into me, arms wrapping around my waist, face pressed against my stomach.
"Hi, baby." I sank down to my knees and pulled him into a proper hug, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, feeling his small body against mine. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too!" He pulled back, blue eyes—Liam's eyes—bright with excitement. "Grandma said you're staying all weekend!"
"That's right. All weekend. Just you and me and Grandma."
"Can we go to the park tomorrow? And get ice cream? And watch a movie?"
"Yes, yes, and yes." I kissed his forehead. "But first, how about dinner? I'm starving."
"Mommy, when is Daddy coming?"
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. We were sitting at the park, Finn on the jungle gym, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, looking at me with those blue eyes that were so much like his father's.
"Soon, baby."
"You always say soon. But when?"
"I don't know exactly when. But soon. I promise."
"Is he nice?"
My throat tightened. "Very nice."
"Does he know about me?"
The question felt like it was asking more than just a simple yes or no.
"Not yet, sweetheart."
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"That's what Grandma always says."
"Because it's true."
"I want to meet him. I want to show him my drawings. And my hockey stick. And teach him how to do a backflip like Justin."
I laughed despite the tears threatening to fall. "I'm sure he'd love all of that."
"Then why can't I meet him?"
"Finn, honey, I promise you'll meet him. But Mommy needs a little more time to figure some things out first, okay?"
He thought about this, still hanging upside down. "Okay. But not too long."
"Not too long," I agreed.
That night, after Finn was asleep and I'd packed my bag for the drive back to St. Louis, my mom cornered me in the kitchen.
"You're going to have to tell him eventually," she said.
"I know."
"The longer you wait, the worse it gets."
"I know that too."
"So what are you waiting for?"
"The right moment."
"There's never going to be a right moment, Anne. You just have to do it."
She was right. Of course she was right.
But knowing she was right didn't make it any easier.
I left Sunday night at 8 PM.
Finn cried when I hugged him goodbye. Said he didn't want me to go. Said he wanted me to stay forever.
"I'll be back Friday," I promised. "Five more days. You can count them down with Grandma."
"Five days is too long."
"I know, baby. I know."
My mom walked me to the car. "Drive safe. Text me when you get there."
"I will."
"And Anne? Whatever you're running from in St. Louis... eventually you're going to have to stop running."
I didn't answer. Just got in the car and drove.
The highway was dark and quiet. Four and a half hours of my own thoughts. Four and a half hours of knowing that tomorrow morning, I had to see Liam again.
I thought about what my mom had said. About running. About the right moment that was never going to come.
I thought about Finn asking when he could meet his daddy.
I thought about the way Liam had looked at me Thursday morning, like he was drowning and I was the only one who could save him.
By the time I pulled into my St. Louis apartment parking lot in the early hours of Monday morning, I'd made a decision.
I was going to tell him.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon. Before this contract ended. Before I ran out of time and courage.
I was going to tell Liam O'Connell he had a son.
And I was going to pray he didn't hate me for it.
Monday morning, I arrived at the training facility early.
Early. Professional. Ready to pretend I hadn't spent the entire weekend missing him while simultaneously dreading seeing him again.
He was already there. Of course he was.
Shirtless. Sitting on the training table. Looking at me like I was a ghost or a miracle or possibly both.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi."
We stared at each other for a beat too long.
"How was your weekend?" he asked.
"Good. Yours?"
"Quiet."
Another pause. This was excruciating.
"Should we get started?" I asked, setting down my bag.
"Yeah. Sure."
I moved through the assessment on autopilot. Range of motion. Strength testing. Pain evaluation. All the clinical measures that told me he was healing beautifully, that we were ahead of schedule, that this was going exactly as planned.
Except nothing about this was going as planned.
"You're making excellent progress," I told him. "Really excellent. At this rate, you'll be cleared for stick work by next week."
"That's good."
"It is. It means the treatment plan is working."
"You're good at your job."
"Thank you."
Professional. Distant. Safe.
Except nothing about this felt safe.
"Anne," he said suddenly. "About Thursday. The way I pushed you about Chicago. I'm sorry. You were right. It's not my business."
"It's okay."
"It's not. I was out of line."
"Liam, really, it's fine."
"Is your mom okay?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Your mom. Carol. You mentioned needing to check on her. I just... I was worried something might be wrong."
He remembered my mom's name. Of course he did.
"She's fine. Healthy. Just... I like to visit when I can."
It wasn't entirely a lie. My mom was healthy. I did like to visit.
I just left out the part about Finn.
Relief washed over his face. "Good. That's good. I'm glad she's okay."
We worked in silence for the rest of the session. But it was different from Thursday. Less tense. More... something. I couldn't quite name it.
When the hour was up, he didn't leave immediately like he usually did.
"Anne," he said. "I know we said professional boundaries. But... I miss talking to you. Even if it's just about nothing. About coffee orders and stupid hockey injuries and why you chose physical therapy."
My heart squeezed. "I miss talking to you too."
"So maybe we could... I don't know. Not be strangers?"
"We were never strangers, Liam."
"No," he agreed. "We weren't."
Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a blur of sessions that felt less like torture and more like... something else.
We talked. Not about the past. Not about Chicago or Sweden or the years between then and now. Just... talked.
He told me about practice. About the plays he was designing with the coaching staff. About Carter being an idiot but a good friend. About missing the feel of a stick in his hands.
I told him about the protocol I was developing. About the marathoner with IT band issues I was treating via video. About a technique I'd learned at a conference last year that I was adapting for his specific injury.
It was easy. Natural. Like slipping back into a rhythm we'd created years ago and never quite forgot.
Wednesday afternoon, after our session ended, he asked the question I'd been expecting.
"Would you be willing to come to my apartment tonight? I want you to check my home exercise setup. Make sure I'm doing everything correctly."
I should have said no. Should have maintained boundaries. Should have not put myself in a situation where we were alone in his apartment with no professional buffer between us.
"What time?" I heard myself ask.
"Seven? I'll order dinner. Chinese okay?"
"Chinese is fine."
"Great. I'll text you the address."
I left the training facility knowing I was about to make a terrible mistake.
I went anyway.
His apartment was exactly what I'd expected.
Expensive. Minimalist. Impersonal. Like a hotel room someone had been living in but never quite made home.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside to let me enter. "Sorry about the mess."
There was no mess. Everything was pristine. Almost painfully so.
"Nice place," I said.