Chapter 44 Oliver
Oliver
The slam of the door as she slips inside the building reverberates through the parking garage, the sound bouncing off concrete and steel.
Long after she’s gone, I’m still standing here, stunned.
For what feels like an eternity, I can’t move. It’s like the oxygen has been sucked out of the garage along with her. My body knows before my brain catches up that something just broke, and I have no idea how to fix it.
One second, Rina was sitting beside me, my hand wrapped tight around hers, the future with our baby stretched out in front of us like something solid and real. Something we could build upon. And the next, she was walking away, her retreat feeling a hell of a lot like rejection.
I stay rooted by the Porsche, staring where she disappeared through the glass doors of the arena. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms, because every piece of me is screaming to chase and catch her, to hold her until she believes and understands I’m telling her the truth.
The image of her expression slams into me. The raw, unfiltered panic. The way her eyes pleaded for space.
As if she thought I was proposing because the baby forced my hand.
As if it were out of obligation and not a choice.
What did I do wrong?
I was offering her everything.
My heart.
My future.
Forever.
Not because of the baby.
Or because I had to.
But because I’d already chosen her.
Instead, she’d looked at me like I’d backed her into a corner.
I drag both hands through my hair, fingers locking against my skull, and breathe deeply. My pulse thunders in my ears, a relentless pounding that matches the memory still rattling in my chest. That fast, steady sound that gutted me in the best way possible.
Our baby’s heartbeat.
It’s branded into me now, etched into my DNA.
I’ll never be the same again.
I thought she felt it too.
No. I know she did.
Instead of drawing her closer and binding her to me, I’d pushed too hard and shoved her right over the edge.
Patience has never been my strong suit. On the ice, speed is everything. You strike before your opponent even sees you coming.
But with Rina… if I keep rushing the play, I’ll lose the whole damn game.
The thought tears me up.
The idea of losing her—no, not just her, but her and our baby—feels worse than anything I’ve ever lived through. Worse than a losing season. Worse than the night I sat in a dark hospital waiting room after Dad died, wondering if my family would be the same again.
I learned that night how quickly everything can disappear.
One second, you’re planning for a future.
The next, you’re standing in the wreckage of what you thought was unbreakable.
And ever since, I’ve tried to control what I can—games, contracts, people—because if I keep everything moving, maybe nothing else will fall apart.
She says she needs space?
Fine. I’ll give it to her.
But space doesn’t have to mean distance.
Not for me.
No matter how far she runs, that woman will always be mine.
When I slide behind the wheel again, the car feels cavernous, the emptiness settling in all around me.
The seat beside me still carries the faint trace of her perfume, something smoky and sultry, a ghost I can’t shake no matter how hard I try.
My knuckles burn as I grip the steering wheel and force oxygen into my lungs in gradual, even pulls.
I’ve spent my whole life reacting both on and off the ice. When I want something, I go after it full force. But maybe this time, wanting her means learning how to wait.
She thinks I’m rushing blindly into this.
That I’m reckless.
That what I’m offering is nothing but an impulsive decision.
But that’s where Rina’s wrong, because there’s nothing impulsive about the way I feel for her. This isn’t some one-night stand gone awry. This isn’t obligation, panic, or desperation.
This is the rest of my life.
And I’ll spend every damn day proving it to her.
Even if she doesn’t believe me yet.
Even if it takes patience I’ve never had before.
I’ll wait.
No matter how long it takes.
The buzz of my phone rattles against the console, shattering the silence. I glance down as my brother’s name lights up the screen.
Hayes: How’d the appointment go?
For a long moment, I stare at the text, not sure how to respond. A tightness coils inside me as my gaze shifts to the empty passenger seat, the space where she should be. The answer lodges in my throat, my feelings too complicated to express right now.
Because, yeah, we heard the heartbeat today.
But I also heard the sound of Rina running away.
If I listen hard enough, I can still hear that little heartbeat.
Steady and sure.
Proof that some things keep going even after everything else falls apart.