Chapter Eighteen Travis
Chapter Eighteen
Travis
Something's wrong with Kelly.
She's been off for a few days now—distracted, quiet, not quite meeting my eyes. At first I thought it was the book, the way writers get when they're stuck on something. But this feels different. Heavier. Like she's carrying something she doesn't want me to see.
We're at dinner—her place, pasta she made from scratch, candles on the table because she said it felt like a candle night—when she finally says it.
"I need to show you something."
She sets down her fork and pulls out her phone, scrolling for a moment before handing it to me. "I got this email a few days ago. From your sister."
My stomach drops. I take the phone and start reading.
The first email is short, apologetic, almost reasonable. I'm not like my mom. I just want to help. Classic Savannah—playing the good cop after Patricia played the bad one.
The second email is longer. And worse.
I read it twice, my jaw tightening with every line. The accusations. The lies. The careful manipulation designed to make Kelly doubt everything she knows about me.
He did it to our grandmother when she was sick.
I set the phone down carefully, because if I don't I'm going to throw it across the room.
"Travis?" Kelly's voice is cautious. "Say something."
"How long have you had this?"
"A few days."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I was trying to figure out how I felt about it first." She's watching me, her expression guarded. "Some of what she said—I knew it wasn't true. But some of it..."
"Some of it what?"
"Some of it made me wonder. If there were things you hadn't told me."
The words hit harder than they should. I thought we were past this. I thought I'd told her everything—the scandal, the family, the money, all of it. But here's Savannah, reaching across the distance to plant doubt, and it's working.
"What part made you wonder?" I ask.
"The grandmother part." Kelly's voice is quiet. "She said you ran. That you weren't there for her when she was sick. But you told me you visited every day."
"I did visit every day."
"Then why would Savannah say that?"
"Because she's a liar." The words come out harsher than I intended. "Because she's been jealous of my relationship with Grandma since we were kids. Because Grandma left me the cottage and the trust fund and Savannah got nothing, and she's never forgiven me for it."
Kelly blinks. "Your grandmother left you money?"
"A trust. For emergencies. It's how I've been living since the suspension—the team stopped paying me, and I didn't want to touch my savings." I shake my head. "Savannah contested the will. Said Grandma wasn't in her right mind. It went nowhere, but she's been bitter ever since."
"You never told me that."
"I didn't think it mattered." I push back from the table, too angry to sit still. "Kelly, everything in that email is designed to hurt you. To hurt us. Savannah doesn't care about you—she cares about getting to me. And the easiest way to do that is to make you doubt me."
"I know that. I know." She stands too, moving toward me. "But I needed to hear you say it. I needed to see your face when you read it."
"And? What did you see?"
"Anger. Not guilt." She touches my arm. "That's what I needed to know."
Some of the tension drains out of my shoulders. "You believed me?"
"I wanted to. But I needed to be sure." She takes a breath. "Nicole told me to show you the email. She said I was being stupid, letting it get in my head. And she was right."
"Nicole sounds smart."
"She is. Smarter than me, sometimes."
I pull her into my arms, holding her against my chest. She fits there perfectly, her head tucked under my chin, her hands pressed flat against my back.
"I'm sorry," she says into my shirt. "I should have told you sooner."
"It's okay. I understand why you didn't." I kiss the top of her head. "But Kelly—whatever my family says, whatever they do—you can always come to me. I'd rather deal with it together than have you carrying it alone."
"I know. I will. I promise."
We stand there for a moment, the candles flickering, the pasta getting cold. Then I pull back and look at her.
"I need to call her."
"Savannah?"
"Yeah." I grab my phone from the counter. "This ends now."
"Travis, wait." Kelly catches my arm. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Maybe we should just ignore it. Not give her the satisfaction."
"She came after you. She tried to destroy what we have with lies about my grandmother." I shake my head. "I'm not letting that stand."
Kelly hesitates, then nods. "Okay. Do you want me to leave?"
"No. Stay. I want you to hear this."
I find Savannah's number and hit call. It rings twice before she picks up.
"Travis. Finally." Her voice is honey-sweet, fake as always. "I was wondering when you'd—"
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Silence. Then: "Excuse me?"
"The email. The email you sent Kelly, telling her I abandoned Grandma. That I have a pattern of using people and disappearing." I'm pacing the kitchen now, too wired to stand still. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking she deserved to know the truth."
"The truth? You told her I wasn't there when Grandma was sick. You know that's a lie. You know I visited her every single day."
"You visited, sure. But you weren't really there, were you?" Savannah's voice sharpens. "You were too busy playing hockey, too busy with your precious career. Grandma used to cry about how little she saw you."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? I was there, Travis. I saw how lonely she was. I saw how much it hurt her when you couldn't be bothered to—"
"I drove two hours each way. Every day I wasn't traveling." My voice is shaking. "I put my entire season on hold. I played like garbage because I couldn't focus on anything except her. Don't you dare tell me I wasn't there."
"You missed her death."
The words land like a blow. I stop pacing.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I did. Because I was in a meeting with lawyers, dealing with the mess from the fight. And you know why I was in that fight? Because some asshole followed me to the hospice and asked me if God was punishing me by taking my grandmother and my career at the same time."
Savannah is silent.
"So don't talk to me about not being there.
Don't talk to me about abandoning her. I was there more than any of you.
More than Mom, who showed up twice the entire time Grandma was sick.
More than Dad, who couldn't even look at her because it reminded him of his own mortality.
More than you, who visited once and spent the whole time on your phone. "
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair. But you don't get to rewrite history just because you're angry about the will." I take a breath, trying to steady myself. "And you definitely don't get to drag Kelly into your bullshit."
"She's using you, Travis. Can't you see that? She didn't even know who you were, and now suddenly she's your girlfriend? It's obvious what she wants."
"What she wants is someone who shows up.
Someone who listens. Someone who doesn't treat her like a means to an end.
" I glance at Kelly, who's standing by the table watching me with worried eyes.
"She's the best thing that's happened to me in years.
And if you can't see that, then you don't know me at all. "
"I know you better than anyone."
"No. You don't." I stop by the window, staring out at the dark yard. "You know the version of me that's useful to you. The one who pays for things and shows up when you need something. But you don't know me. You've never known me."
Savannah makes a sound—a scoff, maybe, or a choked laugh. "So that's it? You're choosing some random woman over your family?"
"I'm choosing someone who actually cares about me.
Yeah." I turn back to face the room. "And I'm done, Savannah.
With you, with Mom, with all of it. Don't contact Kelly again.
Don't show up at her house. Don't send emails trying to sabotage my relationship.
If you do, I'll cut you off completely. No more money, no more favors, nothing. "
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
The line goes quiet. I can hear her breathing, can practically feel her calculating her next move.
"Fine," she says finally. "Have it your way. But don't come crawling back when she breaks your heart."
"Goodbye, Savannah."
I hang up before she can respond.
The kitchen is very quiet. Kelly is still standing by the table, her arms wrapped around herself, her face unreadable.
"Well," she says. "That was intense."
"Yeah." I set the phone down and lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline is draining out of me, leaving something hollow behind. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."
"Don't be. I'm glad I did." She crosses to me and takes my hands. "You defended me. You defended us."
"Of course I did."
"It wasn't a of course. Most people wouldn't have done that. Most people would have tried to keep the peace, smooth things over." She squeezes my hands. "You chose me."
"I'll always choose you."
The words come out before I can think about them. But I mean them. I mean them more than I've meant anything in a long time.
Kelly's eyes go soft. "Travis."
"I know it's fast. I know we've only been doing this for a few weeks. But I'm not confused about how I feel." I pull her closer. "You're it for me, Kelly. Whatever happens with my family, with hockey, with any of it—you're the thing I'm sure about."
She rises on her toes and kisses me, her hands sliding up my chest to curl around my neck. It's soft and fierce at the same time, a promise and a question wrapped together.
"I'm sure about you too," she says against my lips.
We stand there for a moment, just holding each other. Then she pulls back and looks up at me.
"Are you okay? That was a lot. The stuff about your grandmother, the meeting..."
"I'm okay." I'm not sure if it's true, but I want it to be. "It felt good, actually. To say all of it out loud. I've been carrying that around for months."
"She really said you weren't there for your grandmother?"
"Yeah. And the thing is, she knows the truth. She knows I was there every day. But she doesn't care about the truth—she cares about winning." I shake my head. "That's how my family operates. Everything is a competition. Everything is about leverage."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is. That's why I stopped playing." I guide her back to the table, to the cold pasta and the candles that have burned halfway down. "Sit. Let's eat. I don't want to let her ruin our dinner."
"It's probably cold by now."
"I don't care. You made it. That's what matters."
We sit and eat the lukewarm pasta, and somehow it tastes better than anything I've had in years. Maybe because Kelly made it. Maybe because we're on the other side of something hard and we made it through. Maybe both.
"Can I ask you something?" Kelly says.
"Anything."
"The trust. From your grandmother. You said it's how you've been living." She twirls pasta around her fork. "Are you okay? Financially, I mean. With the suspension and everything."
"I'm fine. I was smart with my money—or I got smart, after Grandma talked some sense into me. I have savings, investments. The trust is just a cushion." I shrug. "Even if I never play again, I'll be okay."
"If you never play again." She sets down her fork. "Is that something you're seriously considering?"
"I don't know. Maybe." I push my plate away. "Being back with the team—it didn't feel right. It felt like putting on a costume that doesn't fit anymore. And being here, with you..." I look at her. "This is the first time my life has made sense in years."
"You can't give up your career for me. That's too much pressure."
"I wouldn't be giving it up for you. I'd be giving it up for me." I reach across the table and take her hand. "You just happen to be part of the life I want. The life that doesn't include ninety-hour weeks and cameras in my face and people waiting for me to fail."
"What does that life look like? The one you want?"
I think about it. Really think about it, in a way I haven't let myself before.
"Quiet," I say. "Steady. A place like this, where no one knows my name. Work that matters—building things, fixing things, being useful in ways I can see and touch." I squeeze her hand. "And you. You're in all of it."
Kelly doesn't say anything. Her eyes are bright, and I wonder if I've said too much, pushed too far too fast.
Then she stands up, comes around the table, and sits in my lap.
"That sounds like a good life," she says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She cups my face in her hands. "I want that too. All of it."
I kiss her, and we’re so tangle up in one another that the pasta goes completely cold. And I don't care about any of it.
When Kelly finally goes to bed and I walk back to the cottage, the night is cold and clear and full of stars. I stand on the porch for a moment, looking at the main house, at the light in her bedroom window.
I meant what I said. She's it for me.
Now I just have to figure out how to build the life we both want.