“For years, hockey was the only thing that made sense. The only thing I could control when everything else felt chaotic.” I step closer again, and this time she doesn’t pull away. “It gave me purpose when I didn’t have one. But that’s not enough anymore. Hockey isn’t enough. Being the best goalie in the league isn’t enough. None of it means anything without someone to share it with.”
“Grant, please don’t do this.” She sounds so desperate that it hurts. “Don’t make me more important than your dreams.”
“You’re not more important than my dreams, Heather.” I reach up and cup her face in my hands, making her look at me. “You are my dream. You and April. Coming home to you. Helping April do her homework at the kitchen table. Making breakfast together. Going to sleep with you in my arms. That’s what I want. That’s what matters.”
“You’re not thinking clearly. You need to stop before you say something you’ll regret. Something we’ll both regret.”
“I’ve never thought more clearly in my entire life.” I lean my forehead against hers, feeling her breath mix with mine. “Hockey used to be everything. But now? Now it’s just what I do. You and April? You’re who Iam.”
Chapter 41
Heather
I can’t breathe, or think, or do anything except stand here and let his words wash over me, sinking deeper and deeper until they make it past all my fear, all my anxiety, and the rush of panic and adrenaline that hasn’t let up since I got home with April.
Grant, to his credit, is giving me all the time I need to internalize everything he’s just laid on me. He hasn’t said another word, but he’s looking at me like I hung the moon and the stars. Like the idea of me leaving is physically painful to him.
And I realize, with a clarity that I’ve been missing for most of the afternoon, that he means every single word.
This isn’t some noble gesture or misguided sense of responsibility. This isn’t him trying to be the hero because that’s what good guys do. This is Grant—careful, controlled, measured Grant—standing in front of me and laying his entire heart bare.
Hockey used to be everything. But now it’s just what he does.
We—April and I—are who he is.
The sob that breaks free doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before. I don’t even realize it’s coming from my own mouth and throat and chest until I feel everything I’ve been holding in start to crumble.
I can still feel every ounce of fear from Steven’s phone call and the terror of seeing him at April’s school. There’s the panic of packing, of running, of trying to protect everyone by leaving. And then of course there’s the exhaustion of holding it all together for so many years, of being strong and capable and never letting anyone see me break.
I feel it all as it comes pouring out in ugly, gasping sobs that shake my entire body.
Grant doesn’t hesitate to pull me into his arms, and I go willingly, desperately. After holding myself upright through sheer force of will for so long, he’s the first solid thing I’ve found to collapse against, and I fully melt into him.
His arms are strong and secure around me, with one hand cradling the back of my head while the other wraps around my waist. He’s holding me so close I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, and it’s exactly the kind of comfort I’m looking for, even if I can’t put it into words.
He doesn’t try to quiet me or tell me everything is okay. He just holds me and lets me fall apart. He gives me the space to be vulnerable in a way I haven’t allowed myself to be in years.
Maybe ever.
I don’t know how long we stand there. Long enough for my sobs to quiet into hiccups. Long enough for my breathing to even out and for the panic that’s been driving me since I left April’s school to finally start to recede.
He doesn’t let go until I do. I slowly pull back, suddenly aware of how I must look—red-eyed and runny-nosed and completely wrecked.
But when I look up at him, I don’t see any judgment. Only concern and care, even though I know today has been hard on him too.
His hands come up to cradle my face, and the gentleness of the gesture nearly undoes me all over again. His thumbs brushaway the tears still tracking down my cheeks with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
“I’ve got you,” he says, then repeats it for good measure. “I’ve got you, Hurricane.”
The nickname that started as a joke, as a description of the chaos April and I brought into his carefully ordered life, has become something intimate that belongs to just the two of us.
I lean into his touch, letting my eyes close for just a moment as I feel the warmth of his palms against my skin and the steady presence of him in front of me.
For so long, I’ve had to be the strong one. The one who makes all the decisions and carries all the weight. But right now, in this moment, I don’t have to be strong.
Grant is being strong enough for both of us.
His eyes search mine, and I can see him gathering his thoughts and preparing to say something.
