I hear him inhale. The sound is thin, like it cuts him. “When?” he asks.
“Official tomorrow. They told me tonight.”
“How long have you known that’s a possibility?” Rafe’s voice is too controlled. That’s how I know it’s bad.
“Not long,” I say quickly. “Just—just now for sure. It happened fast.”
He exhales, and the breath is shaky. “You didn’t tell me there were rumors.”
My stomach twists. “I didn’t want to stress you.”
There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is low, edged with something that feels like betrayal. “Ollie,” he says, “I’m your husband.”
The words land clean, the same way his line did months ago—“I don’t want to be your secret forever.”No accusation, just truth, placed between us like something fragile and unavoidable.
My hearts thumps heavily. “I know.”
“Do you?” he asks, quiet and deadly calm. “Because husbands tell each other when their lives are about to change.”
“I didn’t know,” I insist, desperation creeping in. “I didn’t know for sure. I?—”
“You didn’t tell me,” he repeats, and it isn’t loud, but it’s final in a way that makes my chest ache.
I press my palm against my forehead, trying to hold myself together. “I was going to. I just—Rafe, I didn’t want to make it worse.”
He laughs once, short and humorless. “Make it worse.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, too fast. “I’m not leaving you.”
He goes quiet again. I can hear the world behind him—voices, movement, someone calling his name. A life that doesn’t pause for my panic.
Rafe’s voice comes back, forced steady. “I have to go.”
My heart lurches. “Rafe?—”
“I have to go to a meet and greet,” he says, and the sentence feels like a wall. “They’re calling me.”
I can hear it then—the muffled roar of a crowd, distant but real, like an ocean through the phone. Thousands of people waiting for him. A sea between us.
“Please,” I say, and my voice breaks. “Just—don’t hang up like this.”
Rafe exhales. “We’re always like this.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it?” His voice is tired now, not angry, which feels worse. “I love you, Ollie. But I can’t—” He stops, and I can hear him swallow. “I have to go.”
The call ends.
No goodbye.
No resolution.
Just the dead sound of disconnection.
I sit with my phone in my hand, staring at the blank screen until my vision blurs. A notification pops up almost immediately, telling me I have a new email.
Welcome to the Minnesota Eagles organization.
