“She understood what that meant,” he said. “Olivia’s smart.”
“And she went to Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“Who still talks to Roman.”
“Sometimes.”
“Jesus.” I dragged a hand down my face. “That’s not dangerous because of Roman. He already knows, and he wouldn’t expose us. I know that. But Rachel doesn’t deserve to get dragged into decoding her friend’s heartbreak, and Roman doesn’t deserve to be put in a position where he has to pretend he doesn’t know what he knows.”
“No,” Declan said. “He doesn’t.”
I appreciated that he didn’t try to soften it. I was so tired of soft edges around hard things.
“Rachel won’t run to him just to gossip,” I said, more to myself than him. “She’s not like that. Roman would’ve married someone with a functional spine and a mean left hook.”
Declan’s mouth moved, almost a smile and not quite.
“And Roman won’t say anything,” I continued. “He’d staple his own mouth shut first. But he’ll clock every bruise this leaves. He always does. Then he’ll sit there looking half-asleep while silently making a list of everyone he thinks failed to protect me, including me.”
“He cares about you.”
“I know.” That was part of the ache. “He cares aggressively.”
Declan sat back, the couch dipping under his weight. “Olivia is angry. Hurt. She should be. I’m not going to control who she talks to.”
“No. I know. She gets to have people.” My voice roughened. “She gets to have a place to go.”
There it was again. The part I couldn’t sidestep.
“I ended things with Vanessa and felt like garbage,” I said. “I hurt her. I know I did. But Vanessa and I weren’t building the same kind of life you and Olivia were. She liked parts of being with me. The cameras. The apartment. The hockey girlfriend thing. But Olivia was your wife.”
Declan’s mouth pressed flat.
“I don’t know how to apologize for helping hurt her without making it about me,” I said. “But I am sorry. I chose this too. It didn’t happen to me. I wasn’t swept away by some tragic music. I made choices.”
“I know,” he said.
It didn’t sound like absolution. It sounded like he was letting the truth stand in the room without dressing it up.
For once, I didn’t try to knock it over.
The silence stretched. My knee started bouncing under Tiny. He huffed, offended, and shifted his weight like I was inconveniencing him in his time of need. I made myself stop by pressing my heel into the floor.
Then the next problem shoved its way out.
“You’re still my coach.”
Declan didn’t flinch.
“Yes.”
“That part won’t stop screaming in my head.”
“I’ve been hearing it too.”
“No, I mean all of it.” I rubbed my palms over my thighs. “Not the sexy forbidden thing. Not the part people write headlines about. The real part. You decide my ice time. You decide lines. You bench me if I need benching. You talk to management about my play. You have actual power over my career.”
