Page 90

The silence. The fear. The waiting. I stood frozen in place, hoping he’d come find me, hoping he’d fix the pieces I shattered—when it was never supposed to be just him. I let my fear grow louder than my love. I waited for him to fight for me, when I never once fought for him.

I look around the table, at the people who’s been my backbone even when I was too numb to feel it. My brothers are quiet now, but their eyes say everything.

One by one, they offer me the smallest of nods—short, and filled with something that looks dangerously like faith.

And then there’s Liam. He lifts his chin ever so slightly, not just in agreement, but like he’s daring me.

Do something. Now.

And for a second, my body betrays me. Heat rushes to my face, and my fingers tremble in my lap. My stomach drops—sharp and hollow—like the ground beneath me just gave out.

For a heartbeat, I feel like I can’t move. Like if I try to stand, my legs might not hold me.

But maybe that’s what courage really is. Not the absence of fear—but the choice to act anyway.

And maybe… I finally will.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Nick

The cold bite of the morning air slaps me before the sun’s even up. Six o’clock sharp. The rink is silent—too silent. The kind of silence that gets under your skin. Like the breath you hold when you know a hit is coming.

I lace up my skates, hands gripping tight, knuckles white. Jaw clenched. Maybe if I tie them hard enough, I’ll hold myself better too.

I’m the first on the ice. Sharp turns, sprint drills, endless laps. Stop. Start again. The scrape of my blades on ice is the only sound. It becomes my pulse—steady, relentless. My lungs burn, my legs scream, but I keep going. I have to.

Because if I stop, I think. If I think, I remember. How she looked at me that night. How she didn’t chase me. How I sent the signed divorce papers the next day—not because I wanted to end it, but because I couldn’t keep begging for what should’ve been mine from the start. Her trust. Her voice. Her fight.

And the silence after that? It’s the kind that doesn’t echo. It just settles. Deep. Permanent.

So I skate. Faster. Harder. Like I’m running away from everything. Like I can outrun five months of silence. Five months of nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if she ever picks up the phone and almost calls.

“Easy, Hardy,” the coach shouts. His voice bounces off the boards, but I don’t flinch. I don’t answer. No words left, just grit.

And I don’t slow down.

Puck after puck, shot after shot. Passing, checking, spinning, crashing into the boards.

Every muscle aches, but I welcome the pain. It reminds me I’m still here. That there’s something left to burn through before night falls and the silence suffocates.

I slump on the bench between drills, breath ragged. Eyes shut for a second.

Not her face. Please, not her face.

But there she is. Sierra. Laughing in that silk robe she used to wear, dancing through the kitchen, stealing chocolate from the bowl like a child.

Then her eyes that night, filled with guilt.

I push myself up like the bench is on fire, forcing my body into motion again, hoping the physical pain will drown out the ache inside.

I don’t need rest. I need silence. And silence comes only when I’m too exhausted to think.

So I train harder. Because the sooner my body collapses at night, the less time my mind has to torture me.

I know nothing happened between her and Colt. Hell, I’m not even sure I ever believed it could. But I lost it the moment I saw her wearing his shirt—not because I thought they went that far, but just the principle of it. Because I should’ve been the one she ran to when her world exploded.

And when I punched him, it was out of pure anger, needing to release all that tension. I probably would have kept going if Liam and Ethan hadn’t held me back. Though, judging by Colt’s stance, I’m pretty sure he was ready for it too. That single punch was the limit the moment he saw me at his door. He stood there like he expected it, like he accepted it.