Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
He steps into the steam, the sting of his words hanging in the room.
“What a prick,” Knox mutters, breaking the tension.
Oliver exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even noticed you and Callie. He’s so fucking wrapped up in himself, I doubt he sees anything that’s not in the mirror.”
Steele steps closer and asks, “Are you okay?”
Nope. Not even close.
Instead of admitting that, I nod and drop down onto the bench, the last of the adrenaline draining from my system. My breath continues to come hard and fast. Every muscle in my body feels strung tight, like I’m one wrong word away from spiraling out of control.
Still, there’s no part of me that regrets it.
I’d do it all over again.
I’d take the punch.
The hit.
The fallout.
The whole damn mess.
Zane didn’t fight for Callie and Nora when it mattered.
I sure as hell won’t make the same mistake.
39
Callie
The final buzzer blares, and everything in me seizes. The roar of the crowd swells below me, a tidal wave of noise I can’t seem to break through. I’m on my feet, but it feels like the ground just shifted beneath me, leaving me unsteady as I try to brace for what comes next.
Everyone in the suite is celebrating, humming with energy over the Railers’ hard-fought win. Nora is curled against Evelyn’s shoulder, sound asleep, her fingers clutching the edge of the older woman’s cashmere sweater.
I should be floating.
Instead, I feel mired down, like I’m being swallowed up by quicksand.
The players skated off the ice minutes ago, and I haven’t stopped replaying the final moments. The glare Zane threw me as he disappeared down the tunnel, the tightness in his shoulders, the hard set of his jaw.
That wasn’t a man pissed about the game.
It was personal.
When my phone buzzes, I pull it from my pocket. The message lights up the screen and sends a cold ripple down my spine.
Zane: We need to talk. Alone. Meet me by the back entrance.
I stare at it for a beat, trying to decide what to do.
Evelyn glances up from where she’s gently rocking Nora. “Is everything okay?”
I force a nod. “Would you mind watching Nora for a little while?”
Her eyes soften with something like understanding as she smooths a hand over my daughter’s hair. “Of course, sweetheart. She’s out cold.” She hesitates. “Although, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I think so. If she wakes up or there’s a problem, just text me,” I say, slipping from the suite before anyone else can stop me or ask questions I’m nowhere near ready to answer. My thoughts race, knotted with worry and something darker, as I take the elevator down and follow the private corridor toward the arena’s back entrance.
Zane’s already there waiting for me. He’s hunched near the shadows, hood pulled low over his forehead, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket.
As soon as I approach, he turns, and I freeze.
His lip is split and his cheekbone is already purpling beneath the swelling.
“What happened?” I ask.
His expression twists with bitterness. “The guy you decided to shack up with is what happened.”
Even though his words are ugly, I lift my chin. “I saw what was going on during the game, Zane. Don’t you think he had a reason to be pissed?”
It almost surprises me when he doesn’t snap back. Instead, his gaze sweeps over my face, like he’s searching for an answer to a question he can’t bring himself to ask. Or maybe he’s just looking for the version of me he once knew.
“What the fuck are you doing with River Thompson?” he finally demands, each word clipped. “Trying to hurt me? Get my attention? Make me jealous? Is that what this is about?”
A sharp, incredulous laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Believe it or not, my private life has nothing to do with you.”
He inhales hard, like he’s gearing up for another attack, but then he just exhales slowly. His glare flickers, the hard lines of his jaw easing just enough for the exhaustion to show through. His gaze drops briefly to the floor before coming back to me, slower this time, less sharp.
“I’m sorry, Callie,” he says. “I made a mistake. I let the fame go to my head. The girls, the parties, the money, the TV show. I thought I could have it all. And in the process, I lost what mattered most.”
I freeze, stunned by the sudden change in attitude.
This isn’t the Zane I know. Not the one who fed off attention like oxygen and measured his worth in headlines and camera flashes. The very same man who walked away without looking back.
This Zane’s shoulders sag under some invisible weight. His eyes, once electric with ego, are dimmer now, shadowed with regret. And for maybe the first time, he looks a little bit honest.