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“Thanks for the ride,” I murmur. During the drive I’ve done my best not to think about what it means that they’re showing me this much trust so suddenly. It’s… unnerving, and, frankly, I don’t know what to think about it.
“Remember, every hour,” Soren reminds me, his gruffness betraying the worry creasing his brow.
“I promise,” I say seriously. “I won’t forget.” My fingers itch to reach out, to seek reassurance in the rough warmth of his hand, but I resist. Instead, I slide out of the car, and stride toward my own vehicle, a battered little thing that’s seen better days, much like myself at this point.
I drive to Luce’s, my thoughts a swirling eddy of anticipation and dread. The nausea from earlier has subsided to a dull thrum, a reminder of the life burgeoning within me—a secret shared by too few. As I park outside her familiar home, my heart thunders against my ribcage. I need her more than ever now, need to spill all the messy, complicated truths pent up inside me.
With trembling hands, I rap on the door, each knock echoing my pulse. “Luce, it’s me,” I call, hoping for her footsteps, for the creak of the door signaling her presence.
But silence greets me—a cold, unforgiving void that chills me to the bone. I press my forehead against the cool wood, willing her to answer, when movement catches my eye. There she is, Lucia, my buttercup, moving about the kitchen with a grace that belies the tension coiling in my gut.
“Luce!” I shout, louder this time, desperation sharpening my voice as I catch sight of her through the window. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge my plea, and it’s like a sledgehammer to my chest.
“Damn it,” I curse under my breath, my nails digging crescents into my palms. I’m here, standing on her doorstep like some sort of lost cause, while she’s mere feet away, oblivious or indifferent to my turmoil.
“Please, Luce,” I shout, my voice cracking. My body feels like it’s made of lead, heavy and inert, yet somehow, I manage to hover there, caught between hope and despair. “Look at me, damnit!” My gaze is locked on her figure moving beyond the glass. She’s always been my anchor, my lighthouse in the storm. Now, I’m adrift, floundering in uncertainty without her beacon to guide me home.
A sob claws its way up my throat, but I choke it back. Lucia wouldn’t want tears; she’d want laughter, courage—anything but this pathetic display. So I stand tall, squaring my shoulders as I did the day I walked into Cupid’s Court, determined and defiant.
“Fine,” I say to no one, a steely resolve settling over me. “You want space? I’ll give you space.” But not forever. No, I’ll be back, and we will talk, even if I have to camp on her damn doorstep.
Turning on my heel, I march back to my car, the taste of bile and betrayal bitter on my tongue. This isn’t over. It can’t be. Luce means too much, and I’ll fight tooth and nail to mend whatever rift has formed between us—even if it means going toe-to-toe with the very woman who taught me what it means to be fierce.
Gail
“Luce, it’s Gail. Call me back, okay?” I repeat into the phone for what feels like the hundredth time, my voice a cocktail of frustration and worry as I leave yet another voice message I know she won’t listen to.
I stuff my cell back into my pocket, feeling its weight like a millstone around my neck.
“Still no answer?” Mickey asks, his silver eyes finding mine in the rearview mirror of the car.
“Nothing,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. The nausea isn’t just from morning sickness anymore; it’s laced with dread.
“Fuck!” he curses under his breath.
“Language,” Soren chides from the driver’s seat, though his green eyes are soft with concern. He reaches back, his rough hand squeezing my knee reassuringly. That’s all he can offer—comfort without solutions. “Fet might be able to hear us, so we should watch what we say around Gail.”
I smile despite the storm brewing inside me. This side of Soren is as unexpected as it’s sweet.
“No way,” Mickey scoffs. “Fet can only hear what’s going on inside her. Like her stomach rumbling and her heart beating. Hearing our voices isn’t until week twenty-three.”
Damn, someone’s been reading the pregnancy books, and memorizing the facts like a test is coming our way. I only know Mickey’s right because for the three days I sat outside Luce’s door, hoping she’d let me in, I was checking house listings and reading up on what to expect when expecting.
Sadly, all I have to show for my time at Luce’s house, is the baby do’s and don’ts I’ve memorized. Luce never emerged, but I would have continued to sit there if it wasn’t because I had to fly to Canada for a Sabertooths away game.
Since I couldn’t travel with the team, Soren and Mickey waited for me at the airport, and then we drove to the hotel together. During the two days there, I never even saw Luce, which is weird. She should have been there.
The game came and went—a blur of ice, shouts, and the sharp scent of sweat. Although the Sabertooths won, I didn’t feel celebratory as I flew home alone. I was too busy plotting my next move.
Luce can’t ignore me forever. No! Way!
When I landed, Mickey and Soren were once again waiting for me. Instead of driving back to the arena with the team, we’re driving there together, which perfectly fits my new plan of attack.
Arriving at the arena, I follow the guys inside, quickly spotting the man I need to talk to. Luckily for me, he’s standing alone. “Hey, Sawyer,” I begin, forcing casualness into my voice.
He turns, his face an unreadable mask. “Gail.” His eyes lighten as he notices the guys walking behind me. “That was one hell of a game,” he cheers, bumping their fists.
“Can we talk? About Lucia?” I press on, ignoring the chill that seeps into my bones from his icy demeanor.
