Page 115 of Third Strike Smitten

“Killian—”

“Just...open it.” He holds out the box, looking at me with the fondest of expressions.

My fingers tremble as I take the package. It’s heavier than I expected, wrapped in simple navy paper with no bow. I glance at Killian one more time, but he just nods encouragingly, his jaw tight with what looks like nervousness.

I carefully peel back the paper, revealing a plain black box beneath. My heart pounds as I lift the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark velvet, sits a key. Not just any key. A sleek, modern key with a small baseball charm attached to it, matching the one on my bracelet.

“What is this?”

Killian clears his throat, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the towel. “It’s a key to my apartment. Well, our apartment, if you want it to be.”

The room tilts slightly, and I have to steady myself with one hand on the mattress. “Our apartment?”

“I know this is probably too much, too soon,” he says, his words coming out in a rush. “But I can’t keep pretending that what we have is temporary. I want you here, Isla. Not as a guest or a visitor, but as someone who belongs here. With me.”

Tears blur my vision, and I blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. The key catches the morning light, winking at me like it’s mocking my pain.

“Killian, I...” My voice breaks, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. “I got an email this morning.”

His expression shifts immediately, the soft hope in his eyes hardening into something guarded. “What email?”

I set the box down carefully on the bed between us, my fingers still trembling. “From the airline.”

“Okay.” He tilts his head. “What did it say?”

“It says my contract with the Lagers ends tomorrow. Technically today since you don’t fly again for the season.”

“What about the postseason?” He asks immediately.

“If there is a postseason,” I start, “Then I guess Kristan will be back. Her maternity leave must be over. I have to move on.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Killian, we knew this was going to happen. My contract with the Lagers was never permanent.”

He stands from the bed and slowly paces the room, water still dripping from his hair. “Okay, so…so where do you go next? It’s not like we won’t see each other.”

“The next company I fly with is based out of New York,” I say softly. “And I start October 1st.”

All his breath nearly leaves his body. “Ocoto…October 1st?” He rubs at his chest. “That’s in like…a few days.”

The silence that follows is fucking deafening. I can hear the distant hum of the traffic outside Killian’s windows but it’s as if everything else has gone still.

“New York,” he repeats, his voice flat as he mulls over what I’ve told him. He stops pacing and turns to face me. My stomach drops at the look on his face. It’s not anger, it’s worse. It’s the look of someone who’s been sucker punched but is trying desperately not to show it.

“So that’s it then?” he asks, his voice carefully controlled. “You’re just...going?”

The key sits between us on the bed, a tiny, gleaming symbol of everything I’m about to throw away. My fingers itch to pick it up, to hold it tight and never let go.

But I can’t.

I can’t do this to him.

To us.

“It’s my job, Killian,” I say, hating how clinical I sound. “This was always the plan.”

He lets out a harsh laugh. “The plan. Right.” He runs a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets scattering across the floor. “And what about us? Was that part of the plan too? Or was I just a convenient distraction until something better came along?”