Page 49 of Love on the Edge
I rip CC away, stepping back, arms tightening protectively. My voice isn’t loud. It isn’t a scream. It’s a growl. A warning. A promise. “Do not. Touch. Her.”
Ethan moves between us, voice like steel. “You need to leave.”
Margo doesn’t back down. She turns on me, eyes burning with resentment, sharp and unforgiving. Her gaze doesn’t just land on me—itcutsthrough me, piercing into every insecurity I refuse to acknowledge.
“This is your fault,” she spits, her voice dripping with accusation, feeding off the chaos she created.
CC whimpers against me, her tiny frame trembling, fingers curling tighter into my dress like she’s trying to disappear. I hold her closer, arms tightening protectively, but Margo keeps going, her voice rising, her fury unchecked. “You turned my family against me. You took my place. You think you belong here?”
Ethan moves between us, shoulders squared, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument. “I said, you need to leave.”
The tension thickens, pressing against my ribs, making it harder to breathe. Margo’s chest rises and falls too fast, her hands still clenched into fists, her jaw set like she refuses tobe the one who backs down. But then her eyes flick to CC, a flicker of something crossing her face—anger, regret, something twisted and bitter that she refuses to let go of.
Hannah steps forward, voice gentle but unwavering. “Come here, sweetheart.”
CC hesitates, her grip tightening one last time, her small fingers trembling against the fabric of my dress. My arms ache at the thought of letting her go, but I press a kiss to the top of her head.
Slowly, hesitantly, she loosens her grip, fingers slipping away as I carefully pass her back to Hannah. The loss is immediate, the warmth of her small body gone in an instant, leaving behind an emptiness that settles deep in my chest. Grant moves beside them, his silent presence reassuring, watchful, a quiet force ensuring that Margo doesn’t try anything else.
But I barely register it.
Because Ethan is already gripping Margo’s arm, pulling her toward the door with the same restrained fury that has been simmering beneath his skin since she walked in the door. She stumbles slightly in her heels, but she doesn’t resist as hard this time, as if she finally understands that she has lost control of the moment. She whips her head back, one last glance toward CC, but her daughter doesn’t even look at her.
The door slams shut behind them, the sound reverberating through the house like the final nail in what I should have known was temporary.
The party doesn’t recover. Conversations don’t immediately start up again. People shift awkwardly, whispering behind hands, stealing glances at me, at the place where Ethan and Margo just stood, at CC tucked safely into her grandmother’s arms. The warmth that filled the house earlier is gone, the celebration drained from the air, replaced with a thick,suffocating weight that no one wants to be the first to acknowledge.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. Because I know exactly what just happened.
Margo didn’t just come here to make a scene. She didn’t just come back to see CC. She came back for Ethan.
And she wants her family back.
That realization settles deep, twisting through my ribs, pressing down on me in a way that feels inescapable. I feel it in my bones, in the way my fingers curl into my palms, in the way my chest tightens like it’s bracing for impact.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong in the middle of whatever unfinished mess still exists between Ethan and the life he had before me. I don’t belong standing in this house, surrounded by a family that has existed long before I ever stepped into it.
I have Nationals to win.
I have a career, a future, a dream I have spent my entire life chasing, one that has never included anything beyond the ice.
And whatever this was—me and Ethan, the thing we were building, the thing I let myself believe could be real—was never meant to last.
It’s already over.
I turn to leave, my body moving before my mind fully catches up.
I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. Mom? An Uber? I’m not sure, but I need to get out of here. Nina’s voice cuts through the thick silence, stopping me in my tracks. “Val.”
I don’t want to look at her, don’t want to see whatever concern is written across her face, don’t want to let her sympathy pull me back into something I’ve already decided to walk away from. Butwhen she reaches out, her fingers brushing against my wrist, I pause just enough to feel the warmth of her touch.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says softly, like she believes it.
I wish I could believe it too.
But I don’t.
