Page 29 of Goalie's Obsession

My arms fold across my chest. “You've been gone for years, Ethan. You don’t know him anymore.”

“And you don’t know me.” His voice is suddenly low again, brittle. “You don’t know what it costs to protect this family. What I’ve had to give up to keep everything stitched together while everyone else gets to fall apart.”

“You stormed out,” I say. “You made ascene.”

He flinches like I hit him.

My voice drops. “You’ve had three champagnes and no dinner. You’re not even—Ethan, you’re not acting like yourself. And you think that's not falling apart?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t start treating me like I’m unstable just because I finally lost a bid.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know it.”

Wind curls between us as darkness grips the parking lot outside the arena.

“You’ve been off for weeks,” I say, quieter now. “You barely came home for Christmas. You’ve missed Dad’s last two calls. You’re not sleeping. And now you’re out here, drinking like it’s your job and throwing money around like it’s—”

My stomach drops.

Like it’s not.

“Ethan…”

His jaw locks. “Don’t.”

I step closer, trying to see through the shadows. “What’s going on?”

He doesn't look at me.

“You’ve been lying to me,” I whisper. “And you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes snap to mine.

And for a second, I see it. Right there—under the anger, the pride, the tight grip on control.

Fear.

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice raw. “You’ve never had to worry about money, have you? Not really. You had school, and internships, and you still live with Mom and Dad.”

My throat tightens. “You think I don’t see how hard you’ve worked? That I don’tknowhow much pressure is on you?”

He laughs again. Still bitter. Still empty.

“Well, congratulations, Lucy. Now you’re fifty grand poorer,” he says, stepping back. “And you still don’t have a damn clue.”

He turns and leaves, drifting into the darkness without looking back.

The sound of his shoes on the pavement echoes long after he’s gone and my arms wrap around my stomach like they can hold me together.

And then, even in the freezing cold wind—I feel it.

The weight of a stare. Warmth against my back and the soft crunch of shoes behind me on the steps.

“Lucy.” Connor steps up beside me, not touching me, just… there. Solid and warm and quiet. Like he’s trying not to startle a wild animal. "Are you okay?"

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