Page 90 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
Probably both.
I should let it go. Give her space. Let her cool off. That’s the logical thing to do.
But I can’t. Or rather, I don’t want to. I just need to - what exactly?
Fix it? Explain? Take it back?
My hands clench into fists at my sides.
Dinner tonight changed something for me.
Hearing James say we looked like a family - it did something to me.
Yeah, it shouldn’t have. It was just an off-hand comment, a joke, something he probably didn’t even think twice about. But the second the words left his mouth, it was like a switch flipped inside me.
It was like a confirmation.
Because the truth is…, it didn’t feel wrong.
It feltright.
I drop my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
For one second - one stupid, fleeting second - I let myself believe it was real. That Whitney was mine. That Mia and Nico were ours.
The terrifying part? It wasn’t the first time I’ve thought about it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palms together.Jesus. This is insane.
I should bury the thought deep. But the second I try, her face is there - clear as day, like she’s standing right in front of me. Close enough to touch.
But she isn’t.
She’s close… yet so far away.
I miss her.
Not just the memory of her. Not just the idea of what we used to be.Her.I miss the way she used to look at me - like I was the only guy in the world who mattered. The way she used to fit so perfectly against me like she was made to be there. The way herlaughter used to fill every quiet space in my heart, making the world feel lighter and easier.
I miss the way she teased me, how she’d roll her eyes when I said something cocky - pretending to be above me but secretly entertained. I miss the way she used to sit on my kitchen counter, bare feet swinging, stealing bites of whatever I was cooking. I miss how natural it was to have her close - like she belonged there.
I missus.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, frustration curling tight in my chest. Sitting here isn’t going to change anything.
I push up from the couch and turn toward the hallway, toward that closed door.
One step. Then another.
I hesitate.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. My pulse pounds in my ears. Just knock. Just…
No. What the hell am I even doing?
I exhale sharply, and step back. Run a hand through my hair.
I lift my hand again, fingers grazing the wood, about to knock…
