Page 68 of The Final Faceoff
“What if this is it?” I ask, softer now. “What if we’re the ones who get it right?”
Her breath catches.
For a second—one second—I think she might let herself believe it.
But then she shakes her head. “I don’t know if I can, Leif.” A bitter laugh slips from her lips. “If you haven’t been following—I’mpregnant. And I don’t even know who the father is.”
She looks miserable when she says it. Like she’s bracing for my rejection.
Like she’s already decided that’s what’s coming. But she’s wrong because leaving . . . giving up on her?
That’s never been an option. Not now or ever.
Since I have to convince her that I’m here for the long run, I start right now.
“Oh, I’m aware of the little piece of kiwi you carry, Hailey.” My voice is low, sure, leaving no room for doubt. “Met the little one the same day you did—fell in love with them just like you did. I might not have any DNA connection to them, but I plan on protecting them, being there, and loving them unconditionally.”
A sharp breath leaves her lips, the kind that isn’t meant to escape. Her body locks up, hands trembling at her sides, like she’s bracing for impact. A single tear slides down her cheek, fast, unchecked, and then the flood breaks.
The first sob is strangled, caught between resistance and surrender. The next one is wrecked, raw, tearing through her like it has been waiting years to be let out. Her hands fly to her face, as if she can hold it all in, as if sheer will alone can stop what’s happening.
It doesn’t.
Her whole body trembles, folding in on itself, each sob hitting harder than the last. She isn’t just crying. She is unraveling, piece by piece, every defense, every wall she’s built against the world collapsing in on her.
My feet move before my mind catches up. A second later, she’s in my arms, shaking, gripping my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from coming apart completely. No part of her holds back now.
Wet, broken gasps press against my skin. Her breath hitches, hands fisting tighter, words slipping out between choked sobs. None of them make sense.
Her legs give out, so I catch her, lifting her without a word. She doesn’t protest, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t do that thing where she tries to push me away before she can need me. Her head tucks into my neck, damp and warm, her whole body molding against mine like it’s the only place she’s ever fit. Hailey’s hands stay latched to my shirt, her breath still shaking, her body curled toward mine like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
Sleep doesn’t take her easily. The shudders keep coming, her breath uneven, the occasional hiccup escaping against my chest. Her fingers twitch every so often, like even in sleep, she’s trying to hold on to something.
The world slows, but my pulse doesn’t.
No part of me fights it. She is here, wrapped around me, no walls left, no barriers between us, and the only thing I can think is that I want to be the one who holds her through all of it. The wreckage. The breaking. The rebuilding. Every damn part of it.
A deep breath stirs against my collarbone. The tension in her body fades, little by little, sinking into the kind of stillness that only comes after you’ve let go of something you didn’t even know you were carrying.
The thought sinks deep, settling into something unshakable inside me.
If she needs a place to fall apart, she has it. If she needs a place to land, I’ll be there. If she needs someone to walk beside her while she figures out what comes next, she won’t have to look far.
This is how it starts.
Or maybe, this is how it always was.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Hailey
The Puck is Still in Play
This is . . . not my usual morning routine. Nope. I wake up warm, which is weird.
I never wake up warm. Every morning I find myself sprawled out like a starfish on full display, limbs flung in every direction, blankets kicked off as if they personally offended me. My body treats sleep like a full-contact sport, which means I wake up in shambles, searching for warmth that isn’t there.
Not today.
