Page 98 of The Pucking Date
Either way, it won’t be just on me anymore. For the first time in months, everything feels possible. Finn will stay. We’ll figure this out. We’ll be a family.
I smile, big, unfiltered, real. “Okay. I’ll call you back.”
“Already formatted. You’re welcome.”
I hang up, still glowing with triumph. When I turn, Finn’s standing across the room—boxers low on his hips, chest bare, hand clenched around the bottle of prenatal vitamins.
I didn’t hear him move. Didn’t feel the air shift.
He’s motionless. Calm. But his eyes are full of thunder.
“This yours?” he asks, holding the vitamins out like they might burn him.
His tone cuts like a blade
“Were you ever gonna tell me?” he asks. “Or was that gonna depend on where I signed?”
“Finn—”
His words hit like a punch. Because he’s right. All my careful reasons crumble to dust. I should have told him the second I found out.
And now it’s too late to explain.
He laughs, soft and bitter as burned coffee. “L.A. doesn’t get the kid, but New York does? That the game plan?”
I flinch. “That’s not what this is.”
He glances down at the bottle again, then back at me, this time, with something colder behind his eyes.
“So that call?” he asks, jaw tight. “That was about me, wasn’t it? Sounded like I’m stayin’.”
His phone buzzes. He grabs it without looking. One glance, and his mouth pulls into a hard line.
“Marcus,” he mutters. “Looks like I’m getting some good news here.”
He sets the phone down like it’s made of glass. Like he’s afraid he might throw it otherwise. His shoulders shift—tight, controlled—but I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking. He’s coming apart at the seams, but like everything with Finn, it’s controlled. Devastating.
I step forward. “I was trying to find the right time?—”
“To what? Tell me? Or not tell me?” The words fracture as they leave him. “Were you ever gonna say anything? Or were you just hopin’ I’d be gone before it mattered?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No?” He shakes his head once. “Then help me out. Whatisfair? You carryin’ this decision alone? Decidin’ for both of us, like I’m some one-night mistake you regret too much to even face?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then what happened, Jessica?” His voice drops again, quieter now, but worse. “You didn’t even give me the chance to be part of it.”
I want to scream. To cry. To crawl out of my skin. “I didn’t want to make it harder for you,” I say, voice thin, breaking. “You were already under pressure. No offer from the team, LA dangling a fresh start. How was I supposed to drop this on you? I didn’t want it to be the reason you had to stay. I didn’t want to take that choice from you.”
“And so you tookthisone instead.”
His words stop me cold. My throat closes. My hands are shaking. “I thought I was protecting you,” I whisper.
He exhales. Slow. Rough. “You were protecting yourself.”
The words land like a death sentence. Because we both know he’s right. I chose fear over faith. I chose protecting my heart over protecting us.
