Page 47 of Your Sharpest Edge
My lips furled. “Really. I’m the one who should be extra sorry.”
Apologizing had become second nature to me. I was always making amends for everyone. I had told my coach I was sorry for getting pregnant, sorry I couldn’t compete this year. I apologized to my mother for not being a good enough wife, and to my husband for allowing him to treat me the way he did. I was always sorry, and the weight of that sorrow hurt more than anything else. It was as if saying sorry was my way of trying to carry the burden of everyone’s disappointment and anger, hoping it would somehow make things right. Yet somehow, the weight of it all was hurting me the most.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored my own. “You don’t need to apologize, Anastasia. I understand. You just had a baby, for God’s sake.”
But his understanding only made it worse, deepening the melancholy that had settled over us. The sense of what could have been hung in the air, a painful reminder of the boundaries and barriers that kept us apart. I watched Alex with Damien, the gentle way he held my son, and felt a bittersweet ache. This was a glimpse of a life that might have been, a life filled with love and support, not endless apologies and regret. But this was not the life I lived.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asked.
The corners of my mouth twisted into a smirk. “Before I gave birth?” I sighed.
He shifted and then opened the hand closest to me. “Come.” He gestured to me.
I looked down at his hand, the crook that I’d fit so perfectly in.
“Don’t think,” he begged. “Just come.”
I nodded and then shifted so I was tucked nicely into his arm. He leaned back on the pillow, holding the baby tightly in his right arm and grabbing my waist, pulling me close. His hand on my waist felt comforting and grounding, his fingersgently caressing my skin. Lemon and a hint of bourbon filled my senses, soothing me in a way that nothing else could.
“My shirt is all wet,” I murmured.
“Use mine,” he offered softly.
I nodded, already feeling the exhaustion washing over me, both physically and mentally. Alex turned his head to the other side of the room, giving me privacy to swap shirts. As I changed, a mixture of vulnerability and relief settled over me. Once his shirt was on, an unexpected sense of comfort came over me, as if I was wrapped in his presence.
He turned back to me, his eyes filled with concern and tenderness. He pulled me back into his embrace, his hand gently guiding me to rest against him. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the familiar scent made me feel safe. His fingers continued their gentle caress on my waist, sending shivers of comfort and longing through me.
“Thank you, Alex,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied softly, his breath warm against my hair. “I’m here for you, always.”
In that moment, nestled against him, with Damien sleeping soundly in his arms, I allowed myself to believe, if only for a little while, that everything would be okay. The world outside might be filled with uncertainty and sorrow, but here, in Alex’s arms, I found sanctuary. His touch, his scent, and the way he held me so securely made me feel like I had finally come home.
17
stassi
“Shut the baby up. We should have fucking left him with your mother,” Dimitri grumbled from the other side of the bed. “I played a fucking game. The last thing I need to come back to is hearing this thing wailing.”
I had ended up flying out to Ohio separately from the team to meet Dimitri because he insisted that I bring the baby to his next home game. He didn’t want me sneaking away to skate while he was on the road, and he made it clear that leaving our newborn with my mom, when it wasn’t on his terms, wasn’t an option. He said it wasn’t fair to burden her with the responsibility, reminding me that it was my job to care for our child. So, despite how exhausting it was, I found myself traveling with the baby just to keep him happy.
“I’m going to get him up,” I whispered as I padded toward the playpen in the corner.
The light from the bed shot on, and I saw rage in every jagged twist of my husband’s mouth.
“Get. The. Fucking. Baby. Out.”
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” I asked softly.
“In the fucking lobby, for all I care,” he snapped. “You need to teach the baby to sleep on a normal schedule like every other mother does, but instead, you’re always coddling him every time he cries.”
I didn’t dare say anything back. I knew it was better to try and deflect the situation than to anger him more.
“I won’t be able to sleep in the lobby, but I can hang out there until you wake for the day, and I guess I’ll be able to sleep on the plane.”
The light flicked off. “That’s problem-solving.”
It was all he said before I grabbed the baby and the diaper bag and headed out into the hallway.
