Page 152 of Almost Ours
Finally, Ryan’s voice cut through the tension, low and strained. “Where did the texts come from?”
I folded my arms tight across my chest, the weight of my emotions threatening to spill over. “How does that matter right now, Ryan?” My voice wavered, cracking under the strain of everything I was holding in.
He exhaled sharply, a flash of frustration flickering in his eyes as he ran a hand across his face. “Harper, I wanted to–”
“When?”I snapped, cutting him off. My patience was gone, replaced by a wave of anger and hurt. “You had months, Ryan. Why didn’t you?”
Ryan hesitated, his gaze still fixed on the floor like he was searching for the right words. “Because I didn’t know how,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, but the weight of his admission hung in the air like a heavy fog.
I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. “You didn’t know how to tell me that you were this… this violent player who ended someone’s career and put them in a wheelchair?”
He flinched, his eyes flicking up to meet mine with a look that seemed both pained and defensive. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice firm yet strained. “Yes, I was an aggressive player. I’m not denying that. But the media exaggerated a lot of it. They wanted a story, and I gave them one. I was that guy on the ice because that’s the only way I could make it through. But it’s not who I am. Not anymore.”
I bit my lip, trying to steady the storm of emotions raging inside me. I could feel the tension in every part of my body, the anger mixing with the hurt. But there was something else, too. A question that had been eating at me, something I hadn’t been able to voice until now. “And Kyle?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, like I was afraid to hear the truth. “Did you really… did you really do that to him?”
Ryan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. The silence between us was thick, but then he nodded, his face filled with a mixture of regret and guilt. “Yes,” he said, quietly.
My breath caught in my throat, the weight of his confession pressing down on me like a physical blow. I took a shaky step back, my chest aching with the magnitude of what he had just admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice cracking, the vulnerability in it cutting deeper than any anger could. “You didn’t tell me. This is a huge part of who you were, and you kept it from me. What else don’t I know about you?”
Ryan’s face twisted, a mixture of regret and defensiveness flashing across it. “I wanted to tell you, Harper,” he said, his voice rising slightly, frustration leaking into it. “I was going to before everything with Reid happened, but–”
“Don’t use that as an excuse,” I interrupted, my anger flaring again, pushing aside the sorrow that had started to take over. “There was plenty of time before that. But you didn’t. I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”
His frustration boiled over, and before he could stop himself, he shot back, his words sharp and raw. “You didn’t tell me about your past right away either, Harper. You don’t think that’s something I should’ve known?”
The second the words left his mouth, he froze, his face draining of colour. The regret was instantaneous, but it couldn’t undo the damage.
I stared at him, the sting of his words cutting deeper than anything I could have imagined. My heart shattered in a thousand pieces as I processed his accusation. The raw pain I felt was overwhelming, like a weight that I couldn’t shake.
“I’m a survivor of violence, Ryan,” I said, my voice trembling, a tight knot forming in my chest. “Not the person who caused it. There’s a difference. And I did tell you. You didn’t have to hear it from someone else.”
The room fell into an unbearable silence, the air thick with the weight of my words. Ryan’s face crumpled, his regret so palpable it felt like it might suffocate us both. But I couldn’t look at him anymore, not with the way my heart was splintering in my chest.
I turned away, wrapping my arms tightly around myself, as if I could hold all the pieces together before they scattered. The ache in my chest was sharp, almost physical. I’d let myself believe this could work, that I could finally fall for someone good–someone safe. Ryan had been that. He’d been steady, patient, kind in all the ways I hadn’t dared hoped for.
But his violent past said otherwise. I felt like I didn’t even know him. How could I trust him?
A voice in my head screamed at me to take it back, to let him pull me into his arms and promise me that we’d be okay. Another voice, though–the one that had learned the hard way–told me I couldn’t. That love wasn’t enough if trust wasn’t there. And right now, I wasn’t sure if I had that with him anymore.
“I can’t do this again,” I mumbled under my breath, more to myself than to him. But his sharp inhale told me he’d heard.
Ryan stared at me, his expression a mix of disbelief and heartbreak. He let out a shaky breath, then took a step toward me, his hand twitching at his side before slowly reaching out–hesitant, almost desperate to bridge the gap between us. He wanted to touch me, to offer comfort, but something in my posture must have stopped him. “Harper,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hand falling back to his side. “I never meant to hurt you. I swear, that wasn’t my intention.” His jaw clenched, like he was forcing himself to hold it together. “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”
I held up my hand, stopping him before he could come any closer. “But you didn’t tell me,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “And now, I don’t know if I can trust you.”
His shoulders slumped, the weight of my words hitting him harder than anything else I had said. He hesitated, like he was still trying to find the right thing to say, the thing that would make this better. But there wasn’t one.
“Where does this leave us, Harper?” His voice was low, raw, hoarse with emotion.
He stood there, watching me, his expression raw with desperation and hurt. The weight of it all pressed down on me, stealing the air from my lungs. My fingers dug into my skin, grounding me, as I forced myself to look at him.
“Ryan, I’ve been here before,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute, the tears threatening to spill once more. “I was with someone who was so sweet at first. He put on this perfect, caring front for almost an entire year. And all the while, he was hiding who he really was–bottling up things he should’ve told me.” I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I didn’t see the truth until it was too late. And I can’t make that mistake again. I can’t put Connor through that again.”
Ryan’s jaw clenched, his face full of pain. “You think I’m like him? Like Reid?” he asked, his voice cracking, the hurt in it slicing through me.
I hesitated, my heart aching as the question echoed in my mind. The doubt that had settled there like a poison. I wanted to believe in him, I really did, but I was terrified. “I don’t know what to think right now,” I admitted softly. “But you didn’t tell me, Ryan. About Kyle, about everything. And that scares me.”
Ryan opened his mouth as if to protest, but the words died in his throat. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, pacing as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I’m not him, Harper,” he said, his voice desperate, pleading for me to understand. “I’m not Reid.”
