Page 151 of Almost Ours
He glanced at me sideways, his brow furrowing. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet all night.”
It was stupid, really. I knew Ryan wasn’t Reid. Deep down, I knew that. Ryan had never so much as raised his voice at me, never made me feel small or scared. But my body wasn’t listening to logic. Every time I imagined saying the words out loud, I froze, paralyzed by memories of the past.
Reid had a way of turning any confrontation into a minefield. The smallest disagreement could set him off. Whenever I tried to bring something up–even something minor–he’d snap, his words sharp and cutting, his presence overwhelming. It was easier to just stay quiet, to push down anything that might upset him. I spent years learning how to tiptoe, how to avoid the cracks in his fragile ego.
Even though I knew Ryan wasn’t like that, the muscle memory of silence was hard to shake. What if this was different?What if I said the wrong thing? What if he reacted in a way I hadn’t seen before?
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight, clipped.
“You don’t seem fine.”
The words were gentle, but they hit harder than I expected. I slammed the dish into the rack harder than I intended, water splashing over the edge. I froze, gripping the counter to steady myself. My heart raced, my breath shallow. I braced myself, waiting for the explosion that never came.
Ryan put the dish towel down on the counter, his movements slow and deliberate. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine with that unwavering focus he always had when he was worried.
“Harper.” His voice was soft, steady, and free of any edge or irritation. There was no anger, no frustration–just genuine concern. “What’s going on?”
The gentleness of his tone nearly undid me. My chest tightened, and I had to fight to keep my breath steady. I wanted to explain, to tell him what I was feeling, but the words wouldn’t come. The way he said my name, the way he looked at me, like whatever I was about to say mattered more than anything else, made it harder and easier all at once.
I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor as if it might hold the answers I couldn’t find. Even in my silence, Ryan didn’t push. He just stood there, patient and steady, waiting for me to let him in.
I took a deep breath, forcing my eyes to meet his. The tension inside me built, the anger and confusion bubbling to the surface, and I couldn’t stop it.
“What’s going on?” I repeated, my voice shaking with frustration. “That’s what I’d like to know, Ryan.”
His brows knitted together, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “What do you mean?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “I got a text earlier. No idea from who, but it had a bunch of articles attached.”
His face paled slightly, yet he didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened as his gaze shifted to the floor for a brief second, like he was trying to find the right words–or avoid them altogether.
“Articles aboutyou, Ryan,” I continued, my voice growing louder, the frustration bubbling over. “About your time in the NHL. About the fights. The hits. About Kyle.”
Ryan’s shoulders tensed, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place–guilt? Regret? His hands clenched at his sides, still he didn’t move, didn’t try to speak yet. The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, the hurt in my voice betraying the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface. “Why have you been hiding this from me?”
“Harper, I–”
“Do you not trust me?” I cut him off, my words sharp, my chest tight with emotion. “Or is it worse than that? Are you still that person? The guy in that article who doesn’t care about hurting people?”
His eyes widened, and for a brief moment, I saw a flash of panic. He took a step closer, his hands raised in surrender, his voice low but firm. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?” I snapped, the tears threatening to spill over. “Because I don’t even know what to think right now. You put a guy in a wheelchair, Ryan.”
Ryan’s face crumpled, the weight of my words hitting him harder than I expected. He ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming out in a sharp exhale. “Harper, I was going to tell you. I just–” He stopped, as if he was trying to find a way to explain something that didn’t have a good explanation.
“When?” I interrupted, my voice rising in disbelief.
The question stung, Ryan stepped back, his face twisting in pain as if I’d slapped him. He swallowed hard, his hands falling to his sides as he tried to compose himself.
“It’s not who I am anymore,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, Harper, I’m not that guy.”
His words hung in the air, but they didn’t seem to ease the tension inside me. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, though I couldn’t shake the doubts crawling through my mind.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered, my voice trembling, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipped down my cheeks. “If it’s not who you are, why keep it a secret?”
Ryan’s face softened at the sight of my tears, but he didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the floor, his gaze focused on something only he could see. The silence between us felt suffocating, stretching out longer than I could bear.
