Page 157 of Almost Ours
Because I did.
God, I did.
And maybe I didn’t deserve her forgiveness. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her without trying.
To make it worse, my phone hadn’t stopped buzzing.
Shane: Hey, man. You good? Haven’t heard from you. Call me.
Kyle: What’s going on? Harper okay? You okay?
Their concern was relentless and I couldn’t deal with it. Saying it out loud–even just typing the words–would make it too real, and I wasn’t ready for that.
So, I dodged them. Every call. Every message. I let them pile up, unread and unanswered. I knew they’d figure out something was wrong soon enough. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to explain.
Not yet. Not when I was barely holding it together.
With no hockey to keep me busy, I threw myself into work. Projects that had been around for months were suddenly getting done at record speed. I spent hours at the kitchen table, drowning in paperwork and taking on way too much. Anything to keep my mind from wandering back to her.
It didn’t work.
No matter how deep I buried myself in distractions, my thoughts always drifted back to Harper. To the way she felt in my arms, to the sound of her laugh. To the way she used to look at me like I was her whole world. Now, she wouldn’t even look at me.
I managed to catch one of Connor’s hockey practices earlier today. Not because I’d planned to, but because I was at the arena working on something for Patti. The moment I saw him on the ice, skating circles around the other kids, my chest tightened. That kid was something special.
I stuck around after practice, hoping–praying–for a glimpse of Harper. She wasn’t there, though. Another parent was driving Connor home.
Connor spotted me as he was leaving, his face lighting up like he hadn’t just seen me while he was on the ice ten minutes earlier. “Ryan!”
“Hey, bud,” I crouched down as he ran over, throwing his arms around me in a tight hug.
“I miss you,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
My throat tightened, and I felt the sting of something that wasn’t just guilt. God, this kid. He didn’t understand what was happening. He just missed me. I wanted to promise himeverything–that nothing would change, that I’d be over soon–but the words caught in my throat. How could I tell him the truth? How could I explain to him that if this was the end with Harper, it meant the end of everything with him too?
I’d gotten so close to him. His trust, his affection–it meant everything to me. And now, with everything falling apart, how was I supposed to look him in the eye and tell him it was over? That I couldn’t be there for him anymore the way I wanted to?
“Connor!” The parent driving called him over.
He pulled back reluctantly. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
I nodded, though my heart felt like it was splitting in two. “Yeah, bud. I’ll see you soon.”
He hugged me one more time before running off, and I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching him go. My chest ached with every step he took.
It wasn’t just Harper I was losing. It was him too.
It had beenover three weeks since I broke things off with Ryan, and I was still a mess.
The house felt emptier than ever, even with Connor’s constant chatter filling the space. Every corner seemed to hold a memory of Ryan–his laugh echoing in the kitchen, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
I hadn't slept much since that night. The war in my head hadn’t stopped, but now, instead of battling between my head and my heart, I was just trying to quiet the endless replay of his voice. His pleas. His pain.
And then there were the little things.
Like how every time the chime above the bakery door dinged, my heart stopped–just for a second–expecting,hoping, it would be him. But it never was.
Ryan hadn’t been in since that day. Not once.
