“It’s OK. I get you’re upset,” I shout. “So was I. I was scared, too. But we can talk about this. Please?—”
I break into a run, my boots hitting the wet tarmac, but by the time I reach the edge of the lot, his truck door is already slamming shut. A moment later the engine roars to life, and he’s gone, leaving me standing alone and cold under a sky that threatens more snow. Tears blur my vision, and it takes everything in me not to collapse to the ground. But I won’t fall apart. I dig into my bag and pull out my phone, calling Elle like I promised I would.
“Serena, hey.” Hearing my sister’s voice causes fresh tears to fall onto my cheeks. “How did it go?”
I let out a shaky laugh that’s nowhere near convincing. “Well, I told him… and then he stormed out of the diner and ran away while I chased him across a parking lot.” I try to say it lightly, like it’s some bad sitcom, but the quiver in my voice ruins the act.
“Oh, Serena,” Elle whispers, and I can hear the ache in her tone. For a second, I swear I feel her arms wrapping around me from miles away.
“What are you going to do?” she asks softly.
“Right now? I’m going to see my gynecologist. After that, I don’t know.” My throat burns with the truth of it. I’ve been clinging so hard to the idea of telling him, of finally getting the words out, that I never thought past this moment.
There’s a pause before Elle speaks again, steadier this time. “Come home, Serena.”
“What?”
“Liv’s moving out this week anyway, right? The lease is up. You haven’t signed a new one or found a roommate. Just… come home. Come back to Idaho Springs. Today. Right now. You know Mom and Dad would love to have you, and I’m only two streets away. You don’t have to figure this out alone.” Her voice softens even more. “We’ll figure it out together. Me and John and the girls, Mom and Dad, we’ve got you. Whatever else happens, you’re not alone.”
I smile and wipe my eyes. It’s exactly what I needed to hear. Even if it’s not from the one person I wanted to hear it from. “You’re right,” I reply, and suddenly all I want is to be home. To sleep in my childhood bedroom and be surrounded by my family. “I’ll go speak to Tanya now. There’s only one game left, and the squad have their routine nailed down. They can manage without me tomorrow.”
“Of course they can,” Elle soothes.
The thought of not being there for my girls pinches. But the thought of standing on the sidelines watching Chase is worse. I need to think about myself now.
We talk for another minute, Elle promising to come over to our parents’ later with ice cream and candy. By the time we say goodbye, I feel stronger. I head to my truck, knowing whatever the future holds, this isn’t about me or Chase anymore. This isn’t about us or the fantasy of a vision-board future I’ve clung to for so long. It’s about the baby growing inside me. And deep in my bones, I know one thing: I will not let this child feel unwanted. Unloved. Unworthy. Not ever. This baby will know they are enough. That they are cherished, fiercely and without condition.
If Chase doesn’t want us, then I will still give this child every ounce of the love I have to give. I will raise them to know that their worth is not defined by who shows up or who walks away. They will know laughter and bedtime stories and warm arms around them when the world feels too loud.
If he can’t be the father they need, then I will be both. Brave enough for two. Strong enough for two. Loving enough for two. Because they are already mine. And I will not fail them. Because whether Chase believes it or not, love is enough.
THIRTY-FIVE
CHASE
The roar of the crowd rises like a storm, crashing against my helmet as I step onto the field. Patches of white cling to the turf, and each breath billows in the frozen air. Snow drifts beneath the stadium lights, while the fans are a sea of red. Men and women. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. Families. Friends. Everyone on their feet. Stomping and cheering the final game of the season. I wonder if my mom ever came to one of my games. A face in a crowd. A nobody. My mom.
Focus, Chase.
I block it. Grit my teeth.
I don’t look up to the skybox, where I know Mama’s sitting with Dylan, and Izzy, and Mad, and Harper, and all the other team family members and VIPs including the movie star and his family we had a meet and greet with an hour ago. I don’t want to see the hope on their faces or the pride. I don’t want to glance at the sidelines either, the place where I know Serena will be shouting her praise at the cheer squad as they dance and cartwheel off the field after their opening routine. Somehow, I know if I look at her, if our eyes meet, something inside me will break, and I’ll start thinking of the fact she’s carrying my baby and everything that means. And I can’t break. Not now. Not ever.So, I keep my jaw tight, my helmet fastened, and my eyes on the turf. My world turned upside down the night of the charity ball when I kissed Serena. Nothing has been the same since that moment. It hasn’t turned back yet, but it will. It has to.
Across the field, the Desertraptors line up in their positions in their green-and-white jerseys. They look focused and hungry for the win. Their quarterback stretches his arm across his chest, eyes darting around the field. Our guys are pacing the line, energy bristling through them like live wires. We need this win!
Jake claps me on the shoulder. His voice is loud and sharp, carrying the same adrenaline pounding through my veins. “Let’s go make those playoffs.” He says it like it’s easy. Like he’s suggesting we go out for ice cream. Like the weight of the whole season and the future of the team isn’t pressing down on our backs.
I shove the thought aside. We have a game to win.
The whistle blows, and the field pulls into focus. The first quarter is tight, both sides holding strong. We trade field goals. The Desertraptors snag an interception but cough it up three plays later on a blown handoff. They’re furious at the mistake. It’s messy football on both sides, but it keeps us dead even.
Play starts for the second quarter. Stormhawks have possession. I line up. Jake gives me a nod from his spot; Rob is wide to my right. I call the play, and the ball hits my hands like a jolt of electricity. The line holds as Rob takes off, sprinting downfield. He cuts left, and I let the ball fly. Clean and sharp, the pass arcs through the air. Rob hauls it in and powers through two defense into the end zone.
Touchdown.
The crowd goes wild, but I barely register. Just slap Jake’s helmet and head to the bench, my heart a hammer in my chest. We’ve taken the lead, but the third quarter feels like a war zone. Desertraptors respond with a touchdown. Every inch of groundwe gain, every field goal and touchdown, is matched by one of their own.
In the final quarter, Desertraptors take the lead, but it’s close, and now we have possession with three minutes left on the clock. My heart is hammering against my ribs. My breath ragged. I’m focused. Ready. And yetI still feel like something is off. Like something’s missing. That easy rhythm. That fire in my gut I had against the Trailblazers when Serena felt like she belonged to me and me to her.