Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Thirteen?
Fucking. Thirteen.
I don’t know what she means by this, but I’m horrified for her. Furious that someone hurt her. And angry with Dane for letting it happen.
You don’t know that, I tell myself, forcing a breath out. Don’t make stupid assumptions.
“You don’t have to get over it,” I tell Molly softly. “Sometimes things stick with you, no matter how strong you are.”
Her eyes narrow, like she doesn’t believe me. “Easy for you to say. You’re not afraid of anything.”
“That’s not true.”
She scoffs. “Oh, please. You fight guys twice your size for a living.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But that’s different. On the ice, I’m in control. I know what to expect. But fear? Real fear? It’s not something you just ‘get over.’ It’s something you learn to face one small step at a time.”
She’s quiet, processing my words.
“Look,” I continue, trying to keep my tone light but honest, “you don’t have to go in there right now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. But if you do . . . I’ll be here. I’ll stand right next to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Molly’s gaze softens, and for the first time, I see something in her expression that looks like trust. “Why do you care?”
The question catches me off guard, but I answer honestly. “Because I do.”
I don’t know if she’ll believe me.
Especially with our background.
But I mean it.
We can fight, we can argue, we can hate each other to the core, but I’ll still care. You can’t hate someone without caring. Not that I ever really hated her. Even when she lied about the closet thing to Coach.
She must’ve had a reason.
Molly looks down again, biting her lip like she’s trying to keep her emotions in check. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
I grin faintly. “Yeah, I’ve been told.” I pause a beat. “By you. Repeatedly.”
A tiny laugh shakes her shoulders.
She returns my smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
A long silence stretches between us, but it’s not heavy this time. It’s . . . different.
Finally, she lets out a shaky breath. “Just . . . give me a minute, okay?”
“Take all the time you need.”
I step back a little, giving her space but not leaving. Not yet.
And as I watch her standing there staring at the closet door like it’s a mountain she has to climb, I realize something I’m not ready to admit out loud.
Molly Sinclair is stronger than she thinks.
And I’ll stand here as long as it takes for her to see it, too.
Her gaze softens, but the fear is still there, clouding her expression as she stares at the closet door again.
“I’m scared,” she finally admits. “I’m scared of small, enclosed spaces. I’m scared of losing control.”
The emotion in her voice hits me in the stomach like a gut punch. She’s not throwing up walls or masking it with sarcasm.
It’s just her—bare, honest, and vulnerable in a way that I don’t think anyone else gets to see.
“Then don’t go in,” I say quietly.
“I have to.”
Her words are resolute, but her voice trembles just slightly.
I move closer to her until we both stand in front of the large door. The air feels charged, like the space between us is holding its breath.
“What do you need from here?” I ask, my voice as gentle as I can make it.
“Dane needed something.”
I glance at the door, then back at her. “Why don’t you tell me what he needs, and I’ll grab it for you?”
She looks at me, her green eyes sharp but soft around the edges, like she can’t quite figure me out. “While I appreciate that, I have to get over this.”
It’s not just stubbornness in her tone. It’s determination.
And God, it guts me.
She’s standing in front of something that clearly terrifies her, and still, she’s ready to face it. That takes more courage than most people ever find.
“Has it been bad this whole time?” I ask. Needing to know if I was too self-absorbed to notice. If I missed something so big.
“No.”
Her answer is short, but the silence that follows says more than she does. I don’t move, waiting—giving her the space to say more if she wants to.
Finally, she exhales a shaky breath, her hands clenching at her sides.
“It comes and goes. I’ve been better for a while, but lately . . .” Her gaze flicks to the door, then back to the floor. “Lately, it’s been creeping back. Little by little.”
I nod, even though she’s not looking at me. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Her lips twitch, almost like she wants to smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It can be,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to conquer everything at once. You can start small. Just one step at a time.”
She glances at me then, and for a second, the vulnerability in her eyes sucks the breath out of me. “And what if I can’t?”