Her voice sounded strained, and she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Liam felt a stab of guilt; she was clearly suffering from the fallout of their relationship.
“I’ll call security about it,” he promised. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” she replied, her words sounding hollow. “Just a little off. Probably stress.”
Before he could press further, Hailey tugged at his sleeve. “Can we have hot chocolate? Sunny said we had to wait for you to get home.”
“Sure thing, kiddo. Why don’t you two go wash up while we get it ready?”
As the girls thundered inside, Liam turned back to Sunny, who had already retreated to the kitchen. He followed her, finding her mechanically preparing the hot chocolate, her movements stiff.
“Did the meeting go as badly as you expected?” she asked without turning around.
Liam leaned against the counter. “Worse.”
“They want you to fire me,” she said, her tone flat, not a question.
“They want me to end our relationship,” he corrected. “For the sake of their reputation and ‘optics.’ I’m sick of that damn word.”
Sunny paused her stirring of the milk on the stove, her hands stilling momentarily. “Maybe they’re right.”
The quiet resignation in her voice pierced him. “What?”
“Look at what this is doing to all of us,” she said, still avoiding his gaze. “The girls are confused and upset. Your career is at risk. I can’t even check my email without finding hateful messages from strangers.”
“Is that why you’re acting so strange? The press attention?”
Finally, she glanced at him, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes before she masked it. “I’m okay, but it’s a lot Liam, a lot to handle all at once.”
But she wasn’t okay. Liam noticed the tremor in her hands, the way she kept her distance, the shadows in her expression. Before he could ask, the girls returned, and the moment was lost in the chaos of spilled cocoa and sticky fingers.
Dinner was strained. Beth had prepared lasagna before leaving for the day, but the comfort food did little to ease the tension at the table. Liam watched Sunny as she picked at her meal, moving small pieces of pasta around her plate without actually eating. She had positioned herself as far from him as the table allowed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was deliberately creating distance.
“Daddy, why was that man taking pictures of our house?” Maddie asked suddenly, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.
Liam exchanged a glance with Sunny, whose already pale face seemed to drain of color.
“Some people are interested in what hockey players do when they’re not playing,” he explained carefully. “But they shouldn’t be bothering us at home. I’ve called someone to make sure they leave us alone.”
Maddie considered this, her small brow furrowed. “But why now? You’ve been a hockey player forever.”
Kids and their incisive questions. Liam took a sip of water, buying time.
“Jamie from school said you and Sunny did something bad,” Hailey chimed in, her innocent tone making the words cut deeper. “She said her mom saw it on the computer.”
Sunny’s fork clattered against her plate as her hand trembled noticeably. She pressed her lips together, looking as if she might be sick.
“That’s not true, Hailey,” Liam said firmly, even as his chest tightened. “Sometimes adults talk about things they don’t understand.”
“Then why are people mad?” Maddie persisted, her perceptiveness almost too sharp for her age.
Liam struggled to find the right words, the weight of their innocent gazes heavy upon him. How could he explain public judgment to a six-year-old?
“Sometimes,” he began carefully, “people think they have the right to voice opinions about others’ lives — about who they should care for. But those opinions don’t matter as much as what we know in our hearts.”
He glanced at Sunny for support, but she abruptly pushed her chair back, her napkin falling to the floor as she stood.
“Excuse me,” she whispered, her voice strained. “I’m not feeling well.”
