The question hits me in the center of my chest. Tears surge, fast, everything I’ve been holding back since the moment I walked into this arena breaking free.
“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”
She nods, like that’s all she needed. “Then listen to him.”
“Listen to…” I blink, confused. “Kate, what are you talking about?—”
But it’s too late. I’m moving. Out of the box. Down the stairs. Onto the ice. The arena shifts around me, people who were halfway out stopping, turning back, settling into their seats. A hush falls, spreading outward until it feels like the entire world is holding its breath.
And there he is.
Waiting for me.
“Kate,” I call, but when I turn, she’s already gone, leaving me here. With Tuck. I glance up once more, finding my boys pressed against the glass, eyes wide, watching.
Waiting.
“Maria,” Tuck says, his voice quiet.
“Tuck…what are you doing?” My voice shakes, my hands trembling at my sides. “What is this?”
“I figured,” he says, taking a step closer. “This was the only way you’d actually listen to me.”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I think you said everything you needed to say the night you asked us to leave.”
His head shakes immediately, like he can’t let that stand. “No,” he says, and now there’s something in his eyes—something raw. “No, I didn’t.” And then I see it. The exhaustion. The weight he’s carrying. “I’m sorry.”
The words hit me square in the chest. I swallow hard, my throat burning. “Tuck…” Tears spill over, uncontrolled now. “You have a son,” I choke out. “A whole child you never told me about. I don’t even know who you are.”
“I know,” he says, voice rough. “I’m sorry for that. I should have told you. I wanted to tell you.” He drags a hand through his hair, frustration flickering. “But you need to understand something first. I don’t have a secret family. There’s no wife. No girlfriend. No one waiting for me back in Nova Scotia.” His gaze locks on mine. “I would never cheat on you. Not ever.”
“Tuck…” My voice is quieter now. “We were never a couple.”
“Yes, we were.”
The certainty in his voice steals the air from my lungs.
Were.
The word twists inside me.
“If you believed that,” I whisper, my chest tightening. “Then why didn’t you tell me about Ben? I thought we were more. I thought we had?—”
“A future?” he finishes gently.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
He steps closer, close enough now that I can see every flicker of emotion in his eyes. “The pictures,” he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “That was your way of showing me my house could be a home…with you. With the boys. Even Marbles.”
I nod. “I…remember when I won the pool game and I said I’d think on what I wanted?” He nods. “The pictures, they were to show you what I wanted for winning.”
He gives a slow nod, his eyes locked on mine. “A home and a family…with me,” he murmurs his words breaking apart as he says them. Before I can respond, he gestures toward the Jumbotron. I turn and my breath catches.
Images flash across the screen. My boys when they were little. Toothless grins, scraped knees, birthday candles. Then me, awkward school photos, teenage smiles, pieces of a life I’d almost forgotten. And then…Tuck. Young, determined, on the ice.
Tears blur my vision as the images shift and frames appear next.
Empty ones.
