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“Please listen, Gibson. This isn’t easy for me.” Her gaze fell on the double-sized refrigerator. The open shelving near the sink. Shifted down to her tea mug. Anywhere but on him. “I never told you why I was so upset that night of the charity event when you were on the road and couldn’t take my calls.”
He mentally rewound to the time she referenced. The evening of the photos of him with an intoxicated patron of the event, photos that showed the woman stuck to him like a second skin and him wearing an awkward smile since he hadn’t known how to peel her off.
Had that played a larger role in their split than he’d realized? Lark had never seemed ruffled by incidents like that before.
“Those pictures were misleading, like I explained in court.” He’d always tried to make himself accessible to fans when he’d been playing, knowing they made his lifestyle possible. For the most part, he didn’t regret it since the vast majority of fans were incredibly supportive.
But he fiercely regretted that evening when a woman had taken advantage of their proximity.
“I know that.” She met his eyes finally, her expression sincere. Compassionate. “I’ve seen with my own eyes how some fans cross boundaries.” A sad smile lifted one corner of her lips. “As a woman, I understand a thing or two about being the object of inappropriate touching, believe me.”
A surge of protectiveness roared to life inside him, and he was seized with the need to right the whole world for her. But he knew better than to trail down a tangential path when she wanted to share something important with him.
“Then what about that night?” he asked gently, hating that he hadn’t tried harder to find out before now. But he’d been so caught up in his own problems with his mother and his team, compounded by the pain of Lark leaving him, that he hadn’t had the emotional wherewithal to seek out the “whys.” Or at least, not as tenaciously as he could have. “What happened?”
“I miscarried.”
The two words rattled through him on a discordant note, making no sense.
“You...” He struggled to remember that night. The long weeks apart that had preceded it when he’d been on a road trip, exacerbated by a home stand with one charity event after another as part of the team’s PR during a year of poor performance in the rink. He and Lark had hardly seen each other. But still, she hadn’t said anything to him about... “You were pregnant?”
He didn’t even dare think about what that meant. Had she been happy about it? Unhappy, given how disconnected they’d grown in those last few months together? The idea that his child might have been unwelcome news was a sucker punch he would have never predicted. Still, he tried not to let his thoughts run away with him until she finished explaining.
She swallowed hard, her eyes downcast. Slowly, she nodded.
“Yes. I was only ten weeks along, but—”
“Ten weeks?” He did a double take, brain casting back even further in the past to remember the circumstances in their lives during that time. “How long did you know about it?”
She exhaled a long breath, as if trying to calm herself. He needed some serious calming too because the news was pummeling him.
“About three weeks. It took me a while to realize I was late, and even then I thought it was just stress because of everything we were dealing with. The increased media scrutiny, the insinuations about our marriage, your travel schedule—” She stopped herself. Shook her head. Arms wrapped around her stomach. “Anyway, by the time I took a pregnancy test and saw a doctor, I was already over six weeks. And I knew the exact window of conception since you weren’t home very often.”
Regrets about that and so much more carved a hole in his chest.
“I knew we’d grown apart, but for you to not even tell me you were pregnant...” He let the words trail as he traced the rim of his mug with his thumb, the scent of chamomile not nearly enough to soothe the raw parts inside him.
“I tried at first. I swear I did.” She laid a hand on his knee, her touch urgent. Squeezing. “I made a dinner for us, with a cake that had the pink lines on it, just like the pregnancy test.”
He was afraid to ask where he’d been for that dinner that hadn’t happened. “I know I wasn’t around much—”
“You decided to do a training camp for kids with your friend in Nova Scotia that weekend instead of coming home. Which was fine, but I really wanted to tell you in person.” Her words came faster now, her fingers still clutching the denim of his jeans above his knee. “After that, I figured I’d settle for any night when we were together. Except the next time you were due for a home game, your goalie was getting traded and you went on the road to talk the new guy into signing with your team. Remember?”
He recalled. Hurt for her and what she’d gone through alone wound with the hurt he felt now. Yes, he’d been trying to arrange help for his ailing mom at the same time, but he hadn’t shared that with her either. Could he blame her for shouldering the pregnancy news alone?
“I wish you’d called me. I know telling me over the phone wouldn’t have been ideal, but at least I would have known.” His throat burned with what might have been, even if only for a short while. He could have known about his child, had the opportunity to place his hand on Lark’s stomach. Over their baby. “I could have alerted the team that I needed to be there for you. They would have made sure your call got through that night of the charity event if I’d told them you were newly pregnant.”
“I know,” she said softly, her hand sliding off his knee. She swiveled away from him on the counter stool and took a sip of the tea he’d made her. “One of my many regrets the night I miscarried was that I didn’t let you know about the baby. Afterward, it seemed cruel to tell you when we couldn’t change the outcome.”
“So you packed up and left.” He’d never forget the cold, echoing foyer of the home they’d shared with her boxes stacked and waiting for the moving truck.
But he’d allowed the hurt he’d felt to prevent him from going after her. From demanding answers about why she was leaving. He’d assumed it was because he hadn’t been home enough.
After a childhood with a father who’d never found anything redeeming in him, Gibson had grown the thick skin that had allowed him to thrive in his sport. But it had prevented him from forming deep attachments. Something he’d sought professionally counseling for, once upon a time. Except that when he’d walked into the therapist’s office, he’d seen Lark and wanted to date her more than he wanted counseling.
No doubt he’d been just as glad to set aside the idea of therapy in favor of romance with the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. But he’d done them both a disservice that day.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Lark said finally, slipping off the stool to loop the strap of her cross-body bag over one shoulder. “I should have explained myself to you long before now. Being in Catamount again, and seeing my sisters grow to be stronger people capable of loving relationships, has made me want to be a better person, too.”
