“Another ruined relationship, Soph. You’re building a track record,” Tony sneered, but Sophia could only focus on Finn disappearing through the front door, and her heart shattered. He never looked back at her.
What the fuck was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she put everything out there, no matter how messy it was or who she might hurt? She was hurting Finn, the man she loved, in order to keep her family from hurting. But at what cost?
She couldn’t do it anymore. Watching Finn walk away was it.
“You pushed me too far this time and I’m done, Tony. I’m done with you interfering with my life after all of this time. I won’t let you destroy it again,” she said, turning to face him. She steeled her shoulders. She was done letting him dictate anything in her life.
Done.
“What? You’re going to tell your family? About the baby? The pictures?”
“No threats about the video?” she shot back.
He laughed. “There was no video. I just enjoy fucking with you—and fucking you. You were so passionate in bed. And now that you’re single—”
Rage boiled up in her belly at his taunts and without a second thought she pulled her fist up and punched him right in the nose before he could finish that vile statement. Her hand screamed in pain, but not as loud as the sounds emanating from Tony as he clutched his face, blood seeping through his fingers.
Sophia’s only thought was how proud Grant would be about that punch. He’d taught her years ago, and she would thank him later for not breaking any fingers.
“You bitch,” Tony spat out around his hand.
“Sophia, what is going on?” her mother called out, racing down the hall, with her father close behind—and Grant. This was going to be a disaster, but at least she’d only have to tell her story once.
“Did you hit him, Sophia? I know he’s your ex and—where’s Finn?” her mother asked.
“Explain to me why he’s holding his face. What did he do?” her father barked out. Sophia took in a deep breath, flexing her hand and wishing Finn was still here. He’d promised to be there when she told her family everything, but she didn’t deserve to have him stand next to her.
She would do everything she could to get him back, but right now she had to focus on her family. On telling them what she should’ve told them years ago.
“Mom, Dad, I have to talk to you.”
“What is it? Is everything okay with Finn? Did he hit Tony? I know it has been awkward with your history together and Tony being home, but he’s family,” her mother said, moving toward them.
“That’s right, I’m family. Are you really going to tell them?” His veneer was slipping, and she wasn’t sure if it was panic or him not giving a shit.
Regardless, she was stepping out of her past and shoving it behind her.
“There are some things I never told you about why Tony and I broke up,” she started as Grant returned, handing her a bag of ice, and glaring at Tony.
“This is so hard to tell you because he was like family and his mom is your best friend, and I don’t know exactly when it started and, god, I wish I didn’t have to tell you, but Tony was abusive while we were dating,” she blurted out. Grant took a step toward Tony.
“It’s called being passionate, Sophia,” Tony said behind his still bleeding nose, and she resisted the urge to knee him in the balls.
“I have pictures,” she continued.
“So do I,” Tony said, but Sophia ignored him.
“What pictures?”
“I was young and afraid and I should’ve come to you, any of you, but I didn’t, and I wish I had an explanation for why I stayed and why I stayed silent, but I don’t. In the beginning, things were great. I thought we were in love, and it’s what everyone wanted. I don’t know when it changed, but after high school, Tony started hitting me.”
“I will murder you,” her father growled, but Sophia held up her hand to stop him.
“Please. I have to finish this.” The pain in her father’s eyes almost stopped her from continuing, but she had to. “He made sure the bruises were never in spots anyone could see.”
Sophia broke off with a gasp as Grant darted out and grabbed Tony, pinning him against the wall.
“Grant, please,” she said.
“What? I’m just holding him here so you can finish,” he gritted out, and she knew it was taking everything in her cousin’s power to not rip Tony to shreds. She was tempted to tell Grant to go for it, but that would solve nothing, and Sophia wouldn’t put it past Tony to press charges. Grant didn’t need that, especially as a member of the Coast Guard.
Her mother reached down, linking her hand with Sophia’s, and Sophia bit back tears. “I’m so sorry for not telling you before.”
“You’re telling us now,” her mother encouraged.
“Umm, then he got that job in New York and wanted us to move, but I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to be on the other side of the country away from my family. It’s ridiculous because I stayed with him, but maybe part of me thought that I would be safer close to you. That one day I’d tell you what was going on. Then I found out I was pregnant.”
Her mother gasped, her grip on Sophia’s arm tightening.
“You were pregnant?” her father whispered.
“Oh Sophia.” She couldn’t look at her mother, couldn’t see the tears.
She nodded. “I told him I was leaving him and we fought. He shoved me against the wall. I walked out and spent the night at Claire’s. The next morning, I had a miscarriage,” she said, her final words on a sob, her shoulders shaking.
Silence filled the hall before her mother’s voice rang through. “You are not welcome here ever again, and don’t think I won’t be talking to your mother, Anthony Giuseppe. How dare you lay a finger on my daughter, or anyone else.”
He started to squawk, still clutching his nose, as Sophia’s father yanked Tony from Grant’s hold and dragged him out the back door. Sophia heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh, and she turned her body into her mother’s embrace, Grant at her back, cocooning her in their protection.
Her father came back inside, shaking out his hand, before he tugged Sophia into his arms.
“He won’t be back, and if he values his life, he won’t press charges.” Her father’s voice rumbled through her. He pulled back, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t keep secrets like that from us, Sophia. We love you. We will never stop loving you, no matter what is going on in your life, or what decisions you make.”
She let her tears flow as he rocked her in his arms. Why hadn’t she told them before? How could she have ever expected any other response than this?
***
Sophia shut the apartment door behind her an hour later. Grant had dropped her off, asking if she wanted him to come in or if she needed anything.
Anything.
She’d reassured him that she’d let him know the first second she needed anything, before escaping his car. She hated the pain and frustration in his eyes.
“Sophia, are you okay?” Claire asked as Sophia leaned against the door frame, tears still falling down her cheeks.
Claire rushed over to her. “Are you okay? Is it Tony? Do I finally get to kill him?” she asked, grabbing Sophia’s arm.
“Only if Grant doesn’t do it first,” she said.
“What? Please tell me what happened,” Claire said, leading Sophia to the couch. “Do you need anything? Kleenex? Tequila?”
Sophia’s laugh was both harsh and watery as another bout of tears started up. She brushed them aside with her hand.
“I’ve ruined everything. Finn found out about the baby and I told my family everything and he left. I don’t blame him, but it really hurts.”
“Okay, slow down. Who left? Finn?”
Sophia nodded and filled her best friend in. Claire’s expression changed from rage to sadness and back to rage by the time Sophia was done.
“I’m happy everything is out there now, and I’m sorry you had to relive it. Just call Finn. I’m sure he was frustrated, but he loves you, Sophia. Don’t let that slip away.”
“I know. I’m just so tired right now.”
“Okay. But tomorrow you are going to talk to him. Can I get you anything?”
“No. I’m just going to go to bed. Thanks for everything, Claire. For always being there for me.”
“You’re stuck with me forever, and don’t you forget it.”
Sophia smiled softly and headed to bed. She slipped under the covers and swiped on her phone, scrolling to Finn’s number.
Sophia: I’m so sorry for not telling you everything. That part of my life is painful and sharing it with people makes me feel like I’m weak. I told them everything and there are no more secrets. I love you and I’m not walking away from what we have. Please.
And in the morning, when there was no response from him, she burst into tears again.
The following morning, Finn rubbed his hand over his face and cursed in pain. Last night’s memories flooded in, and he held up his hand. He didn’t think it was broken, but it throbbed like hell.
Son of a bitch.
He remembered leaving Lanzi’s, furious that she’d kept something else from him. And that she’d kept protecting the man who’d hurt her so much. He’d ended up drinking more than he should have and got the stupid idea to punch his kitchen island with his fist.
Hence, the throbbing.
Kitchen island: 1, Finn: 0.
Fuck. He had a game tomorrow night and practice today. Clenching his fist killed, so holding a hockey stick was probably out.
How the hell was he going to explain this to his team? To Brandon? Fuck, he had to play in the season opener. He owed Brandon that every year. If his friend wasn’t going to be on the ice, then Finn would be.
He’d been so close to getting back out there, his minutes increasing with every preseason game. And now he couldn’t grip a damn hockey stick. He clenched his fist, cursing himself as pain vibrated through his wrist. At least the pain had muted any hangover he could possibly have. He eyed the bottle of tequila on the counter—the almost empty bottle of tequila.
His phone buzzed on the island, and he didn’t want to look at it. He didn’t want to read Sophia’s message again. He vaguely remembered reading it—fuck, that was a lie—he’d read it at least ten times.
Sometime after the extra tequila shot and his fist meeting the kitchen island, he’d realized he was projecting on Sophia and it wasn’t fair. She wasn’t protecting her ex, she was protecting her family, just like Finn had protected his mother and sister for all these years. But calling her last night would’ve been a mistake. He hadn’t been in the right mindset to talk to her and now he didn’t know what to say.
It killed him that he’d walked out on her instead of ripping Tony apart and comforting her as she relived the loss of a child. It was an odd combination of embarrassment, pity, anger, and physical pain that was coursing through him right now. He didn’t know what emotion to focus on, but he had to deal with his hand first and kick this hangover before he could do anything else.
He grabbed a bag of ice and his coffee and headed to the couch, stupidly hoping that the ice would heal him enough that he could play in the season home opener in four days.
***
“Hey Finn, you alright?” Cheesy asked as Finn laced up his skates and winced. Shocker. The ice had not cured his hand, but guys played with broken fingers, so he sucked it up and walked into the locker room like nothing was wrong.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, grabbing his water bottle with his good hand and taking a quick swig.
“Great. See you out there,” Cheesy said, slapping Finn on the shoulder before heading out of the room.
Finn took in a deep breath, pushing back the pain, and followed after Cheesy. This was going to suck, if just taping his stick had hurt, but he could do this.
He had to do this.
“Let’s start with two on ones. Anaheim had our number on that during yesterday’s game,” Seibs called out, and Finn stopped at the man’s words. Their loss had only happened last night, and so much had happened since then. In less than sixteen hours his life had exploded, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than his hand currently did.
“Finn, you joining us?” Bugsy yelled from the far side of the ice. Finn looked up, catching the question in his teammates eyes as they skated around, and he was still standing at the open door to the bench.
“Yeah,” he muttered, gliding onto the ice, his stick in his hand, as he shoved back the pain.
The entire team did a few laps around the ice to get their legs under them before Bugsy called for them to stop, and then they gathered around their coach and the whiteboard attached to the wall.
Bugsy reviewed everything that had gone wrong last night, telling them they better have their shit together the next time they faced Anaheim, which would be in a few days for their final preseason game.
“Alright, let’s start with Finn, Harty, and Krasny,” Bugsy said.
Finn took in a deep breath, willed away the pain, and clutched his stick, skating backwards as Harty and Krasny passed the puck back and forth, trying to deke around Finn.
Son of a bitch, his hand throbbed. He steeled himself and focused on Krasny. They didn’t call the kid Crazy for nothing. He was always doing something unexpected. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it was a mess.
His gaze shot to Harty just as Harty took the puck on his stick and snapped it toward the net. Finn went for the block, and stopped the puck with his wrist. Right along the edge of the glove—on his injured hand.
Fucking idiot.
He dropped his stick as pain vibrated up his shoulder, and he shook off his glove, clutching his hand.
“Shit. I didn’t think I hit it that hard,” Harty said, skating over to Finn.
“You didn’t,” he grumbled.
“What?”
“What’s going on?” Bugsy said, stopping next to Finn as a few of the guys skated over.
“Harty got me good on the wrist,” he said, attempting to shake it off, but the pain was brutal. He sighed. “And I may have injured my hand last night.”
“During the game? Why didn’t you say anything?” Cheesy asked.
“Ahh, not during the game. I slammed my hand into my kitchen island last night,” he said, not missing the raised eyebrows of more than one of the men surrounding him.
“You punched your kitchen island?” Beady said, his eyes narrowed.
“Son of a bitch, Finn. What the hell happened last night?” Harty asked.
“It was an accident. I thought it’d be okay today, but it hurts like a bitch. I don’t think it’s broken, but taking a puck to the wrist didn’t help,” he muttered.
“Go see Dr. Jonas. And you better tell him exactly what happened. I’ll be by to check in with him. Jesus Christ, Finn. We just had you repaired and we expected you to be ready for the opener, but if you can’t even hold a damn stick, you can’t play,” Bugsy bit out, and Finn felt like an even bigger asshole for letting down his team.
“Hopefully, it’s a quick healing sprain at worst,” Finn muttered before heading off the ice, not wanting to look at his teammates.
He headed down the tunnel to the locker room, stripping off his pads and skates, and then headed to the doctor’s exam room.
“What’s going on, Finn?” Dr. Jonas asked as he guided Finn toward the table in the middle of the room.
Finn held out his hand. It wasn’t as swollen as this morning, but the pain was brutal. “Got in a fight with a kitchen island last night, but I don’t think it’s broken.”
“And how the hell did that happen?”
“It’s personal. I’d rather not talk about it,” Finn grumbled.
Dr. Jonas picked up Finn’s hand, turning and twisting it. “We need to X-ray this. I don’t think it’s broken, and it could just be a bad sprain, but I want to make sure there isn’t a fracture.”
***
And less than an hour later, with a thorough exam and X-rays completed, Finn was told that it wasn’t broken, but the sprain could keep him out for the rest of the week, including the home opener.
It took everything in his power to not injure his other hand. And then the guilt overwhelmed him. Brandon was coming in for the game. It was tradition. One that he needed every year.
He made his way home, crashing on the couch with Bash as soon as the front door shut behind him. His phone pinged, and he saw Sophia’s message asking if they could talk. But he couldn’t. He didn’t blame Sophia for his busted hand. That was his own stupidity, and in his embarrassment, he didn’t want to talk to her right now.
Finn: I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have walked away, but I need some time.
He tossed the phone onto the coffee table and laid back on the couch with Bash tucked in close, wishing the last twenty-four hours had just been a nightmare.