I flinched, hating her disappointment most of all. “About what I got.”

She snorted eloquently but said no more.

I shifted in my seat to face her. “Just say it.”

Some color found its way to her cheeks. Good. I wanted a fight.

“What do you want me to say, Lucian?”

“Anything. The truth.”

“You don’t want the truth.”

I pushed back from the table. “I know you’re all worried—”

“No,” she cut in sharply. “We are terrified.”

I took the hit and breathed deeply. She didn’t understand. None of them did. “I want you to be proud of me.”

“I am. In so many ways. You’re smart, multitalented, dryly funny, and so very strong. You’re a fighter, Lucian. I admire that so much in you.”

“Then how can you not see that this is me fighting? I’m climbing back to the top.”

Her hand gripped the edge of the table as she leaned in. “You’re clinging on to an ideal. That isn’t fighting. That’s desperation.”

She pitied me. That was worse than any anger she could have thrown my way. It clung to my skin, smothering me.

“Fucking hell,” I ground out. “And you claim to know me? What do you know of loss? You came here to hide away after one small setback. You still have your career.”

Emma stood with the dignity of a queen and stepped away from the table. “Nice. I see we’re at the lashing-out segment of our argument.”

“What do you expect me to do?” I shot back, desperation and anger making my words sharp and fast. “When you paint me as a coward?”

“I don’t know.” She waved an exasperated hand. “Maybe step back and really take a look at what you’re doing. You were so brave to retire. Brave and strong—”

“It wasn’t bravery. It was fear.”

“Bravery is being afraid and still doing what needs to be done.”

“Platitudes. Great.”

Emma glared, her face flushing. But I pushed on.

“How can you not see? I’m doing this for us. I’m trying to be someone who can hold his head up and be fit to stand by your side.”

It was as if I’d slapped her. She literally rocked back on her heels before standing straight. She took a moment to answer, and when she did, her voice was slow and steady.

“You seem to think a relationship is all about how much fame and recognition you can bring to the table. That isn’t what I want. That was Cassandra. And I’m sorry she made you think that’s all there is.”

“That’s not . . .” I trailed off because I didn’t know if what she’d said was true. And it frustrated the hell out of me. I needed her. Just her. Not Cassandra, not anyone else. I thought Emma understood me on a soul-deep level. How could she not see how much I needed this chance?

“For better or worse,” she said, cutting into my thoughts. “In sickness or in health. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?”

I couldn’t meet her sad eyes. I wanted to shout. Inside I was breaking, crumbling along with her words.

“You once told me that I shined,” she said. “And that nothing could change that. Not a loss of a role, not a setback. Why can’t you see the same in yourself? Because you do, Lucian. You shine so bright—”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, damn it! You told me I was hiding away at Rosemont. You were right. I’m trying to change that.”

Panic crawled along the edges of my soul.

“Lucian . . . God. Why can’t you see? I . . .” She lifted her hands, then dropped them, as if in defeat. “I don’t know what to say anymore.”

The finality of her tone chilled me to the core.

“So that’s it? You’re dumping me?”

They’d all left me. But she had stayed. I’d expected . . .

“No, Lucian. I’m not going to leave you. I’m telling you how I feel. That the idea of you doing this terrifies me and breaks my heart.” She pressed her fist to her chest. “This is your choice. You decide where we go from here.”

“Sounds an awful lot like an ultimatum to me, Em.”

Logically, I knew she was right. About all of it. But my heart? My heart said I needed to try. I was supposed to follow my passion. Jean Philipe had known. He’d warned me I wouldn’t be content unless I did my best to keep what I loved close. He’d been right; I’d been broken when I left hockey. If I could have that and Emma, I would be whole.

Emma’s soft voice drifted over the rift between us. “I’m not saying do this or else. I’m saying choose. Choose the life you want, but don’t be surprised if the people who care for you can’t stay and watch.”

Emma

As soon as I was in the safety of the guesthouse, I leaned against the door and sobbed. Great wrenching sobs that wracked my body and made me heave. I stumbled into the bedroom, found a box of tissues, and curled up on the bed to cry some more.

The floodgates had lowered, and there was no stopping it. My soul ached; my heart cracked open. It fell in sharp shards to cut deep. I could feel myself bleeding on the inside, icy rivers of pain and regret.

He was going back to the sport that might kill him. Might destroy his mind.

I wanted to cling to him and beg that he stay out of this, stay safe. And I wanted to scream and kick him for his stubborn stupidity, his willful arrogance. Only I’d seen the desperation in his eyes, the pain. He was crumbling, too, and nothing I said or did would alter his course. He’d only dig in deeper and resent me even more for it.

He’d said he didn’t want to lose me. But he’d already killed a significant portion of what we were. He didn’t need to choose me over life—I would never ask that of him. But he chose to play Russian roulette with his life. How was I to watch that?

And that was the first lie that I’d told him. That I wasn’t leaving him. Because I couldn’t stay and watch this. I couldn’t.

I loved him. Every inch of him. It was the purest, best feeling I’d ever experienced. And it was the worst. A terrifying free fall without a parachute.

The ground was rushing up at me now, the inevitable settling in with bone-numbing certainty. Someone once told me that as soon as your life becomes perfect, fate will find a way to mess it up. Fate had come calling, over and over again; that bitch had knocked my feet out from under me.