Chapter 42

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Lila

The collective groans heard throughout the stadium, the low grumbles of disappointment, and the clap on the backs to "get them next year" mean nothing while I stand beside Drake in his apartment with his email pulled up.

He grips the phone tightly, his knuckles white with tension. His gaze fixes on the screen, his expression a mixture of apprehension and caution.

Every piece of me screams to stop. Don't open that email. We've suffered enough disappointment with today's devastating loss. But as much as I don't want to know, the weight of not knowing is slowly killing me.

"You know. This won't change the way I feel about him." His eyes rise to meet mine. "Regardless of the results. I love that kid more than I ever thought possible."

My heart skips a beat. I need to stop letting him pull me back in. But his words and honesty are a hook that's snagged me deep. And that's extremely dangerous for my heart, especially with his contract still in question.

"What if he's not yours, Drake?" I ask, the words hurting more than I thought they would. The fear in his eyes is raw and honest; the stakes for him are high. He's been through enough. We both have.

He swallows hard and looks down, the silence between us stretching on until it's deafening.

"Then," his voice cracks with emotion, "I'll still be there for him. He won't lose me." His gaze sweeps up to mine, determination set in them. "Nor will you."

Tears prick the back of my eyes as I take a step closer to him. This man, this complicated yet selfless man, had wormed his way into my heart. And as much as I vow to guard myself against him, moments like this remind me why I fell for Drake Gunner in the first place.

I glance down at the phone, its screen still displaying the unopened email. A knot forms in my stomach, twisting into a tight ball of anxiety. The uncertainty is debilitating—the unknown monster lurking in the shadows.

Drake's hand shakes slightly as he hands me the phone. "Open it."

I take a deep breath, steadying myself; my fingers tremble over the screen. My heart races so fast I feel dizzy. It's not just about what's in that email. It's about everything else it represents. If Drake gets traded and leaves Boston, then what? He says Jake's his regardless, but will he mean it?

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet his gaze, and then I swipe to open to the word negative .

One word can destroy or ignite your entire world.

Drake swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. He seems to want to say something, but nothing comes out.

"Drake?" His name a question. Though, I don't expect an answer.

Without uttering a word, he walks away to stand by the window and looks out at the city with an unreadable expression.

His shoulders are taut, the muscles under his shirt straining as he fights whatever storm is brewing in his mind. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, the only sign of his internal turmoil. The distance between us suddenly feels insurmountable.

"Drake," I say again, closing the distance between us. He had always been multifaceted, a myriad of contradictions like rough edges polished by time and adversities. Loyal yet volatile; gentle yet intense.

After an agonizing moment, he finally speaks up. "I don't know how to feel, Lila." He stares out the window, his voice heavy with resignation yet tinged with a threadbare hope. "I should be relieved, right? He isn't a reminder of my infidelity to you, but I wanted…"

When his voice dies off, I place my hand on his arm. His muscles are taut under my fingers, like steel cords ready to snap with tension. But he doesn't push me away or flinch from my touch as I feared he might.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, even though it feels empty and insufficient in the face of what we've just discovered.

Drake finally turns around to face me. His brown eyes are dark and hollow, lost in some distant place where I can't reach him.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for." He grabs hold of me and pulls me into him. "Nothing changes. That kid is your son and will be mine. We're a team."

I nod, my heart aching with the sincerity in his voice and the pain etched across his face. I want to reassure and soothe his turmoil, yet I fear my words will only sound hollow. He's hurting. And that fact alone cuts me deeper than any words could delve.

"I know," I whisper against his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "We're a team."

His arms tighten around me like he's trying to hold on to something slipping away from him. For a moment, we say nothing, our silence echoing in the surrounding apartment—a quiet pact between two broken-hearted souls willing to keep going despite the odds.

The shrill of his phone breaks us apart. His brows furrow as he reads the screen. "It's my agent."

He turns to me, dipping his head to make eye contact. As if sensing my turmoil, he says, "This doesn't make me love him any less."

But is it enough to make you stay?